Incubus
by Crimson1
Summary: The epic tale of the Winchesters teaming up with an incubus who has the hots for Dean, and how he changes their lives forever. Starts after Season 2 finale for an alternate Seasons 3-5. Dean x OMC. Eventual Sam x Sarah Blake.
1. ARC 1: Sasha, PART 1: Incubus

INCUBUS

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ARC 1: Sasha, PART 1: Incubus

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Dean hated shapeshifters. No, Dean _really_ hated shapeshifters. Of course, he could understand why the first one he and Sam had ever run into had coveted his extremely handsome appearance. But the second one really pissed him off.

The third was just plain gross.

"Dude, I think I have ear on the back of my neck. Get it off, will ya?"

"That's disgusting, Dean," Sam replied, keeping his distance since he had managed to remain annoyingly spotless.

Typical.

Dean cringed, reaching to the back of his neck where he peeled away what definitely wasn't an ear. He decided he didn't want to know what the flaps of gooey skin had actually been.

"No, Sammy, disgusting is that slimy bastard shedding his skin two floors up and tossing it down the stairwell. Where it found me. That is disgusting."

Sam didn't argue. "Well, it's dead now. Vengeance has been had. Can we go?" He reached for the passenger door of the Impala, but Dean stopped him from getting in with a gore covered hand on his shoulder.

"No way am I getting this stuff on my baby's seats. We'll walk back and get her in the morning." Dean said this with finality and started down the street.

"Walk?" Sam called after him, "Dean, our hotel's on the other side of town."

"It's a nice night."

"It's three AM!"

Dean kept walking, keys securely in his pocket, ensuring that Sam would have to accept his fate for the night and tag along. "Wuss," he mumbled under his breath, loud enough to be sure Sam heard him.

Of course Sam didn't comment outright. He was too upset to play into Dean's hands just now. It was late and he was cranky from more than just lack of sleep.

The shapeshifter had managed to kill its intended target despite Sam and Dean's best efforts. A young mother. A widowed mother. It would have killed the kids next, pretending to be Mom with perfect accuracy. They both knew they should be happy they managed to save anyone. But somehow, it never seemed enough.

Dean wasn't oblivious to how his brother was feeling. He knew well how Sam wore a "willing martyr" sign for the downtrodden. And Dean wouldn't deny that right now he was feeling the same way. Better them than some innocent young mother of three whose husband died two months ago in Iraq. But better the demon, or shapeshifter, or whatever it happened to be at the time than Sam or Dean. They had their own war to fight.

Once in a while Dean wondered if he would rather be fighting like that woman's husband, against real living people instead of monsters. He never wondered long. Monsters he understands. Humans are crazy.

"You think those kids are gonna be okay?" Sam asked, effectively ruining Dean's quiet introspection, "We did kind of just…leave them with the neighbor."

Dean rolled his eyes. They had already discussed this. To an excessive extent. "She said she was a family friend."

"So. Everybody lies."

Dean huffed, "Thank you, Doctor House," he teased, "I'll be sure and remember that one."

Sam threw Dean a nasty glare, one Dean remembered well from back when they were kids. This particular glare of doom was usually reserved for times Dean stole the remote and changed it from _Count Duckula_ to _Transformers_. Really, it had been for Sam's own good. _Count Duckula_ was a bad representation of vampires; it would have given the kid the wrong idea.

_Transformers_ on the other hand…

"Dean," Sam pressed, making it clear that he had not yet been appeased and wanted an answer.

"Look, the kids went right to her," Dean said, "And you and I both know how good kids are at reading evil. She's a family friend and she's going to call the grandparents in the morning. End of hunt. End of story."

"Right," Sam scoffed, "For you maybe. Even for me. But what about the people that get left behind after we've been through? What about those kids without a dad or a mom now, huh? Whose fault is that?"

Dean came to a quick stop. He hated this fight. He hated how many times they had it, how many times a week he had to get it through Sam's head that yes, they were the good guys. No, Sammy, you're a good guy too. You're not going to go "darkside" and kill me, or anybody else. You got that? Not. Going. To. Happen.

And nothing on Earth or from Hell was going to change that. Dean wouldn't allow it.

"Listen to me, Sam," Dean said, and his tone clearly stated that his words were not open for debate. Dean was no longer sick of their argument; he was finished with it. For good. "Those kids, maybe they won't be fine. Maybe they'll never be fine. But that is not our fault. If we hadn't come on this hunt, they'd be dead."

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean grabbed him by the front of his shirt. The goo that covered him didn't seem all that funny anymore.

"They'd be dead. Because of us, they're alive. We did everything we could. Get. Over. It."

Dean let Sam's shirt go. Normally, he wouldn't feel the least bit guilty for acting so severe. Normally. But these days he was getting softer on Sam. He couldn't help it, not after he had almost lost Sam forever. The younger man's wounded look, with those damn puppy eyes that made anyone want to tell him their whole life story and then some, was slowly whittling Dean down. And Sam was wearing that look now with newfound gusto.

Damn it.

"Sammy…"

"I just get so sick of it, Dean," Sam broke in, his hazel eyes big as ever and filled with anguish, "Even when we win, we lose. We fight evil. We try to protect people. But how much good are we really doing?"

Here we go again. "We can't save everyone," Dean said.

Sam turned away from him, but Dean distinctly heard the "Then what's the point?" Sam tried to muffle.

Dean knew just who Sam was thinking about. There were many 'whos', but it wasn't about them anymore, it was about _him_. About Dean. Sam would never forget that the reason he was alive was because Dean made a deal. Dean only had a year if things played out as that she-demon wanted, and Sam was determined to fix things. Because of that it hurt Sam even more when they failed to save someone. He didn't dare think that saving someone wasn't possible, not when the most impossible person to save was his own brother.

This was when Dean was supposed to make some smart-ass remark about what a pussy Sam was being, or how he wasn't going to turn into a girl and hug his brother just to make Sam feel better. There were so many times Dean wanted to hug Sam but figured it would just make things worse. They needed to be strong. They couldn't cry on each others' shoulders all the time. He had to be tough. He had to be…Dad.

Because Dad wasn't here anymore either.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean cursed, kicking at the ground, "You think I don't want things to go our way for once? Huh? You think I don't wish that every time we went on a hunt, we came out ahead, with all our parts in tact, with all the targets safe and sound, monster dead, the end? Maybe…maybe one day we'll get lucky and everything will turn up roses. But nine times out of ten it's going to be just like tonight. You know that, Sam. It's part of the job. People get hurt."

"But…why does it always seem like it's because of something we missed?"

It isn't the response Dean expected. A soft whine, a plea. Sam should be yelling back at him, god damn it. "Sam…"

"No, Dean. We messed up. And we keep messing up. I know, okay, I know there aren't easy rules to follow, or any way to know what one of these creatures is thinking, but they're always one step ahead of us. How's that going to help us when…when your time is up, Dean? What the hell are my abilities good for if I…can't…" Sam trailed off, this last sentence starting low and finishing at barely audible.

Dean still heard it though, every word. They had never thought to have Sam hone his powers, and Dean certainly wasn't going to suggest it. He never said so out loud, but they both knew Sam's abilities scared him. Evil things have powers. People don't. Seers are one thing, but with the way Sam's powers were tied up with demons it would be too risky to deal with them directly.

Apparently Sam no longer agreed with him on that.

"Sam, if you're talking about trying to use your powers to help people, help me, great. But the way those other psychics got when they tapped in, the way _Jake_ acted..."

Sam didn't look at Dean. His voice was low as he said, "Yeah, wouldn't want to risk a freak like me going psycho on you, right?"

That was Dean's cue, "But you've always been a freak, Sammy," or something similar. He couldn't find the words this time though. They just weren't in him. He teased Sam about things like that to make it easier, but the truth was always buried there somewhere, and Sam was calling him on it without even having to say so outright.

_You think I'm a freak_. Dean practically heard the words. _You think I'm a monster like the rest of them. You're terrified I'm just another demon, waiting to stab you in the back_.

Sam didn't say any of that, but Dean heard it. It drove him crazy for Sam to think like that. Maybe it was true, maybe it was right on the mark, but they had been shown again and again that evil things aren't always evil. Thinking of it like that didn't make Dean feel much better but he knew what he meant by it. After that ghost on the highway who didn't even know she was dead, after Madison who didn't understand she had a werewolf inside her, even Dean Winchester could admit that sometimes the things they hunted didn't need hunting. They needed help.

So why couldn't he say anything? He was usually so good at this stuff. Joke around, lewd comment, whatever, get Sam to smile and they're home free. At least until the next time this crap gets brought up. But Dean couldn't think of anything to say this time.

Dean's life had a time limit, and maybe Sam's humanity did too, but damn it if Dean didn't want them to be able to just forget all that for one moment and pretend things were going to be okay. They tried, most of the time they even succeeded, but then tomorrow came and they remembered life was never going to be easy. Not for them.

Just when things were starting to get awkward and the three AM cold was seeping into the folds of Dean's usually warm leather jacket, Sam's cell phone started to ring. Sam answered right away, probably jumping for a chance to distract him from their conversation.

"Yeah?" he said, "Hey, Ellen. No, you didn't wake us, we were just finishing the hunt." There was a long pause while Sam listened. "You did? No, if you trust this hunter, you know it's fine. Sure. We'll stop by before we leave. No problem. You too. Goodnight." Sam hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. He still didn't look at Dean. "Ellen says some hunter she knows wanted to get in touch with us. She didn't want to give out our numbers so she just gave a PO box here in town. Sent a letter I guess. We can pick it up tomorrow." Sam started to walk. They still had a good distance to go before their motel.

"She called at three in the morning for that? What does this hunter want? We're not exactly on friendly terms with most of 'em. After what Gordon said, and Meg's little stunt, who knows how many think you're still number one on the 'to hunt' list."

Sam shrugged. He still wasn't looking at Dean and seemed all up in his head, like he was thinking too hard about something. Dean figured he probably was. "Ellen didn't say," Sam said, "But she wouldn't give another hunter any way of contacting us if she thought they were bad news. Probably why she had them send a letter, so we can decide for ourselves what to do. And she called at three AM because she realized we'd probably be done with this hunt tonight and didn't want us skipping town before we picked the letter up."

The words were stiff. Anything Dean might say along his usual veins would only make things worse, he knew that. And when Dean couldn't use his humor or childish brotherly ways in a situation, he never knew what to say.

He never knew what wouldn't push Sam further away from him.

"Sammy…"

"Let's just get back to the motel." Sam walked a little faster, pulling ahead of Dean.

Great. Dean wasn't even going to be given the chance to be sentimental when he had just bolstered himself for the sheer humility of acting that way. No Hallmark card, Lifetime movie moments for them, but that didn't mean there weren't times when they needed to remind each other that being brothers meant more than just fighting this war and killing things on a hunt. Apparently, Sam didn't want to be reminded of that right now. He wanted to sulk in his own self-misery over being a freak, and how no matter what he did Dean was going to die because of him.

Now, Dean didn't believe that for a second. Okay, so he did think Sam was a freak, but he considered himself one just as much. What he didn't believe was that Sam was in any way to blame for what was going to happen to him. But he also knew that nothing he ever said would stop Sam from feeling that way. Dean had dealt with the same thing when their dad pulled this stunt. He knew exactly how Sam was feeling.

Dean wanted to say something. He should say something. They had blocks and blocks ahead of them. He should say…_something_.

By the time they reached the motel, the silence was so thick, Dean could barely walk into their room and find his bed to collapse onto, and he still couldn't think of anything to say. He watched Sam curl up on the other bed, facing pointedly away from him. He would have to make this up to Sam tomorrow. And he knew just how to do it.

--

"IHOP?"

"Yeah. They have takeaway now." Dean held out one of the to-go containers. "Waffles?"

It wasn't childish. It wasn't silly or stupid at all. A corner of Sam's mouth twitched up into a smile. It was genius.

Sam took the offered Styrofoam and sat down at the little table in their room. He failed miserably at keeping the smile from his face. Dean could tell there was an internal struggle going on since Sam still felt justified in sulking. But who could sulk when their oh so amazing brother had just brought waffles, from IHOP no less, for breakfast?

Well, lunch. It was noon already. They needed the sleep after last night.

"Thanks," Sam said, and it was no secret that he didn't say that just because the waffles smelled better than anything they had eaten in the past week.

Mission accomplished. And Dean didn't even have to say anything. This time. "Grabbed the letter on my way back too," Dean said, pulling a simple stamped envelope out of his pocket and tossing it between them on the table, "Haven't looked at it yet."

Sam stared at it. No return address, and the address to the PO Dean picked it up from was written in Ellen's handwriting. The hunter must have just sent her the letter first.

After taking a liberal bite of his food, Sam picked the letter up and opened it. It was thick, and now he understood why. It wasn't just a letter, but details on a case, along with pictures and a map of the creature's killings. All in all, a thorough job. He took another bite of waffle before reading the actual letter aloud.

"Winchesters, I am in Minnesota following a case of murders that has been going on for several weeks now. Attached is everything I have worked out so far. It should have been a cut and dry case, but I have my doubts and can't seem to track down the creature doing this. I asked Ellen to contact you with this information because you are the only hunters I feel I can trust. Please, if you decide to help me on this case, meet me at the following address tonight at six PM. I know you are close enough to make that. If you do not show up I will assume you have declined and will do what I can to finish the case myself. I hope to get the chance to meet you both. Sasha Kelly. Huh. Guess it's a girl." Sam said, passing the letter to Dean.

"A hunter chick, huh?" Dean grinned, "Not nearly enough of those." He briefly thought of Jo. Cute. And he did like her. But something never seemed quite right there, even before things got messed up. "I call dibs," he said, pushing the letter back to Sam.

"What?"

"Dibs. If she's hot," Dean amended.

Sam stared at Dean with his usual incredulous boy-scout look. "Dean, she's asking for our help, not a date."

"What's wrong with getting both?" Dean smirked around a mouthful of waffle.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, the last thing this Sasha…" Sam looked down at the letter to remember her last name and something glowed in his eyes of recognition, "Kelly," he said, the rest of what he had been going to say forgotten. He looked up at his brother, "You don't think that's the same as…"

"Deklin Kelly," Dean supplied. How could he have forgotten? But then he hadn't thought of that name in years. "Dude, you don't think it's his daughter do you?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be. She is a hunter. And man, if I'm remembering Dad's stories right, Kelly was one of the best."

"Maybe even better than Dad," Dean agreed, and he could say that because their father had said so himself.

"Dad never met the guy though, right?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Couldn't have. Kelly bought it almost a year before any of our mess started. Dad just told us the stories he heard."

"So it's not coz of Dad…"

This soft sentence caught Dean's attention. He gave Sam a look that clearly stated _share_.

"I was just thinking," Sam explained, "She said she thinks we're the only hunters she can trust. If that's not because our dads knew each other then why? We don't know her."

Dean thought about that but he didn't have any more of an answer than Sam did.

"Hey, how did Kelly die again?"

This Dean did know. It was the one story Dean never understood. The others were all about the cases the guy had cracked, and creatures he had killed. But what killed him never made any sense to Dean. "It was another hunter," he said, sick at the thought, especially since those thoughts strayed immediately to Gordon who would have gladly done away with Sam, "Friend of his even," Dean added, "No one ever knew why. Couple weeks later the guy died on a hunt, so no one was ever able to find out either. Guy just snapped or something."

The brothers didn't make eye contact for a few minutes. Dean knew what Sam was thinking. _That could be me. What if instead of saving you I kill you, Dean, and no one ever knows why?_ Sam didn't need to ask how Kelly had died; he remembered just as well as Dean did. He just wanted to hear it.

Damn martyr, Dean thought.

"So what do you think?" Sam said, spreading the case's research out in front of them, "We can make the meet time easy. Do we trust her?"

Dean looked down at the pictures, all women in various disarray with wide horrified looks frozen on their faces. When he looked up at Sam, he didn't have to say his answer aloud.

Sam took another bite of waffle. "Looks like we're going to Minnesota."

--

Traffic sucked. There was no other way to put it.

"I hate going urban," Dean grumbled, jolting to another quick stop behind the minivan in front of them.

They were on highway 35W going north and traffic was backed up in every direction. Sam had reminded Dean several times that it was almost five o'clock on a Friday, but Dean never understood that kind of logic. He just couldn't fathom how traffic got so backed up in the first place. If people weren't such idiots, it wouldn't matter how many cars were on the road, traffic would still flow as it should. But people were idiots, and Minnesota drivers weren't any better than drivers anywhere else.

"Oh come on!" Dean shouted, honking his horn at the car that just pushed in front of them from the onramp, "How'd ya like it if I shot out your tires, you hayseed farm boy!"

Sam idly flipped through the research they had now gone over several times, "Dean, we're from Kansas. I don't really think you have a case there."

Dean huffed. "Oh yeah, well we have Superman. What do you have, huh?" he yelled out the window, "Josh Hartnet!"

"Dean, that's an actor, not a farm boy or a superhero."

"Whatever."

"Look," Sam said, "We're sure about this, right?"

Dean blared his horn again, "What? Helping the girl?"

"It's a little late for that," Sam said with a smile. He knew Dean wouldn't be able to turn back now even if they did decide to ditch this case. Dean's principles wouldn't allow it, not after the seventh mini Copper they had come across just cut them off.

"Asshole!" Dean shouted.

"I mean are we sure about what creature we're dealing with?" Sam asked, pretending Dean wasn't experiencing some of the most impressive road rage Sam had ever seen.

Dean pounded the horn a few more times before responding. "Sure we're sure. The signs are all there. Dead girls, all naked or close to it. Found in bed or somewhere equally obvious. Not raped but clearly sexed up, with no sign of wounds anywhere. No mystery here, Sammy-boy. We got ourselves an incubus."

"But according to Dad's journal—"

"Don't hunt an incubus or a succubus unless you know for sure they're killing," Dean interrupted, "I know, Sammy, I read it too. These things aren't always evil. We've been getting a lot of that lately. But this time we can be sure. An incubus is killing in the good ol' Twin Cities, and we have the pleasure of putting it down. Hopefully with the help of a hottie female hunter."

"Dean…"

"I still got dibs."

"_Dean_."

"What? Can't a dying man have a good time?"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "That was our exit."

"Oh."

--

They pulled into an apartment complex in St. Louis Park, a suburb only a few short miles from downtown Minneapolis. The building looked pretty nice form the outside, but no heavy security. They were in Minnesota after all, and even if they _had_ gone urban, it wasn't like being in a place like New York. The people here still had block parties and talked with their neighbors, ignoring the occasional gun fights in the bad neighborhoods and unexplainable deaths.

It was only too easy to break into the building.

"What number again?"

"Three twelve. But Dean, shouldn't we wait? We're almost an hour early."

"So we look around for awhile til she gets here. How long ago did this thing strike again?"

Sam looked down at the piece of paper he had about Meryl Jorgenson, the most recent victim. "Two days ago. Cops found her in the bedroom, completely nude, no signs of injury or struggle. Looked like she had a heart-attack during sex. Official report too," Sam huffed.

"Yeah, coz twenty-five year olds take such a strain during sex," Dean commented. He stopped in front of room three twelve. "Ready?" he said.

Sam put the papers he had been looking at away and nodded. They didn't expect a confrontation here but monsters and demons had a tendency to follow that 'always returns to the scene of the crime' rule. The brothers didn't pull out their guns but they had them ready.

The first bad sign hit them right away—the door wasn't locked. Dean and Sam shared a knowing look before Dean gave the door a push and let it swing open on its own. Nothing. No signs of anything in their immediate line of sight anyway. They went in slowly. It was possible that the door hadn't been locked after the cops left. Small towns and suburbs often missed things like that if a case was still fresh. Who would want to go into the apartment of a girl who had just croaked, after all?

Wary of the situation regardless, Dean pulled out his gun and shut the door behind them. He moved slowly through the apartment to check things out and see whether or not they were alone. It looked empty, but he couldn't see into all of the rooms. Next to him, Sam pulled out the EMF meter and started scanning.

"What are you doing?" Dean said, keeping his voice a sharp whisper.

"We don't know for sure if it's an incubus."

"Sammy, we've been over this."

"I know. Cut and dry. That's why we were called here, Dean. Because something isn't right. To us it looks like an incubus but Sasha said in her letter that it didn't add up. We can't be sure of anything." Sam continued to scan the living room while Dean covered him. The scanner didn't even flicker.

Dean snorted. "Satisfied?"

"We haven't scanned everywhere."

Dean reluctantly conceded and gestured down the hallway. "Stay behind me," Dean said, and wedged himself in front of Sam to go down the hallway first. He heard the huff Sam released at that but ignored it. He wasn't oblivious to how much more protective he was of Sam lately, but how could he not be? He basically gave his life to give his brother a new one. The last thing he wanted was for that sacrifice to be for nothing.

A creak sounded from the bedroom. Dean tensed, raising his gun and clicking the hammer back. Their job demanded that they shoot first and ask questions later, and they had learned to honor that. Hesitating had cost them too often.

Dean was halfway down the hallway when he heard Sam's call.

"Dean!"

In a second Dean was turned around, gun ready. What he didn't expect was for there to be another gun pointed at him. Or rather, pointed at Sam, who was still at the mouth of the hallway. The creak he had heard was nothing, the foundation settling probably. Their new guest must have come from the kitchen, and looked just as ready to shoot as Dean was.

Dean darted back down the hallway, keeping his gun on the stranger, who, recognizing where the threat really lie, repositioned his gun onto Dean immediately.

The guy had red hair you could only find in a bottle—Crayola red—and had even gone to the trouble of dying his eyebrows. His eyes blazed blue and Dean recognized the look of an experienced fighter in an instant. This guy looked no older than Sam, but he knew what he was doing. He was as fit as they were, maybe more so, and he was not bluffing. This was bad.

"Who are you?" demanded the stranger, "This apartment is under police investigation."

"Yeah," Dean countered, "Well you don't look like police to me, pal."

"I could say the same." The stranger knew to keep his eyes just as steadily on Sam, which was smarter than most people. Sam didn't need a gun to be a threat any more than Dean did.

Sam was trying to put away the scanner and avoid unnecessary questions, but the movement caught the stranger's attention and he pointed the gun back on him.

"Hands where I can see them!"

Sam obeyed, lifting his hands and the scanner into the air to show he meant no harm. The stranger eyed the scanner carefully but didn't comment on it.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded again.

Dean didn't like the look of this guy. He was good, steady, and calculating. He was also wearing a leather jacket Dean would kill for and clearly used more conditioner than Sam. A dangerous combination.

"Listen, pal…" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"Wait!" Sam said, "Look, we'll tell you. We're…private investigators."

Oh really good, Sam, Dean thought. Make nice with the guy with the gun.

"We're supposed to meet someone here about the case," Sam continued, "We didn't mean any harm."

Dean was convinced Sam was an absolute idiot when just then instead of asking more questions or shooting Sam in the head, the stranger actually dropped his weapon. "Sam? Dean?" he said, "You're the Winchesters?"

Sam lowered his arms. Dean stared over the top of his weapon. How did this guy know their names?

"Sorry about that," the guy said.

Dean and Sam were thoroughly confused.

The stranger just smiled, slipping his gun back into his jacket. "I'm glad you actually came. I have to admit, I didn't think you would."

Dean and Sam stared, not sure what to say or think about this guy.

Looking a little confused himself now, the guy looked to Sam and Dean and said, "I'm the one who sent for you. I'm Sasha Kelly."

tbc...

A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope Sasha was a nice surprise. A review of some sort is greatly appreciated. I will try and post again soon. Thanks again!

Crim


	2. Part 2: Sasha

Part 2: Sasha Kelly

* * *

"Dude…you're a dude."

Sasha blinked at Dean as if there must be something wrong in the head with the elder Winchester. "Uh…yeah. Did I make you think otherwise?"

Dean and Sam both fell into non-syllables of dissent, because they had not at any point thought Sasha was going to be some hot hunter _chick_ instead of a dude. Of course not.

"Nah…we just…"

"The letter…"

"And your name…"

"So we kinda…yeah."

"Right."

Dean looked at Sam and grimaced. Real smooth, he said with his eyes. Sam's expression back to him clearly agreed. Dean returned his attention to Sasha, politely putting his gun away since the other man had already done the same. "Never mind," he said, in lieu of their rambling, "Misunderstandings all around."

"Yeah," Sasha said, "Sorry again about…the gun, and the threats. I sort of wasn't expecting you for another hour."

Sam bucked Dean in the shoulder, giving him a look that said, "Told you."

Dean ignored him. "No big deal. We would have done the same. Hunter life, itchy trigger fingers, ya know?" It was obvious Dean was uncomfortable, but he couldn't seem to hide it or brush it off as easily as usual.

"Well…I wanted to meet here so you guys could get a look at the place, but there's really not more to see," Sasha said, pretending not to notice that Dean and Sam both looked like mortified school boys, "There's a place around the corner we could go to discuss things. Unless…you want to look around more?"

Again, the brothers slipped into rambling words that didn't quite compliment each other.

"No…"

"That's fine…"

"Didn't really…"

"We don't need…"

"I was just…uh…"

"Trying to…"

"Right."

"Yeah."

Great. Now they sounded like idiots and amateurs.

They were pleasantly surprised when Sasha just laughed. "How about I buy first round? See if we can get those tongues untied," he said, and his good humor made the Winchesters instantly relax. He was like an entirely different person without a gun pointed at them. His fierce expression was pleasant now, cheerful even, the kind of guy you want to go out drinking with coz they don't know how to be anything but fun.

Dean's jealousy over Sasha's leather jacket began to turn into admiration. Even the over-conditioned red hair didn't bother him so much anymore.

Sasha's brow furrowed and he pointed back and forth between the two. "Uh…which one is which? Sorry."

With a chuckle, Sam flashed his boyish smile, ensuring they would now all be friends until the end of eternity. It was a trick Dean could only ever master on the female species, but Sam seemed to manage with anyone. "I'm Sam," Sam said.

"Dean," said Dean.

Sasha nodded. "Nice to meet you. Shall we?" He moved passed them for the door, clearly expecting them to follow. For a few moments they didn't, didn't even move.

Dean shook his head, dreams summarily crushed for a good rump with a hottie hunter. He was put off even more when Sam patted him on the back with all the good nature of a backstabbing bastard and said, "He's all yours."

Dean blanched. "What?"

"Hey, you called dibs. I wouldn't dream of standing in the way."

Sam was being so overly sincere that Dean was about ready to punch him.

"I don't consider myself that good of judge in this area, but…he is pretty hot."

"Oh shut up," Dean growled, and pushed the arm Sam had slipped around his shoulders very roughly away from him.

A few moments later they were out in the hallway with Sasha, Sam beaming and completely at ease while Dean tried unsuccessfully to keep the heat of embarrassment from rising in his cheeks.

--

"A chapacubra? Man, those things fight dirty."

"You're telling me," Dean agreed, remembering the run-in he and Sam had had not too long ago. Or maybe it was a long time ago. It had been…months, hadn't it? "Time sure goes fast for guys like us," Dean said, voicing his thoughts aloud and taking a swig of round two, which Sasha had also paid for.

Dean regretted his words immediately, because a glance at Sam showed how his words had been taken. _Time sure goes fast_. Too fast. In less than a year Dean could be dead. Sam didn't need to be reminded of that tonight, not when they were having such a good time, all three of them, amidst their drinks and stories. Sam wasn't usually the type to have a good time this way, but tonight he was.

Dean forced a laugh and managed to make it sound almost completely real. "But hey, sometimes a hunt feels like forever too, right?"

Oblivious to what had passed between the brothers, Sasha laughed in kind, "I know just what you mean. And this hunt is one of them. Been here since after the second kill and still nothing. Now there are five dead girls and nothing more to go on then what I started with. I really appreciate you coming to help."

Happy, just as Dean was, to forget the ill-worded reminder of Dean's imminent death, Sam gave Sasha a friendly smile. There was no reason this hunter needed to be dragged into their business. "We're happy to. Ellen said you were a good hunter. Trustworthy. Just…" Sam trailed off.

Just what? Dean was as interested in what Sam was about to say as Sasha was. He hadn't been the one to talk to Ellen after all.

"Just…that you don't usually work with other hunters. Ever. She said that was the only weird thing about it." Sam sounded concerned but not distrustful of Sasha. He had that amazing way of making people feel at ease even when he was accusing them of something.

Dean was listening intently while he downed the rest of his beer, already thinking about having another, but more interested in hearing this play out. He liked Sasha. That had switched in his brain pretty quickly after their initial confrontation, even after Sam's barbs about Dean calling dibs. A fellow hunter Dean could share a beer with and have a good time, who wasn't about to turn out to be another Gordon if Ellen had said he could be trusted, was a welcome companion.

There weren't many people Dean considered friends. He wished things could be different for Sam, but he knew the same was starting to be true for him too. It wasn't easy keeping track of a normal life when the real one you lived was so messed up.

Sasha shifted in his seat a little. His leather jacket, a lot like Dean's really only darker and not quite as long, was hanging over the back of his chair, leaving him in jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that stretched over his chest to prove he was definitely as fit as Sam and Dean.

"She's right. I work alone. Always." It was clearly difficult for him to say this but he didn't look like he was about to lie or try to hide anything, just like he had answered these questions before and never enjoyed doing it again. "I don't…trust other hunters. Never have."

"Because of your dad," Sam said, and it wasn't a question. The sincere 'I'm here for you' version of his puppy eyes had taken over full force.

Dean tried not to giggle. Sam looked so ridiculous like that.

Sasha didn't seem surprised by Sam's statement. Apparently he was used to other hunters knowing about his father. That made sense to Dean. Those stories were legendary.

"Deklin Kelly," Sasha confirmed, "Everyone knows his name. Everyone knows the things he did. But no one knows what made one of his best friends kill him in cold blood like some kind of animal."

Venom. Dean recognized the sound of it from having heard it in his own voice so often.

Sasha clutched his beer bottle too tightly, making his knuckles white. "He trusted that man, and…a friend killed my parents like it was nothing."

"Parents?" Sam repeated. He glanced at Dean and the brothers both sat up straighter.

"Most people don't know that part," Sasha said with a bitter smile, "That's why most people don't know about me. They were only married a little over a year. I was…three months old? Less? I don't know. I can't even picture them in my head. I don't have any memories of them at all. He killed them both. So no, I don't work with other hunters."

Sam and Dean shared confused looks, wondering for a brief moment if this was some elaborate trick and that their beer had actually been poisoned. Sam tried to find words, "Then…why…?"

"Why you? Why now? Because this is the first time I've ever been this stuck on a case. And the two of you are the only ones that might actually be worth trusting. We can understand each other, I think. A lot in common." Sasha raised his beer as if in toast to their mutual dead parents and took another swig.

Dean chuckled and it was as bitter as Sasha's smile. "No lie there, pal. But I still don't see how that makes us trustworthy. Not if you think all hunters have the potential to stab you in the back."

Sasha set his now empty beer on the table and it clattered loudly. He looked worried if Dean was reading him right, but again, not like he was about to lie, just like he wasn't fond of what he had to say. "Before she took my letter, Ellen made me promise that I wouldn't keep any details about this case or why I wanted the two of you a secret. And I don't plan to." Sasha's eyes steadied on the brothers. "I met Gordon Walker a few months back," he said, "He was recruiting. Not to work with him, just to help the cause, as he put it. He said something big was coming, and that the only way to stop it was to kill off the potential soldiers in a battle against demons. Soldiers with powers. Soldiers that would fight with the demons instead of with us."

Both Winchesters had the foresight to look wary. They didn't like where this was heading at all.

Sasha didn't seem dangerous or threatening towards them, but it was the calmness in his tone that made them wonder what he was really thinking. "Said you were target number one, Sam. The most dangerous of the dangerous. Said the most important thing a hunter could do right now was make sure you ended up dead."

The noise in the bar seemed to die, as if everyone was waiting on what Sasha would say next.

"Me?" Sasha said, "I didn't buy that for a second." He leaned back a little in his chair, smiling.

Dean wanted so badly to believe those words, that smile, because he had already counted Sasha among his list of decent people in the world, and he didn't want to be proven wrong again. Next to him, he could tell Sam was still tense.

"Word travels fast, Sam," Sasha continued, "The other soldiers have vanished from the map, leaving only you. The hunters Gordon talked to could be gearing up to take you down right now. But Ellen trusts you. Ellen doesn't doubt you for a second. I'm inclined to feel the same. I don't know what you are, or what you can do, and I don't expect you to tell me a damn thing about it. You're not obligated to. But I know what it's like to feel as if all the people out there who know the real world, our world, are against you. That's what we have in common, Sam, Dean. You can't afford to trust other hunters right now, and I never have. Maybe, in a weird way, that means we can trust each other better than anyone."

Round about logic, and yet to Dean it made perfect sense. Sam was starting to relax too, but they both knew better than to just take someone they didn't know at their word. All they had to go on besides liking Sasha's company was that Ellen said he was okay. While Gordon came with a warning, Sasha simply had a tendency to work alone. And with his past that made sense. Dean and Sam could both respect a decision like that.

"I'll let you think it over," Sasha said, understanding that the gears were still spinning in both Winchester's heads. He got up from the table and gathered their empty bottles. "One more free round, boys. Next one's yours." He winked and left the table for the bar, leaving Sam and Dean to discuss things alone.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well him," Sam pressed, "Sasha."

"I like him," Dean said honestly.

"Me too," said Sam.

"So?"

"So…we watch our backs but give him the benefit of the doubt?"

For once Sam was actually talking sense. "Just what I was thinking, Sammy-boy." He turned to his brother and grinned, "Things gotta turn up roses once in a while, right?" he said, bringing up what he had mentioned last night, "People lie so often, turn out to be bad news so damn often, there's gotta be a good guy in the mix somewhere."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He had to agree. He wanted to believe it so badly.

"And he did buy three rounds of beer. Guy like that can't be all bad."

Sam laughed. "I always admire your logic, Dean."

"Thanks," Dean said, slapping Sam a little harder than necessary on the back.

"And…?"

"And?" Dean thought things were settled, "And what?"

"My abilities. Do we tell him?"

"He didn't ask us to."

"But…"

"Show of good faith?" Dean scoffed, "Look, we like the guy, we think we can trust him, but there's no reason to go being idiots only to find out later that we made the wrong choice. We've made that mistake before."

Sam snorted. That was sure as hell true.

"If we have to tell him, we will," Dean continued, "And if not, we won't. He doesn't need to know anything. Hell, sounds like he knows more than we do."

"I guess…"

"What?" Now Dean was getting angry. The last time Sam had a look like this on his face, all concerned and biting his lip, Gordon had turned out to be a psycho.

Sam shook his head as if trying to clear away cobwebs. "I have this…feeling."

Now Dean was worried. "About Sasha?"

"I don't…think so."

"About the case?"

Sam nodded.

"That's why we're here, Sammy, remember? Coz something isn't right. And hey, if things go well, we might gain ourselves an ally. Could come in handy if those other hunters really start…"

"Yeah."

Neither of them wanted to actually say it. If the other hunters came for them. If the other hunters came to kill Sam.

The brothers were still quiet when Sasha got back to the table. He passed each of them another beer, Blue Moon, with the caps off and ready. "So how'd I do?" Sasha said, grinning wide, "I pass? You guys sticking around?"

Dean glanced back at the bar and saw the way the female bartender and two girls at the counter were looking after Sasha. He figured he knew what Sasha was grinning about.

He liked the guy even more.

"With flying colors, buddy," Dean said, offering his new beer for Sasha to clink. Sasha did so and Sam brought his up to do the same. "You'll understand if we keep a few things to ourselves?" Dean added.

"Already said so," Sasha confirmed. He looked at Sam, giving an assuring nod. "If you want to tell me something, Sam, feel free, but I won't ask you to. I understand how…some things are best kept to yourself."

Dean and Sam both nodded at that. There were plenty of things they weren't ready to explain or say aloud, even to themselves.

"So, ready to talk more about the case?" Sasha asked, managing much better than Dean would have at forgetting whatever happened at the bar.

Things had been tough lately for the Winchesters. Things had been tough for the last two years. For the last twenty. Dean wasn't ready to talk business again just yet. "The night's still young," he said, taking a long drink of Blue Moon. He had never had it before, but he had the feeling it could become a new favorite.

Next to Dean, Sam's face flickered for a moment with worry. He never was the partying type, more concerned with getting a job done quickly instead of letting himself live along the way. Dean was still working on getting that out of Sam's system, and he figured Sasha could be a good accomplice in seeing that through.

And indeed, just as Dean hoped, his suggestion was taken by Sasha with a mirrored smirk. A fellow hunter, young as them and not a homicidal psycho? Dean couldn't help himself.

"Ever try a Purple Nurple?"

Hours later and after several equally paid for rounds of various liqueur, the Winchesters had run out of hunter stories and were enjoying hearing Sasha's.

Despite hunting alone, Sasha seemed to gain quite a few acquaintances each time he went somewhere, which only proved to impress Dean more. It sounded like this guy could really give him a run for his money in the charm department. Dean almost felt like testing it out in a bet or something, but didn't want to risk getting his pride bruised.

"It was a pretty big shock," Sasha was saying, having just given the punch-line to a particularly entertaining tale.

Sam looked sick. "Right there in bed with you?" he said.

"Yep. I knew something was wrong once we started in, ya know? But I…sort of chose to ignore it."

Dean chuckled.

Sam gave his brother a look, probably thinking that was something Dean would do, but instead of feeling annoyed like he would if that had been Dean, Sam chuckled too. "So what'd you do?" Sam asked.

"What else could I do? I chased the damn thing til my legs burned, right out into the street."

Dean barked a laugh. "Naked?"

"Didn't have time to dress now, did I? Thing had my shotgun."

Both brothers got a good laugh over that. "So obviously you caught up to it and killed it," Sam said.

"Sure. Course by the time I was ready to head back to the hotel I'd already been picked up for indecent exposure. Spent the night in jail, wearing some greasy hand-me-downs they had lying around. Awful."

"Ouch, man," Dean laughed, loving this story as much as if it had happened to him. Of course, he probably wouldn't be laughing then, unless it had happened to Sam and he had been given the pleasure of bailing his brother out, "That sucks."

"Just imagine how fun it was cleaning up the damn thing's shed skin out of the bedclothes when I finally got back."

Dean shuddered. "I hate shapeshifters."

Sasha took a long drink of Sapporo, which he had insisted Sam and Dean try. "At least you never slept with one."

That was a definite plus, Dean decided.

They finished off their Sapporo's, which really equaled two beers if not more, and Sasha asked if they were ready for another round.

"I don't know," Sam said, looking tired and even a little nauseous, "It's been great, and I know we need to let ourselves have fun once in a while, okay, but I think I should start heading for the motel." Realization dawned on Sam's face then.

They had been at the bar all night, ate nachos and pizza for dinner form the bar's kitchen, went through more booze than Sam had had in a long time, and all the while he and Dean completely forgot one of the number one rules of being on a hunt.

"Dean, we forgot to get rooms!"

For a moment, Dean and Sam's expressions of panic were identical.

Laughter sounded from beside them, but as much as they liked Sasha they didn't find this at all funny.

Sasha took notice of their twin glares and quickly held his hands up in defense. "Whoa. Not laughing at you, boys. Laughing coz there's nothing to worry about. I called you here. Figured it was the least I could do to pay for your room. Got you one with two singles right next to mine. Place isn't far."

A wave of relief washed over the brothers' faces, and Dean gave Sasha a friendly smack on the back. "Dude, you are awesome."

A sideways grin and a shrug replied, as if to say, 'yeah, what can I say.' Dean could really relate to this guy. Sam seemed to be able to too, which was a welcome paradox. With Sasha you just sort of had to like him.

Drunk enough to find just about anything funny as the last of that Sapporo kicked in, Dean started giggling to himself while staring at Sasha's hair. "Dude," he said between chuckles, "Where did you find the box that stuff came in? It looks like a frickin' fire engine."

Even Sam had been drinking enough to find that funny. The brothers laughed heartily. The very idea of one of them having hair like that was plain ridiculous. It was ridiculous for any hunter. The last thing Sasha was with that hair was inconspicuous.

Sasha didn't laugh, but his grin was wide. He had clearly been ribbed about his hair before and took the joke in stride.

"What box?" he said finally, "This is my natural color."

This got Dean and Sam laughing even harder. "Nice trick with the eyebrows, man, but you're not fooling anyone," Dean said.

"Oh really?" There was something predatory in Sasha's eyes they hadn't seen before, but because both brothers were thoroughly sloshed they didn't know whether to take it seriously or not, "Well, Mr. Dean Winchester, I could prove it to you," he grinned, giving Dean a playful once over, "But I don't think that would be appropriate in public." Sasha finished with a wink, an action he was particularly good at, and headed to the bar to acquire that promised next round.

Dean was dying of laughter now, but Sam's had started to filter off. He stared after Sasha, forgetting that he was supposed to be protesting this next round in honor of the hangover he would have tomorrow.

Not understanding Sam's sudden silence, Dean slapped him on the back, startling Sam to attention. "Wakey, wakey, Sammy-boy. What's up?" Just when they were relaxed and having a good time Sam had to go and look serious.

Apparently, enough alcohol was running through Sam's veins to override that look of intent thought. He busted out laughing.

Now Dean was really confused. "What?"

It was more than Sam could handle from the looks of things, whatever it was that had him in stitches. "Dean," Sam tried, but the laughter made his words slur even more than the drinks he had had, "He…Sasha…he was totally hitting on you. Hahaha..." Sam was almost doubled over in his chair by the time he got those words out.

Dean's instincts shut his own laughter down, and his eyes went immediately to Sasha up at the bar. The bartender was still the same girl as before, and if Dean wasn't mistaken she was passing Sasha what suspiciously looked like a phone number over the surface of the counter. Sasha couldn't have looked more pleased.

That was it. Sam wasn't just drunk. He had gone completely insane.

--

"I'm gonna feel this in the morning," Sam groaned, falling back onto his bed without even taking off his shoes.

Dean snickered. "Light weight."

Sam didn't disagree. He looked ready to fall asleep any minute.

"We got our day lined up. We even talked about the case over that plate of nachos. No regrets on my end." Dean kicked his own shoes off and tossed his coat onto a nearby chair. The motel was nicer than most they stayed in, which was fine, since they didn't have to pay.

Dean fell back onto the bed, much as Sam had. He knew he should brush his teeth, but he couldn't find the motivation to move. For once things were actually going well. They still weren't sure what was up with this case—an incubus still seemed most likely—but they had made a friend. And with as often as that happened, Dean felt entirely accomplished.

Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

tbc...

A/N: Look at me go. I can't help but love this story and where I plan to take it (or rather where the characters plan to take me). Thanks for the reviews so far. More are always encouraged. Hope you stick with me.

Crim


	3. Part 3: The Clock’s a Tickin’

Part 3: The Clock's a Tickin'

* * *

Dean woke up about the same time he usually did after a night of drinking, which contrary to what people might guess was not some time around noon. He got up before nine, took a shower, and managed to wake Sam from his drunken slumber before nine-thirty. Sam moved significantly slowly than Dean, but that was not unexpected.

Just as their watches moved beyond ten AM, the Winchester brothers were ready to hit the case. They gathered what they thought they would need for a day of investigating and headed out to knock on Sasha's door. In fact, Sasha was already in the hallway when they stepped out. Or at least halfway in it.

He was leaning out of his room in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, saying his goodbyes to a disheveled looking woman that Sam and Dean eventually recognized as the female bartender from the night before.

How events had turned out as such did not reveal itself, so Sam and Dean simply watched as the bartender—giddy and looking ridiculously satisfied—walked off down the hallway for the elevator.

Sasha flashed the brothers a grin. "Come in," he said, gesturing inside his hotel room, "I'll only be a minute." He promptly disappeared inside, leaving his door open for them to follow.

With a chuckle beneath his breath and his admiration for their new friend growing, Dean accepted the invitation. He looked back at Sam and shook his head with a loud huff.

"What?" Sam demanded, following at his brother's heels.

A few more chuckles escaped Dean's lips before he answered, "Yeah, Sasha was hitting on _me_ last night." And with that notion now thoroughly squashed as far as Dean was concerned, he entered the room.

Other than being a little smaller with only one bed instead of two, Sasha's room was identical to theirs. Dean found their new companion crouched on the floor, digging through his duffle bag for clothes. Since having vanished into the room, Sasha had ditched his sweatpants and was now wearing a clean pair of grey boxer briefs. He didn't seem to feel any shame over this issue and smiled at Dean as he came in.

Sam soon followed but upon seeing Sasha in this undressed state he promptly closed the door.

"I thought we'd start downtown at the place the last victim worked. See if there's anything I missed that you guys might pick up on," Sasha said, choosing a pair of jeans from his bag and tossing them onto the bed, "Sound good to you guys?"

Sam looked a little flustered. Their comfort level with each other had not quite reached this kind of off-handedness. For someone like Sam, who valued modesty a lot more than most, there probably would never be a time he felt that comfortable around someone who wasn't Dean. And even with Dean he would rather there was always more than just boxers in the equation.

Naturally, Dean couldn't care less, and elbowed Sam to wipe the mild grimace from his face. "Sounds great," Dean said, taking the one chair in the room so Sam would have to stand.

Sasha found what he deemed a suitable shirt, which was a simple white T-shirt much like the blue one he had worn yesterday. Dean assumed that, just like them, actually having clean laundry didn't happen as often as it should, and finding a clean shirt in a stuffed duffle was an adventure in itself.

Flashing another smile as he stood, Sasha threw the chosen shirt onto the bed with his jeans. Things were settled. They had a plan. Dean was still fairly certain it was going to be a good day. Of course that was when he noticed something that could only prove to make his day even better.

Now that Sasha was standing upright, the low-ride of his boxer briefs showed off his dark treasure trail, which was anything but red. Dean was about to comment on Sasha's 'natural coloring' when he realized rather abruptly that he was not looking at a treasure trail. Closer inspection showed instead a rather intricate tribal looking tattoo. It reminded Dean of the kind girls kept putting on their lower back, only this 'fuck me' tattoo was a little closer to the truth.

"Enjoying the view?" came an unexpectedly husky voice.

Dean jumped in his chair, not having realized how much he had been staring at Sasha's…yeah. "Just, uh…admiring the ink work, dude," Dean said quickly, "Exactly how far down does that thing go?"

Sasha now had hold of his jeans and was pulling them up over his legs. He let his hands linger near the zipper, catching Dean's eye. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said, and then zipped and buttoned his jeans quickly while wearing a teasing grin.

Then, as if he hadn't just acted like a cock tease towards _Dean_, Sasha grabbed his T-shirt and moved past the brothers for the bathroom. This gave Dean a clear view of how the tattoo wrapped low around Sasha's back. There was also a separate tattoo Dean caught sight of just before the T-shirt came down to cover it. This second tattoo had the same black tribal design but spread over Sasha's shoulder blades like wings. Then it was gone, hidden by white cotton, and Dean realized he had followed Sasha's movements all the way from one end of the room to the other.

As his eyes followed Sasha further into the bathroom they came to rest finally on Sam, who looked about ready to bust out laughing. Dean wasn't about to give Sam the pleasure of enjoying this moment. Not again.

"Shove it," he said, and left things at that.

It didn't mean anything. It was just the way Sasha was—the casual flirt, who threw out innuendos like tossing confetti. Dean was certain that when it came down to acting on such things, Sasha stuck to the female species. The bartender leaving Sasha's room earlier had certainly proven that. Dean didn't know what was making him so nervous. He assumed it was because he had never met someone so openly sexual other than himself, and Dean certainly never used his powers on other guys. Part of Dean felt that the best way to counteract Sasha's surely harmless advances was to play along, but he couldn't get past the squicky feeling in his stomach when Sasha looked at him like _that_. It just didn't sit well with him.

Especially since he liked the guy so much.

"Are you doing calculus in there," came Sam's voice suddenly, accompanied by a very annoying rapping of knuckled against the side of Dean's head, "You look way too intense, man."

"Quit it," Dean countered, swatting Sam's offending hand away, "I was just thinking."

"About…?" Sam's leading tone clearly suggested something Dean wasn't even about to entertain.

"This is getting real old, Sammy, okay? Can we concentrate on the case?"

Sam held up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay. I'm the younger brother, remember? I have to grab these opportunities when I can. Sue me. Sasha's just messing with you, man, I know that."

"Yeah…" Dean said, but he still felt a little funny about it.

Once Sasha joined them again and had gathered his supplies for the day, however, whatever had been bothering Dean seemed to vanish. The three of them got on as well as they had the night before and any uncomfortable innuendoes were forgotten. Dean didn't know what he had been so worried about. Therefore, he decided to blame it on alcohol and lack of sleep.

--

"I have died and am being driven to Heaven," Sasha crooned, passing his hand over the upholstery of the backseat, "This beast is damn sexy."

Considering Dean whole-heartedly agreed with that statement it was no wonder his grin grew a few sizes. "My baby's seen us through everything, right, Sammy?"

Sam just shook his head, allowing Dean to bask in the glory of his Impala.

Lovingly, Dean caressed the steering wheel with the hand not currently directing them through downtown Minneapolis. "Had a nasty accident awhile back and basically rebuilt her. There's something special about being a part of a car's life that way. Can't imagine anything like it."

"Uh, giving birth?" Sam offered incredulously, "Or does that not fall under the same spectrum of great moments in a person's life the way getting an old muscle car to run does?"

Dean huffed, "Not even comparable, Sammy. The Impala's like…a part of me."

Sam tried not to laugh. "Yeah, a baby's not like that at all," he mumbled.

Sasha gave a loud chuckle from the backseat, enjoying every minute of the interactions between Sam and Dean. "Well, boys," he said, "We all remember what we're dealing with here, right?"

While Dean simply gave a nod, Sam reached between the seats for their father's journal and the papers Sasha had originally sent them about the case. "Last victim, Meryl Jorgenson, twenty-five, bartender," he listed off, continuing with the description of how she had been found and then reading further into the police report's details, "As victim number five, Meryl continued the pattern of recent killings by her age and coloring, brunette with blue eyes. Hmm," Sam mulled over those final details, "All the victims had dark hair and blue eyes. Does an incubus usually have an MO like that?" He was already leafing through their father's journal when Sasha answered from the back seat.

"Sometimes," he said, "But not too often. It'll be more like they always go after college girls, or girls from big cities, or maybe girls with low self-esteem, not so specific as all having the same coloring and general look. This sounds like a serial killer. If it is an incubus, he's got an agenda. Wouldn't be killing otherwise." Sasha's voice got a little lower and he leaned forward between the front seats. "Listen, I don't know if you guys'll believe me on this…but…"

"These things aren't always evil," Dean rattled off, "Heard it. And maybe it's true. Personally, I don't care. This thing's killing, incubus or not. Besides, I don't know if it's possible for things like this not to be evil. We've been proven wrong before, but…an incubus? Thing's a frickin' sex vampire. A demon."

"An incubus is not a demon," Sasha countered, "I don't want you walking into this with the wrong idea. You can't exorcise an incubus. They come from another plane like demons, but when they're here their form is as solid as you or me. They don't possess people. It's true that like with demons iron is one of the best weapon against them, but you know the legend behind that, right? Where these things came from?"

Silence from the front seats. Dean and Sam had never actually encountered an incubus or succubus before. This was uncharted territory, and although they usually had stores of information like this somewhere in the back of at least one of their brains, this time they drew a blank.

Sasha didn't comment on their lack of information, he just leaned forward and told them the story from between the seats. "You see, thousands of years ago, a demon found a way to come to this world in solid form. Pretty frightening thought. What the demon didn't expect was that being solid in the human world leaves you more open to being human yourself, more than taking over a person's body ever could. At first he was just pretending to be human to better carry out his grand schemes, but then, like in all good stories, boys, there was a girl."

Sam and Dean concealed grins, listening to the tale their friend told with seemingly practiced words.

"This girl, little did the demon know, was pretending too. She wasn't human either. She was fae."

"Fae?" Dean questioned.

This time the one who had the stores of knowledge was Sam. He turned to Dean and said, "Faeries, dude. The fair ones?"

Dean's eyes blinked un-recognition. "Right," he covered, clearly having had no idea that fae meant faerie until Sam told him, "I knew that."

While Sam rolled his eyes, Sasha smiled and continued the story. "So this fae, she didn't know the new guy in town was a demon any more than he knew she was a faerie. Faerie's aren't like the stories, but they aren't evil. They're…the good version of tricksters. Their powers are great, but they use them to help people in need or cause trouble for people who need to learn modesty. All without hurting anyone. _Usually_. So low and behold, because this is a fairytale after all, our fae and demon fell in love." Sasha's voice was on the edge of patronizing, like he was telling the story to a couple of amateur ghost hunters, or maybe a room full of preschoolers.

Considering some of the mistakes the brothers had made lately, they didn't call him on it.

"One night, after making love several times," Sasha said with a grin, "So moved by his feelings for what he believed to be a human woman, the demon told her the truth. Horrified at the thought of a demon having solid form and having used her this way, since the faerie didn't believe for a second he wasn't evil, she revealed her true form to him and…let's just say one hell of a fight broke loose."

Dean snorted. "Demon kicked her ass, right?"

"No, Dean," Sasha said evenly, "A faerie and a demon are actually pretty evenly matched."

"She killed him," Sam said, and it wasn't a question. He always seemed to figure out the punch lines in a story before they were revealed. It was really annoying at movies.

Sasha nodded. "He was solid, which meant he could be killed more easily. Of course, this story wouldn't mean anything…if there wasn't a baby."

"Dude, the demon got the faerie pregnant?" Dean asked, and it sounded so remarkably juvenile that both Sam and Sasha started laughing. "What?"

They decided not to comment.

"Well," Sasha tried to continue, "Being a faerie with no real malice in her heart, as the story goes, she raised the child with all the love she had once had for the demon. Some say she regretted killing him, that she thought maybe she had made a mistake. So she brought her child up believing that hurting people was wrong, the way any good mother should. And of course…"

"The child was the first incubus," Sam concluded.

"Yep. Part demon, part fae. In his true form an incubus looks like a demon, but he can take the appearance of a human easily. Because he is also fae, most do not hurt when they feed. The theory goes that these things feed from sexual energy because the first was born from such potent love between two mystical beings. They don't kill by nature. If the demon side gets out once in a while, that's no more unique than the same thing happening to a human being." Sasha sat back again, looking pleased with himself after telling the tale. "So you understand. This isn't a demon. It can trick you, and fool you, and take you in far more easily than any demon ever could, because at its core there's something beautiful there too. And that is more dangerous than anything."

Dean shuddered. He didn't say anything but he thought immediately of Meg and that damn she-demon. They took the bodies of beautiful girls, played on your desires, sometimes even got you to trust them. Dean always believed that when it came to demons he couldn't be fooled for long, if they managed to fool him at all. An incubus or succubus though…their guise was stronger because they weren't supposed to be evil anymore than people were.

And it had looked like it was going to be such a nice day.

--

"Haha…you're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Victim number five was a bartender, remember?"

"Yeah, but…_here_?" Dean looked up at the neon sign. It wasn't lit, being barely noon, but it was still daunting, especially considering the place's name. "The Gay 90s?"

Sasha didn't even bat an eyelash. "It's a club. Been here forever. What? Afraid of drag queens, Dean?" A smirk danced around Sasha lips.

Attempting not to grumble too loudly, Dean clenched his teeth and plastered on what was definitely a dangerous looking smile. "Just…shut up and go in already," he said.

As he had done only twice before—at least as far as Dean was aware of—Sasha gave Dean's whole body a once over with his eyes. "Whatever you want, Dean," Sasha said in a low voice. Then he winked, frickin' _winked_, and headed for the door to the club.

A shudder racked through Dean's body. How did Sasha do that to him? Or more importantly, why? The guy was as straight as Dean was, right? Dean just kept reminding himself of the girl that had left Sasha's room that morning. There was no mistaking what had gone on there. Sasha was just messing with him. Definitely.

Ignoring the chuckles from Sam, who Dean swore to get back at in some very interesting ways later, Dean pushed past his brother and entered the club behind Sasha.

Upon initial inspection The Gay 90s looked like any club. It was empty, and didn't have the charm it would probably usually have since all of the overhead lights were on and there was no music and no dancers on the floor. The club wouldn't open for real for several hours. Sasha had called ahead though, having already introduced himself to the place as a private investigator when the last victim died.

Apparently the guise of private investigator worked a lot better than some of the other aliases the brothers tried. As it turned out, Sasha had honest to god licenses as a private investigator under five different names in five different cities. None of them were his real name or a city he considered home, but they were legit, and that made everything easier.

A bouncer met the three boys at the door. He looked like he had been waiting for them, which would explain why the door had been unlocked.

"Hey, Curtis, thanks for letting me do this again," Sasha greeted the bouncer, shaking hands and smiling with the same charm he used on everyone.

Curtis nodded approval and then passed his gaze over Sam and Dean.

"These are the other investigators I told you might be coming," Sasha explained, "Mind if I take them around, ask whoever's here a few questions again? I'm hoping these guys will have a fresh take on things."

Gay club or not, this bouncer was as intimidating as any Dean and Sam had come across. He was as tall as Sam and twice as large. Dean thought the guy's hands looked like oven mitts and realized it might be a bad idea if he showed any fear. A guy like this could probably smell it.

Luckily for Dean, Sam took the initiative and outstretched a hand in greeting.

"Hi, we're really sorry to bother you like this, but if it can help solve the murders we'd like to be sure we cover all possible bases." It looked like Sam was hiding a grimace when the bouncer shook his hand, but he didn't let on.

Curtis cast Dean a penetrating stare then and the most Dean could do was force a smile. He was more than happy to duck away when Sasha started leading them further into the club. Dean knew he could hold his own, but that didn't mean he had any desire to get his face smashed in. As was Dean's motto, monsters and demons he understood; humans were another matter.

Looking around, Dean couldn't fathom where anyone to talk to could be hiding. The club looked pretty small. Just one main area, dance floor, little stage, a bar. There wasn't anyone in sight. Sasha led them across the room though, seemingly knowing the place well enough to take them through it, and Dean assumed they were heading for some back area where the employees hung out.

Dean was wrong.

Sasha brought them into a small hallway past the bathrooms and up a flight of stairs. Once they reached the top, Dean saw where he had made the mistake. The room below was just one of the areas of this club. By the looks of things there were several, all with dance floors and their own bar. It was huge.

On this next level there were a handful of people cleaning up and wiping down counters. No one looked like they were obviously gay, and there weren't any boys in dresses, but that didn't mean Dean was at ease. He considered himself an equal opportunity man when it came to laws and whether or not people could marry whoever the hell they wanted, but that didn't mean he felt comfortable in a place like this. He never went to college. He had probably never met a gay person in his life. He certainly couldn't think of any. It made him feel strangely protective of his body. He would be fine, as long as no one tried anything.

They went for a guy at the nearest bar first, and it seemed that Sasha had met this man before as well. "Hey. Jeremy, right?" Sasha said, flashing that smile of his. He took a stool at the bar and leaned over the counter. Sam and Dean did the same.

Jeremy, unlike the bouncer, smiled warmly in regards to Sasha's appearance. He gave the same smile to Sam and Dean. "Hey, nice to see you back here. I hope that means you're getting closer to finding Meryl's killer," the guy said.

Sasha had to shrug, because they hadn't figured out anything yet. "I hope so," he said, "Actually, that's what these friends of mine are here for. Fresh eyes to cover more ground. Do you mind if they ask you a few questions?"

Although Jeremy was still willing to help, it was clear he didn't feel completely comfortable talking about this. "Yeah…I guess. Don't think I can tell them any more than I told you, though."

"That's fine," Sam broke in, "We don't want to take up any more of your time than we have to. But if you could just answer a few questions for us, it might really help the case."

There was that 'I'm here for you' look again. Because they were on the job, and only because they were on the job, Dean managed to keep from cracking a smile. "So," Dean said, "You mind telling us a little about Meryl. You know, personality, what she was like, the kind of…people she liked." Dean didn't mean to make the last of that sentence sound so awkward, but it did.

"Kind of people she liked?" Jeremy repeated, clearly picking up on Dean's discomfort. The guy's friendliness fell a little. "Well, she liked a lot of people. You might have to be more specific."

A faltering laugh fell from Dean's lips before he could help it. Maybe he should just not speak when he was feeling so off, but then he had already started, and they needed this guy to trust them. "I just meant…you know…if there was a boyfriend in the picture. New guy. Something like that."

"New guy? But not a new _girl_?" Jeremy countered.

Crap. Dean was not trying to start a fight.

Thankfully, Sam jumped in to his rescue.

"A new anything," Sam said, "Someone hanging around her you hadn't seen before."

And as always, because Sam's concern didn't know how to be anything but genuine, the guy's willingness to help returned. He looked at Sam and shrugged. "Hard to say. We were friends, but…most nights we worked. And in here everyone's someone you haven't met before. If she was seeing someone, I don't know. Maybe. Could have been, I guess. And I'm sure it'll only make things more complicated for your _case_," he added, stressing that word with a sharp glance at Dean, "But if she was seeing someone, it could have been a guy or a girl. Meryl wasn't choosy in that area."

Sam smiled, so picture-perfect it made Dean sick. "Thanks. That's really helpful."

Right. Helpful. They weren't looking for a girl, they were looking for a damn incubus. It didn't matter if this Meryl was bisexual. Dean had said _boyfriend_ and _guy_ because he knew they were looking for a man. Or at least a male. What did he care if the victim swung both ways?

Instead of letting it get to him that the guy at the bar had pegged Dean for a homophobe, Dean chose to stay quiet and only ask questions he knew he wouldn't screw up. The rest of their talks went much better. They had spoken to everyone in the club by the time they realized how much they needed to eat lunch, and they still had nothing to go on.

Meryl worked almost every night. She was a bartender in the 80s music section off in one of the last corners of the club. The other people that worked there didn't see much of her. The person who sometimes worked that bar with Meryl was the type of girl—straight and clearly an airhead—who only paid attention to herself. If Meryl had been seeing someone, no one knew the guy.

"Nothing. No strangers hanging around, no new boyfriends," Dean grumbled, happy they were finally leaving as they headed down the last set of stairs to the main area.

"None that they knew about," Sasha reiterated, "Unfortunately, the incubus pheromone is pretty strong in the suggestion area. Subtle, but…one of them could convince their victim to keep their relationship a secret easily. Safer that way on all counts, even if an incubus or succubus is good."

"Well that's just great," Dean said, "What do we do now? I'm guessing the info you got on the other victims is just as helpful."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and came to a stop outside the bathrooms. Sasha did not look happy. "Same thing as with this girl, no one knew of any new flings. Damn it. I was afraid this would happen. Even two more pairs of eyes still see what I'm seeing. I hate to think I wasted our time here, but at least we know for sure this guy likes to stay in the shadows and keep his relationships with these women a secret. Continuity is better than nothing. And we also have this."

Out of his pocket, Sasha revealed a map of downtown Minneapolis. The places the victims had worked were marked in red. He had sent a copy of the same map to Sam and Dean.

"There's not much of a pattern, but it still looks like this area here," he said, pointing to a section currently unmarred by red marker, "would be the most likely place for the next victim to come from."

It was better than nothing, but it wasn't much to go on either. "So we scour all places of business in that area for attractive brunettes with blue eyes?" Sam asked.

The sarcasm was not lost on Sasha. This time, he reached into his coat pocket. "Not blindly," he said. He didn't pull anything out, but kept his coat open and lifted what looked to be an EMF meter out of his pocket just enough for them to see it. He closed his coat then and said, "It reads more than EMF," already deducing what the brothers would assume, "I have it set up to detect pheromones and readings from all sorts of things. When an incubus marks a victim it usually keeps its sights on her for a week. That was my first clue, because the killings kept happening a week apart."

"And it marks its victims with pheromones?" Sam asked, more than likely wishing they weren't still in a public place so he could get a look at that scanner.

Sasha nodded. "It's not mind control, just…suggestion. With these things though, they usually don't need to use pheromones to get someone interested. It's more a way of keeping an eye on the victim and making sure the victim thinks of them even if they're not around."

"Smooth," Dean commented, musing idly that he wouldn't mind having a store of pheromones like that.

"They wear off after twenty-four hours, so usually these things go back to their victim everyday until it's time to close the deal. But this guy's good. No one's even noticed him. That was what got me thinking it might not be an incubus. They're people pleasers. If one's hanging around, other people usually remember them. It may just be because he's actually killing his victims and doesn't want extra attention, but I'm still not sure."

The three stood in silence for awhile, each thinking about various aspects of this case that royally sucked. In the end they came to the only conclusion they could.

"So…we scour all places of business in that area for attractive brunettes with blue eyes, _and_ who make waves on your scanner?" Sam said.

None of them were fond of this, but they knew it was all they could do. They had a few days, but it was a large area, and waving around an EMF meter, or in this case pheromone detector, was going to be difficult without attracting too much attention.

They had their work cut out for them.

Dean made the best suggestion he could. "Lunch?"

Sam and Sasha almost answered in unison. "God, yes."

--

The main problem with the boys' plan, of course, was that they had no idea what places to look in and which shifts to look during. The other victims had all worked different times, some at night, some afternoon, some morning, some various combinations. There wasn't a pattern there. If they went to one place in the morning and another in the afternoon, they might miss the actual victim because they weren't at her work during her shift. It made splitting up the schedules and places very difficult.

By the time the day the next victim would be claimed arrived, they still had absolutely no idea who they were supposed to be protecting.

"Maybe there's something we missed about the other victims. Maybe we asked the wrong questions," Sam tried, drinking from his beer gladly after the long week.

The boys had settled in a restaurant on Nicollet Avenue and were enjoying high class burgers, fries, and imported beer. They figured they deserved it, and it let Sasha try out a new credit card. Scamming came with the territory as a hunter; they couldn't afford to feel bad about it.

Literally.

"I asked everyone that new these girls if they were seeing someone. All single," Sasha sighed. Single they could understand, it was how no one had noticed the girls with anyone at all that didn't add up. Then again, people don't notice things unless they have something to look for. If this guy was as good at subterfuge as they guessed, they might never find him.

"So, tonight's the night. Our plan?" Sam asked.

Dean gave a shrug and reached for his oversized burger. "We're here for this shift. Then we split and try any of the other dozen or more we still have to hit. And there's still shifts we've missed. I hate this needle in a haystack crap. Every girl I look at s'got dark hair and blue eyes."

It was true. In their current line of sight there were several girls fitting the description they were looking for. Unfortunately, Sasha's scanner hadn't even jumped.

"Next shift starts soon," Sasha said, smiling bemusedly at Dean while the elder Winchester took a bite far bigger than should be possible from his burger, "Once we've checked those girls, we can head out again."

Minutes passed as the boys finished their food. They barely realized when the shift started changing and the girls they had been watching were different. They didn't even notice at first that the girl that came to collect their empty plates was not the same waitress who had taken their order.

"I'll be back with your check," she said, reaching over the table to take the empty dishes.

Sam smiled noncommittally.

Dean sat back to give her room to take his plate.

Sasha…stared. Dean noticed immediately, and turned to look after the waitress before she could get away.

Black hair. Blue eyes.

As soon as she was gone, Sasha gestured the brothers to huddle together. He didn't say anything, he just opened his coat and gave them a peak at the scanner.

The lights were blinking.

tbc...


	4. Part 4: Caught in the Act

Part 4: Caught in the Act

* * *

Sam's mouth hung open as he stared after the retreating waitress. "Holy crap, where'd she come from?" he gawked.

"The kitchen, dipstick," said Dean. He ignored any retaliation from Sam and nodded towards Sasha, "This is a good thing, right?"

Smiling, Sasha patted the spot where the scanner was hidden inside his coat. "She's our gal. I'd call it a good thing. She's still here, for one. Which means our incubus, or whatever it is, should show up about the time she gets off."

"She's bringing our check," Sam pointed out, "We can't exactly stick around another four or more hours waiting for her shift to end."

Sasha and Dean turned to Sam simultaneously, eerily enough that their like-minds had to be working on the same wavelength. A scary thought, since Dean having a willing accomplice in anything could only lead to trouble. Except in his own mind.

And, of course, it was Dean who finally worded what he and Sasha were thinking aloud. "Dessert and a couple more rounds, boys? The night's still young." Dean's grin was positively devious. The waitress was going to hate them by the end of the night, but if all went well, she'd still be breathing in the morning.

Mentally, Dean reminded himself to have Sam leave her a generous tip.

Close to ten PM, it was official that if the boys ordered anymore food from the kitchen, it would not reach their table unsullied. Sam didn't seem to trust the drinks brought to them anymore either, so he nursed a beer while trying desperately to burrow inside himself and disappear.

Dean didn't get what the problem was. It wasn't as if he and Sasha were being rowdy or attracting attention from other patrons. Although, Dean did have to admit that by the looks of things all of the waiters and waitresses had clearly been told about the table that just wouldn't leave. He could feel annoyed eyes on them every time someone walked by.

Nevertheless, Dean would not be deterred, and Sasha was in it with him. Carrying on like old friends—and with how well they got along and after being on the hunt for a week, they were getting pretty close to feeling that way for real—he and Sasha continued their merriment.

Their waitress—Carol, they had discovered—was friendly by nature, but had all but lost her patience. She wasn't polite to Dean or Sasha at all anymore, and Sam she only tolerated because he kept whispering apologies to distance himself from the others. Dean figured the only reason she hadn't kicked them out yet was because they were three good-looking guys who weren't causing any real trouble.

While Sam opted out of the 'get information from Carol' game, Dean and Sasha were immersed. Dean had already tried several times to find out when she got off, but she would always shy away from the question. After the third time, she finally said, "Look, I don't think that's any of your business," and stormed off.

Sasha chuckled, giving Dean a good-natured smack on the back. "Subtlety, Dean," he said, as if talking to an adolescent about the art of wooing, "I managed to get her age, how long she's worked here, and the cryptic answer of 'maybe' to whether or not she's seeing someone right now. Better than nothing. What have you got?"

"Three cases of being denied and a dirty look?" Sam offered.

"Ha. Ha." Dean said, swirling the remains of beer at the bottom of his bottle. He thought he had done fairly well. He had been the one to get her name, after all, since the wait staff here didn't wear nametags and she hadn't offered it automatically.

"I'm getting anxious," Sam said. Carol hadn't come out of the kitchen in several minutes. "We haven't really seen her talking to anyone. Other than us. If the incubus is already here, he's well hidden. And if he's waiting for her somewhere, we can't afford to lose track of her."

"Then there's the thought it's not an incubus," Dean supplied, just to be the bearer of bad news. He caught Sasha and his brother's stares and laughed. "Come on, you really think it's something else? Still?" the question was clearly meant more for Sasha. "Every sign says 'sex vampire' and you doubt. What else has an MO like this?"

Sasha's face fell, his expression becoming as serious as Sam's. "I don't know," he admitted, "That why I called you here, remember? Five days of this hunting and finally we have our victim. The most we can hope for is that we don't lose her and that whatever weapons we bring for an incubus also work on something else if we're wrong."

The table turned quiet. They had been at this for hours, days really, and they were tired. They itched for action, but no matter what direction they looked, they found nothing. The fact that they had sights on the potential victim was the only grace they had been granted.

Their waitress returned from the kitchen and they began to feel a bit better about things. For about three seconds. The waitress—and not their waitress they realized with sudden dread—slammed a check down onto the table.

"Carol may be a pushover, but I am not. Your check, gentlemen. Please pay and leave. There are other customers in existence and you have worn out your welcome." Her smile was ice cold; she clearly handled situations like this often.

Dean couldn't possibly accept being dismissed like this. He flashed his best flirty smile. "Don't tell me we scared her away," he said, thinking quickly for something to get their real waitress back out here, "She's not hiding in the kitchen, is she? Coz we'll gladly apologize for taking so much time and be on our way."

The new waitress did not look pacified. She was attractive, but had that ash blonde hair that every Minnesotan seemed to have.

It must be the Viking in them, Dean thought with a mental grin.

"No, she's not in the back, so you can keep your apologies to yourself," the waitress said, "Carol's off and rid of you. Lucky her. Now move it." And with that she left, assuming they would pay and be gone just as she instructed.

They did not immediately do anything, actually. They just sat there staring at each other stupidly. They couldn't have heard right. "She's…off?" Sam repeated.

"She's _gone_," said Sasha, stressing the important part of this discovery.

But in the end, it was Dean who summed up the situation perfectly. "Shit."

The next minute they had paid their bill and were outside the restaurant looking down Nicollet Avenue for signs of Carol.

After ten unsuccessful minutes, they gave up. She could have left another ten minutes or more before they even started looking. Wherever she was, she was no longer where they could pick up her trail.

"Great. Now what?" Dean growled. He had lost all patience for tonight. They hadn't even been able to have fun for real during their four hours at the restaurant because they had to keep their minds and eyes on Carol. Now, after all of that, they had lost her. "We'll never find her now. We don't know where she lives. It could be Minneapolis, or one of the million and one suburbs. We don't even have a starting point."

"I wouldn't say that," Sasha said, and by the looks of his growing smirk, he had a plan, "Give me five minutes," he said, and dashed back into the restaurant.

Sam and Dean stared after him, then at each other.

They had grown used to Sasha's sense of spontaneity, but while Dean enjoyed it and took this as a sign to relax, Sam still looked worried.

"We don't have time. We have to find her," he said. He looked about ready to punch something. He was pacing up and down the sidewalk while they waited for Sasha to come back. It was a complete turn around from the serious and annoyed look he had maintained throughout their hours at the restaurant.

It wasn't hard for Dean to guess why Sam was suddenly so on edge. He knew the words Sam would speak even before he heard them.

"This is just what I was saying before, Dean," Sam said, and Dean knew to think of that night when Ellen first called about Sasha's letter, "We keep screwing up, and it keeps costing someone their lives. Even three of us couldn't get things right tonight. Damn it!" Sam kicked the side of the bus stop shelter, hard enough that Dean felt it in _his_ toes and grimaced.

"Sammy…"

"No! Don't 'Sammy' me, Dean! Don't treat me like a kid!"

Sam was livid, his face hot and eyes wild with the anger that had built up within him since they realized they had lost the victim. Dean would never say it, but seeing Sam like this was just plain scary.

Pacing with clenched fists now, Sam's eyes shimmered unnaturally, never once holding focus as he spoke, "Just don't, Dean, okay," he said, "Don't act all concerned and say 'We can't save everyone, Sammy, we just do what we can, it'll be okay'."

Dean felt the explosion coming, felt electricity in the air that wasn't normal, couldn't be normal.

"God damn it, Dean, you know that isn't true!" Sam cried, "It's never true! It'll never be okay!" And like a whirlwind of power the shockwave struck. Sam hadn't meant to unleash anything, Dean knew that, and certainly not anything like this. But Sam's body was the source and it shook the air around them.

Dean felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He looked up and saw Sam standing very still. He had been facing away from Dean with that final shout, and he still was, staring down the street at what his powers had done. Every street sign and lamp post as far as they could see down Nicollet Avenue was bent over at a 90 degree angle. Even the little trees planted in front of the hotel next door were bent. It was lucky no one was on the sidewalk on their block, so even though several people looked perplexed a few blocks down, they couldn't know to blame the phenomenon on Sam.

Only once before had Sam shown the ability to move things with his mind, and even then it had been nothing like this. That was just moving something a few inches to let him out of a closet. This was…frightening.

Sam started to back-peddle, too fast to keep on his feet. But Dean was ready for him, and when Sam stumbled Dean was there to catch his brother before he could fall. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean wanted to say, but he couldn't, not when Sam no longer believed those words. So instead, Dean helped Sam steady his footing and let his hold linger. It was an awkward backwards hug but Sam needed it. Sam needed to know Dean wasn't afraid. It was a good thing the hug was backwards because otherwise Sam would be able to see just how scared Dean really was.

"If we can't save everyone…how can we save each other?" Sam's words were so soft, Dean was certain he hadn't meant for them to be heard. Dean wouldn't have needed to hear them anyway; he always knew Sam's fretting over innocent victims came from more than just his Boy Scout nature. There were selfish reasons too.

Dean started to let Sam go, but kept contact with his hands on Sam's shoulders as he turned his brother around to face him. Dean had bolstered himself now. He was bold and he knew he looked it. He couldn't show Sam fear. "We can try, Sammy," he said, "All we can do is try. If that's not enough then we shouldn't be doing this at all."

A shadow crossed Sam's face, but his eyes were pained in their usual way, not shimmering like they had been moments before. "I know. Of course I know. I just…I don't want to be wrong again, Dean. I don't want to be…the reason again."

The stress of those words made Dean feel like he had been punched in the gut a second time. It was all because of him that Sam felt this way. The deaths of other people played their part—Mom, Jess, Dad, even Max and Andy—but the pain now was all for Dean.

What's dead should stay dead. But as much as Dean believed that he couldn't let his brother leave him. He was too afraid to be alone. At least in Hell he knew there would be plenty of company. A morbid part of him almost wished Dad would still be there.

"Umm…I got her address."

Sam and Dean turned their heads towards the entrance of the restaurant where Sasha now stood. He had a piece of paper in his hand and looked as guilty as if he had just walked in on a lover's quarrel. His eyes drifted over the brothers' heads to stare down the street at the bent over signs.

"Did I miss something?" he said.

There was no way to be sure how long Sasha had been standing there. Dean decided the best solution to the night's awkwardness and missteps would not be to tell the truth. Therefore, he said, "Not really. Must have been the wind."

Sam snorted but didn't contradict Dean's assessment.

They waited for Sasha's reaction. He had said before that he wouldn't pressure Sam into telling him about the abilities traveling the hunter rumor mill. Seeing them in action though would make it difficult not to be curious.

Naturally, both brothers were beyond pleased when Sasha finally replied with, "Oh. Figures. The protection from these buildings is nothing compared to trees. Happens all the time." And with that he smiled at Sam and Dean in turn and held up the piece of paper. "We better get a move on, huh?"

It didn't need to be said again, and no explanation was required. A minute later all three hunters were in the Impala on their way to Brooklyn Park.

--

When the Impala pulled up to the building on the address, the boys could not believe their luck. The victim, Carol, was standing outside the building talking to a man. Dean thought for sure they had found their incubus and said as much to the others. But Sasha looked wary, and in fact the man eventually left and Carol went inside the building. Nothing romantic seemed to exist between the two and now the man was gone, leaving Carol safe and alone. It didn't make sense.

Was the incubus already in her apartment waiting? Did he live in the building? It wasn't impossible for an incubus to shun a marked victim after a time if they found someone better, but the watching hunters couldn't afford to second guess the situation. They resolved to stake the apartment out, waiting out front in the Impala while one of them watched the back of the building on foot. They couldn't see much of her apartment from outside, but with what they could see through the window there didn't seem to be anyone in the apartment when Carol entered.

Dean took his turn at the back of the building first, sure that the incubus would show himself any minute. After an hour, he returned to the car empty-handed and found that his partners also had nothing. Sam switched out and Dean took his usual spot in the driver's seat. Sasha sat beside him. All of them had cell phones in case something happened, but the night was so quiet they were afraid to admit the incubus might have changed victims earlier in the week and they had followed the wrong girl.

"I just don't think so," Sasha said, a few minutes after Sam had left, "The mark on her was too strong, like he must have seen her today. He'd be changing his pattern if he didn't hunt this week. It's not that it isn't possible…"

"Just that it isn't very helpful for us," Dean finished.

Sasha didn't need to respond.

They sat. Waited. Nothing. Sam's time around back was half over before Dean realized he and Sasha were sitting there alone, not talking, and he was feeling very awkward about it. Dean didn't like silence on principle. It's why he prided himself so much on his collection of classic rock. Sam was the one who spent quiet afternoons reading. Dean needed noise.

It proved to Dean how good of hunter Sasha really was for all his charismatic openness, because he was being so serious, so focused right now. Dean didn't think he was ever like that, so he kind of envied it in Sasha. He envied a lot of things about the man actually, in a way that was starting to creep Dean out. He needed distraction.

"Who'd win in a fair fight, Optimus Prime or Captain America?" Dean asked suddenly. It was one of his favorite ice breakers.

"What?"

Dean looked over at Sasha and saw that the expression on his new friend's face was as amused as his tone implied. "Humor me," Dean said.

Sasha laughed, and after a few moments of mulling the question over said, "Trick question. Their goals and personalities are too similar. They'd be friends before someone could throw the first punch."

Dean gave a pleased smile; no one had ever given that answer before, but it was always the one he hoped to hear. He completely agreed.

Then Sasha added, "But if the cosmos was turned upside down and they did fight…"

Dean listened intently.

"…Captain America. Size is no obstacle. He's taken down Giant-Man. I think he can handle a giant mech."

Now it was Dean's turn to laugh. All their merry-making at the restaurant had been acted, pushed, but this, finally, was real. They had been tense all night. Dean was happy to have it soothed, even if the hunt was far from over.

"My turn," Sasha said then, "Better kisser, Jean Grey or Rogue from X-men?"

"Now that's a trick question," Dean replied, "What do you take me for here?"

Sasha grinned. "Still gotta answer," he said.

Oh, Dean knew the answer to this one, if his adolescent fantasies counted for anything. And he liked to think they did. "Easy," he said, "Rogue. It'd hurt like hell, but damn, it'd be worth it."

They both laughed at that. Just as Dean had been pleased with Sasha's answer, Sasha seemed very pleased with Dean's. "Couldn't agree more," he said, "But the questions get tougher. Better in the sack, DC this time."

Dean already knew the answer if they were talking DC, regardless of which femme fatales were named. No one could hold a candle to Wonder Woman. Except maybe Catwoman, Dean thought, and especially if it was the Michelle Pfeiffer version with the—

"Flash or Green Lantern?"

Dean's daydreaming came to a screeching halt. For a minute there he had forgotten who he was dealing with. He looked at Sasha in a way that clearly said, "Right. Thanks for playing but…no thanks."

"What?" Sasha asked, so faux innocently that his smile had to hurt, "Not enough personal experience for you to make a sound judgment?"

That same uncomfortable laugh Dean had discovered lately came out again, just like it had that time in the Gay 90s with the bartender, and every time Sasha pulled one of these stunts. Dean knew the other man was joking, but that didn't help the flutters in his stomach. "Do you ever let up?" he asked finally.

Sasha's blinding smile gave a slight twitch. "Only when I'm not serious," he said.

There was a knock on the window and Dean jumped so high in his seat that he almost hit his head on the ceiling of the Impala.

Sam, back from his turn on foot, had returned early. Dean decided it was a good thing. A very good thing. He rolled down the window.

"Dude, what's up? You have fifteen minutes left," Dean said, not wanting to sound as relieved as he was to no longer be alone with Sasha. He would swear he could feel those blue eyes burning little ovals into the back of his head, but he was not about to turn around and look at them.

"It's a dead end, Dean. No one's coming. I think she went to bed," Sam said, glancing back over his shoulder at Carol's window, which was now dark, "He must have switched victim's. We're wasting our time."

"No," Sasha countered, completely reverted back to his serious and focused hunter side, which Dean was grateful for, "Let's not give up yet. At least let me take my turn. I don't want to be wrong about this. Half hour. Then if we still have nothing, we can come up with a plan B."

Sam and Dean all but grumbled. There was no plan B, other than pray some other girl in some other suburb didn't die tonight so they could start all over again with their random scouting of downtown businesses and find the real victim. Needle in a haystack was an understatement.

Still, the brothers didn't want to give up anymore than Sasha did, and a few minutes later the switch had been made—Sam and Dean in the Impala, and Sasha around the back of the building.

"I hope he's right," Sam said, after a few minutes of disgruntled silence.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He couldn't stomach the thought of another week like this one. If they missed the incubus tonight, though, that is exactly what they would have to do. The worst thought of course was that the incubus had moved on, and all of Sasha's—and now their—hunting was for nothing.

Minutes passed. They couldn't see Sasha, of course. They couldn't see much of anything. With all the quiet and inaction, Dean's thoughts began to stray, and he hated where they strayed to.

_Only when I'm not serious_. Just what the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Great. Dean didn't have to look at Sam to know the 'I'm here for you' look had taken over his brother once again. And there was nothing Dean hated more than when that look was directed at him. "I'm fine," he said, pointedly looking towards Carol's window with great interest. As if you could have great interest in shadows and curtains.

"Dean, come on," Sam pressed, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, which of course could only lead to Sam being more concerned.

"Dean…"

Oh for crying out loud. "It's nothing, okay?" Dean said, and he said it with such finality that he could only blame himself when he brought it up again a couple minutes later. "It's just…Sasha. I mean…he's only messing with me, right?"

The moment of silence on Sam's end clearly meant he not only understood what was bothering Dean now, but that he was thinking over how best to use this to his advantage. Bastard. How quickly the 'I'm here for you' look gave way to devious plotting.

Not that Dean wouldn't have done the same. Still though. Dean braced himself for the worst.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, "He's just messing with you." The laughter in Sam's voice made Dean twitch. "Why? Has he…done anything lately that might make you think otherwise?"

Dean wondered how he would explain the dent in his brother's nose to Sasha, though it would probably still be worth it.

Sam laughed to himself for awhile, but being the peacemaker, and seeing just how tightly Dean was gripping the steering wheel, he smartly changed his tone. "He's just messing with you, Dean," Sam said again, this time sounding genuine, "Come on, you know that. It's just…the way he is. He's a career flirt. Kind of like you…" Sam added with a smile.

Like Dean. That was true. But Dean never flirted with guys, even if it was to help on a case. And then there was Sam. "If you're right," Dean asked, and this was the question he really wanted an answer to, "Then why does he only mess like that with me…and not you?"

Really, Dean should have expected the inevitable reply. "Because you're an easier target," Sam said.

Nice.

"Come on, Dean, it's an act. Because he knows he's getting to you. You can relax."

And since this time Sam sounded completely certain, Dean started to believe it. What better way to make Dean think Sasha was serious than to say he was serious? It didn't mean it wasn't all part of the joke. Dean felt very foolish about the whole thing and promptly returned his attentions to watching the apartment building.

"Of course," Sam said after a while, "There always is that chance…"

Fratricide was starting to sound very appealing. Sam was lucky Dean considered it a waste to kill the person he had sold his soul for, or he might have had a lot more than a bent nose to explain to Sasha.

Once the snickering from Sam's side of the car died down and the two had returned to actually staking out again, they were immediately reminded of just how pointless all of this was. It didn't seem like the incubus was ever going to show.

Then, when they had all but given up, Sam suddenly said, "Dean, did you see that?" He was staring up at Carol's window.

Excited at the prospect of something happening, Dean scanned the window for signs of movement. He found nothing. "Looks like it has for the past two hours, Sam. You're just tired," he said.

"No, Dean, I saw something. I'm sure of it."

Dean sighed. "She probably just got up to go to the bathroom," he grumbled.

"_Dean_."

There was no reasoning with Sam when he was this adamant. "Fine, I'll call Sasha," Dean said, already pulling out his cell and dialing Sasha's number. He lifted the receiver to his ear and waited for an answer. "Ten to one it's nothing and my psychic freak of a brother is just seeing things," he mumbled to himself.

Sam heard, but didn't respond. He was too busy waiting on baited breath for Sasha to pick up and confirm that something was finally happening.

But Dean was still sitting there with the phone at his ear. After a while Dean looked at Sam and was no longer dismissive.

"Dean…?" Sam said, already knowing what his brother was going to say.

"No answer."

They were at the door to the building the next second, Dean with a shotgun filled with iron bullets, and Sam carrying an iron-bladed knife. It was always better to have longer and shorter ranged weapons in case of any number of possible scenarios. Being prepared like that, however, did not make either of them feel better about the situation.

There was no way to know how long Sasha had been out of communication. He was not behind the building where he should be, which could mean anything. Maybe he went up on his own. Maybe the incubus knew he was there and attacked before heading to the apartment himself. They didn't have an answer. And so they went, straight up to Carol's apartment, which was not easy to find when they hadn't had the chance to scope out the building before, and the inside of a building was never the same as you imagined it from the outside.

Finally, the brothers came to the apartment number they knew belonged to Carol. Sam pressed his ear to the door. He shook his head. No sound. Dean reached down and tried the knob. Unlocked. Never a good sign.

Just as they had with the apartment of the last victim, Dean pushed the door open and they waited, peering inside to see if their enemy was lying in wait. It was too dark to be sure if it was safe, but they were not in the mood to be overly cautious.

Sam entered first, determined to find the victim. Dean covered him from behind, watching for the incubus or signs of Sasha. They were hunting blind, but they had to push on. Sam turned for the bedroom and Dean followed.

It was easy enough to reach the bedroom door, alert as they were to any sound of approaching danger. When Sam saw how the door lay only slightly ajar, he looked back at Dean and both of them felt their stomach's turn. Sam pushed the door open and almost fell to his knees.

"No…" he gasped, staring at the still naked body on the bed, eyes glazed over and open, "We were right here. We were right…_here_." He could have been crying, but sounded too angry for there to be any real tears.

Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sammy…"

There was a crash from somewhere in the apartment. Déjà vu, thought Dean, but at least this time Sam was with him. That didn't last long though, because Sam was determined to take point on this one. He had to catch the incubus now. He had to. He pushed past Dean to head back into the hallway.

"Sammy," Dean whispered more harshly, but Sam wasn't listening. All Dean could do was follow.

Their eyes hadn't had time to adjust, so they moved through the apartment constantly squinting, trying to see but not daring to turn on a light and alert the enemy to their position.

They were almost back to the living room when they heard shuffling on the other side of the wall. Sam came to a quick stop, holding Dean behind him. Dean hated that. He was the one who was supposed to be protecting, but he also understood how personal this had become for Sam. He let Sam take the lead, his heart pounding the way it always did when the unknown was right in front of them. Usually, he loved it, loved everything about the thrill of being on a hunt, but something wasn't right.

Dean knew Sam could feel it too, but Sam wanted to go on ahead, needed to, and wasn't about to listen to reason. They readied themselves, focused on the shuffling that had to be the perpetrator, and when Sam was ready, he burst around the corner and stabbed his knife into the figure he found.

At first Dean couldn't see. Sam was right in front of the figure and taller, enough that he covered him up from Dean's point of view. But when Dean came around to stand beside the pair, he realized why Sam had stabbed and then suddenly froze.

"Oh, God," Sam was saying, horrified that he had been so careless, "Sasha…"

Dean just stared. He couldn't believe how stupid they both were. Déjà vu for real, only this was far worse than pointing their guns at each other.

Watching as Sam pulled the knife free, Dean stared at the unfair blade, but then, seeing the small amount of blood amounting to barely an inch of penetration by the knife, Dean realized it was all going to be okay.

"Just a flesh wound," he said, stepping closer, "Barely even worth stitches. You'll be fine…right?" It was hard to see Sasha's face in the dark, but Dean's eyes were finally starting to adjust.

Sasha was shaking. Had something else happened to him, or was he still in shock from Sam's mistake? The wound couldn't be that bad.

As for Sam, he was just standing there, the knife still held out, as if keeping it ready to stab again. Dean didn't like it. What was wrong with the two of them?

"Hey, it's all okay," Dean tried to say, searching both of their faces, "No big deal. It's not like an iron knife does any extra damage to humans, right?"

Sasha grimaced. He was shaking even harder now and looked about ready to crumble to the ground. But why? Dean didn't understand.

It was Sam who knew, Sam who understood from the minute he found Sasha in the dark. He still could only stare, but finally, pained as he was to say it, he spoke, "No, iron wouldn't hurt a human. But then…" He reached out with his free hand, knowing Sasha would not, maybe could not try to stop him, and lifted Sasha's shirt to reveal the wound.

It was small, just a little cut above his navel, barely even bleeding. But what Dean saw and couldn't believe was the strange blue veins spreading outwards from the cut like a virus, like poison.

Dean barely heard Sam speak, but now he knew too, he knew why Sasha was shaking and why déjà vu hadn't been a coincidence. "You're not human," Sam was saying, dead-panned and serious, "Are you?"

tbc...


	5. Part 5: The Real Bad Guy

Part 5: The Real Bad Guy

-----

_You're not human…are you?  
_  
Everything moved too fast after that; Sasha reached out for Sam but Sam jumped back and raised his knife; Dean moved back as well, readying his gun; with nothing to hold onto and his balance thrown, Sasha fell to his knees and then forward, one hand on the floor to hold himself up while the other pressed to the wound.

The brothers barely heard the word, "Please," as Sasha fell, but then he looked up from his broken position and said it again, "Please…"

Dean was so angry he couldn't think straight. A cynical laugh left his lips before he could help it. "Please?" he repeated, "You're kidding, right?"

Sasha just stared up at him, his breathing shallow now and his shaking much more pronounced. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Good, thought Dean, the bastard deserves it. Just when Dean thought he could trust another human being again, everything had to go to hell. Literally. Like a million other times before he hadn't been trusting a human at all.

"Forget what I said, Sammy," Dean growled towards his brother, "Just once I'd like things to go our way. Just once. But no, even when we know we're doing good some asshole demon makes sure it gets messed up."

"I'm not…a demon," Sasha managed. It was becoming difficult for him to speak.

Dean was in no mood to argue. "Whatever," he said, pumping the shotgun to ready it, "To think…all this time, you…" he shook his head. He knew he was too angry, that he wasn't thinking clearly at all, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to put a bullet in Sasha's heart and be done with it.

Therefore, why he hesitated, why he kept talking instead of just pulling the trigger, he couldn't explain. He didn't want to try and explain why he couldn't get his finger to move.

"Tell me," he said instead, almost shaking just as Sasha was, "Was it fun for you? Huh? Was it a game? Make the stupid hunters trust you, like you, and all the while you're sneaking behind our backs killing the girls we're trying to save!"

"No…" Sasha shook his head. The hand holding him up gave out and he fell fully to the floor. He tried to roll over so he could look the brothers in the eye, but only managed halfway, his body twisted, "No…it wasn't me. I swear…"

That mirthless laugh left Dean again. He didn't know why Sam was being so quiet, why Sam was just standing there, and frankly Dean didn't care. His attention was on Sasha. "Sorry, pal, but the evidence is a little against you," Dean said, not trying at all to hide his sarcasm.

"It…wasn't me," Sasha said again, looking in turn at Dean and Sam, his eyes entirely sincere and his face contorted with pain.

He was pitiable, but it could easily be a trick. The Winchesters had been fooled by less in the past; they would not be again.

"I don't…know…what she's after, but it…it wasn't me," Sasha insisted.

At these words, Sam spoke for the first time since realizing Sasha wasn't human. "_She_…?"

Sasha's body arched with a wave of pain, which at least managed to straighten his twisted form so he was on his back. His shirt was hiked enough to reveal the original wound and the spreading blue veins. Dean could even see them on Sasha's hands now, proving they had traveled their way down his arms.

Creatures allergic to iron died almost instantly if stabbed or shot in the heart. Sasha's wound was small and below the heart by several inches. Given time, however, it could still kill him, and probably quickly judging by the speed of those veins.

"Yes…" Sasha tried to explain, "It's…it's female. I…got here too late. Carol was…already dead. I…chased the succubus…out of the apartment. But she…got away. And when I…got back…you were already…here."

"Chased her out of the apartment? A succubus?" Dean's voice was acidic; he wasn't about to give Sasha the benefit of the doubt, not when Sasha's ability to lie to them had already been proven, "First off, if you had chased her out of the apartment, we would have seen you."

"Uh…Dean," Sam was pointing to the large kitchen window they now had partial view of. Dean saw the broken glass. That window led back out into the alley, where Dean and Sam wouldn't have been able to see anything. It would also explain why Sam saw movement in front of the main window _on the way_ to the kitchen.

"That doesn't prove anything," Dean dismissed, "That could have been how he got in in the first place. And we didn't even get to number two," Dean added viciously, glaring down at Sasha with no signs of wavering, "Blaming a female sex vampire sure is convenient to keep you in the clear, but if you hadn't noticed our victim is a _girl_."

Pained as he was, Sasha looked right up at Dean and said as steady as he could, "What…Dean? Never heard of…alternative lifestyles?"

Now Dean was seething. They had caught Sasha red-handed, and not only was he trying to play off the innocent act, but he had the gall to joke around like they were still friends. "You're the bad guy!" Dean barked, stepping closer since he knew Sasha was in no condition to retaliate—the veins had reached his neck and were climbing ever higher, "We're not idiots. You're. Not. Human."

Sasha's body gave another shudder, another arch that raised his back off the floor. "You're…right. I am an incubus," he admitted, serious again as his voice grew more and more faded, "But I…I'm not the killer. You have…have to believe me."

The words, the sincerity in Sasha was so strong that both brothers had difficulty understanding what was happening when Sasha suddenly let out a cynical laugh that put Dean's to shame.

"Haha…but…but you won't…believe me…will you?" he said, and his eyes clenched tight against another wave of pain. The veins were all over his face now, making his eyes bloodshot and sickly, "Just another…monster. Why believe the…monster…" Sasha laughed again and Dean felt a shiver ripple up his body.

Something wasn't right here.

"Don't trust…hunters, Sasha…or you'll end up…just like mommy and daddy," Sasha laughed, speaking as if saying the words to no one, "I…I should have…listened…ha…I'm gonna…die…just like them…"

And suddenly it wasn't so funny. All the color left Sasha's face. His time was draining and he could feel it, he knew it. Sam and Dean wondered if the iron was affecting his brain. It certainly seemed that way, because now…now Sasha was crying.

"We don't fall in love…that often, you know," he was saying, and he wasn't looking at Sam or Dean, but they thought he might mean the words for them anyway, "My mother…was a succubus, and…she went and fell in love with a hunter. He didn't care…what she was. He became one of us…to be with her. When he wanted…to keep hunting…she said…sure. But his…_friend_…wasn't as accepting. All that man saw…were monsters…even among people…he could have…trusted…"

"Sasha…" There was the 'I'm here for you' look, and Dean was so confused, because he didn't mind it at all.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hearing Sam's voice seemed to clear Sasha's mind, and he blinked up at the brothers as if he had forgotten they were there. "The victims," he said, suddenly urgent, "We were so…stupid. We _are_ idiots. I knew it…wasn't an incubus. I would have…sensed him. All those questions we asked. Meryl should have…been the tipoff. It was…obvious, but I couldn't…couldn't figure it out."

Meryl? The gears in Dean's head started to turn. Meryl was the victim before Carol, the one who worked at the gay bar, the one…who the bartender had indicated didn't have much preference concerning gender.

_They weren't looking for a girl, they were looking for a damn incubus. What did he care if the victim swung both ways?  
_  
Shit. Dean looked over at Sam, who had dropped his weapon long ago. He could see it in Sam's eyes that the same gears were spinning and coming together. Meryl was the obvious case, with the others the fault had simply been theirs.

_Was she seeing anyone? Someone new in her life? Any new flings?_ All of their questions had been ambiguous, and therefore so were the answers. They hadn't thought to be more specific. After Dean's fumbling at the Gay 90s asking if there was a new _guy_, they had automatically started using more gender neutral terms. Damn political correctness. Maybe they still would have missed the signs, but being blunt about things might have saved Carol's life.

And it also meant something else.

Sam looked over at Dean and their gazes locked. Nothing needed to be said. Sasha was right. They were idiots. The next second Sam and Dean where on the floor at Sasha's side, knife and gun forgotten.

"What do we do?"

"How do we help you?"

Sasha wasn't shaking as much anymore, which could only be a bad sign. The veins were everywhere, meaning the poison of the iron had seeped into every part of Sasha's body. Looking up at the brothers who were so much closer to him now, Sasha blinked several times before saying, "You're…helping me?"

The iron was definitely playing with Sasha's mind; he sounded like a child, scared and disbelieving. "Yes," said Sam, big smile and all his sincerity pouring out of those damn puppy eyes.

Dean was the one who felt stupid and out of place with this. He understood now why Sam had been so quiet, why Sam hadn't acted. Sam knew something was wrong from the beginning, he knew there had to be more to it then Sasha being the bad guy. But Dean had been so angry he hadn't been able to imagine anything but betrayal.

Not that it didn't freak him out a little that Sasha was an incubus. It certainly explained a few things. But if Dean could accept his freak of a brother then Sasha was just another freak to add to the list.

So Dean managed a smile too and said, "I can be wrong. It's been known to happen. Besides…you're our pal, right?"

Faded as he was, Sasha managed a smile of his own. "Yeah…I'd like…to be," he said, still so eerily childlike.

"Then we have to hurry or there won't be much of you to befriend." Dean looked around the dark apartment, having absolutely no idea what they could use to flush the iron from Sasha's system. It's not like they could take him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. Then Dean wondered, "Hey, Sasha," he said, shaking Sasha's shoulders lightly because those bloodshot blue eyes had started to close, "Hey, do you keep some kind of, I don't know, antidote or something. I mean, you're a hunter. Iron's part of the life."

To Dean and Sam's mutual relief, Sasha gave a slow nod. His head lolled from side to side as if he was trying to look around. "My…bag…" he said.

Sam was on his feet in an instant. He found Sasha's bag by the broken kitchen window, a small knapsack where Sasha kept an iron knife of all things, his EMF meter when not tucked in his coat, a few random other essentials, and a small vial of green liquid.

Sasha nodded at the vial when Sam held it close to his face. He was fading fast.

"Sasha, do we just pour it on the wound?" Sam asked, screwing off the top.

At first there was no answer, and Dean had to shake Sasha again to get him alert. "There…are two…p-places," Sasha explained. Dean leaned down close to Sasha's face to better hear him since his voice had fallen to a trembling whisper, "F-First…on the wound…and…a-and then…then—" Sasha cringed, his eyes closed tight against yet another wave of pain. His body shook with a convulsion that finally left him unconscious.

"Sasha…" Dean prompted, shaking their friend yet again, "Sasha!" Another shake. Two. Three. It did nothing to wake him.

There wasn't time. Dean grabbed the open vial out of his brother's hand and poured half of it onto the wound. It fizzled like acid, but instead of eating the skin, it indeed healed it, at least the wound and the immediate presence of blue veins. But it didn't spread far. The poison was too imbedded.

Think. _Think_. Sam was silent beside Dean. There wasn't time to consider a thousand possibilities to waste what little antidote they had. So Dean did the one thing that made sense to him. He took the rest of the liquid in the vial and poured it down Sasha's throat.

"Dean!" Sam called out, since Dean had not counseled with him before making that rash decision.

Dean didn't care if he had acted foolishly. It was act or lose, something he had learned a long time ago. And thankfully, it had steered him correctly yet again.

As the antidote streamed through Sasha's system, they could see it moving beneath his skin. At first it spread unnaturally fast, giving Sasha's skin a green glow, and then suddenly it was like a chemical reaction, shooting green fire through all of those blue veins and forcing Sasha's body to arch up off the ground. Sasha's eyes sprang open then, flashing a vibrant red, not mottled like the she-demon who bartered for Dean's soul—thank goodness—but a pure red with slit black pupils like a cat. The brothers believed without reservation that they had seen Sasha's true eyes in that moment, but just as quickly it was over, and brilliant blue returned. So too returned Sasha's normal, unmarred skin and even breathing.

Blinking dazedly up at Dean, who was leaning over Sasha the most, the healed incubus managed a very weary smile. "You guessed…right," he said breathily.

Dean returned the grin and leaned back to give Sasha more air. "Hey, I didn't see Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade fifty-seven times for nothing," he said.

That was rewarded with a somewhat choked laugh from Sasha, but Dean knew the joke had been well taken. Of course in the Indy movie Harrison Ford poured the water from the Holy Grail down Sean Connery's throat first and then on the wound, but Dean figured the same would work in reverse.

Sam shook his head at the pair as Dean carefully helped Sasha into a sitting position, but he too was smiling. One of the night's mistakes had been amended, and for that Sam and Dean could both be thankful. Other hunters might have let Sasha die, even after realizing their mistake, but an incubus is not evil by nature, and Sasha had been nothing but good to them. Besides, these days the brothers couldn't afford to turn their backs on fellow freaks.

After giving Sasha a moment to collect himself and find his breath again, Sam and Dean helped their hunter and now _incubus_ friend to his feet. They realized that with the unfortunately dead girl in the bedroom, they probably should be wiping the place down and getting out of there as quickly as possible.

--

"So you're saying this EMF, pheromone detector thing is bogus?" Dean was holding Sasha's scanner upside down in one hand, inspecting it like a kid with his first computer.

"Not exactly," Sasha explained, watching with perhaps mild trepidation at Dean's handling of his property.

Dean, Sasha, and Sam were sitting at the little table in Sam and Dean's hotel room. They had left an anonymous tip from a payphone after leaving Carol's apartment, doing as much as they could for her until they found the real killer and brought her to justice.

A few choice items of Sasha's were—or had been until Dean picked them up—on the table. There was the now empty vial along with a dozen still filled ones with green liquid, a few photographs of Sasha's parents—one before Deklin Kelly became an incubus, one after, and one with the whole family after Sasha was born, which also included Sasha's succubus aunt Shiarra—and of course, the scanner.

With a polite smile, Sasha took the scanner back from Dean. "It still works as an EMF meter, and I did set it up to scan for some creature pheromones, but not for my kind. That would be pretty pointless."

"You can pick them up yourself," Sam said, another one of his not-questions he just had to speak aloud, even though everyone at the table had already figured that out.

Sasha nodded.

"Man," Dean said, "Should have guessed that earlier tonight." He looked at Sasha across the table and pointed a knowing finger. "I was watching when you first saw Carol. It wasn't until after you noticed her and decided she was the next victim that you looked at the scanner. Should have got that right off."

"Well, you know what they say," Sasha shrugged.

"People see what they want to see," Sam finished.

Dean could certainly agree with that.

Staring at the photographs on the table, Sam reached over and spread them out to be more visible. He set the ones of just Sasha's parents side by side to compare the difference in Deklin Kelly. It was more than striking.

"I can't believe it's the same man," Sam said, passing his gaze back and forth between the photos, "I mean, in the first one he could be…in his forties."

"Forty-six actually," Sasha supplied.

Dean let out a whistle. He pulled the second photograph closer to him and looked at the change in Sasha's father. Sasha had said the time between the photographs was only a few months. "Forty-six. And here he looks younger than me. Didn't realize being an incubus was a fountain of youth."

Accepting the picture as Dean passed it over to him, Sasha stared down at the familiar image. "It kind of is," he said, "If you're born an incubus you age like any human until your twenty-fifth birthday. If you're initiated as one and already older, you return to that age. So really, in this picture he is younger than you, Dean."

Dean took the picture back and then looked over at the first one again. Deklin Kelly at forty-six was still a handsome man, but as a twenty-five-year-old incubus he was up there with the cover of GQ. Sam and Dean had never known what Deklin Kelly looked like before, but Dean could admit when another man looked good, especially in the picture where he was older and had managed to age well despite living the life of a hunter. In that picture Deklin's hair was shoulder-length and dark, but had some liberal dusting of grey. His eyes were blue, but not as blue as Sasha's. He was scruffy and wore an old trench coat, fitting well the image Dean had always conjured of the great hunter.

Looking at the second photograph again where Deklin looked twenty-five, it was hard to believe the time between pictures was mere months. The grey in Deklin's hair was gone, his face clean-shaven, his wardrobe still hunter-appropriate but more young and attractive with a new leather jacket. Of course, Sasha's mother looked exactly the same in both pictures, save her clothing.

Now that was a woman worth looking at, thought Dean. He doubted he had ever come across a girl that pretty in real life.

"Talk about hot mama," he said before he could help it.

"Dean!" The reprimand was naturally from Sam.

Sasha just laughed.

"What?" Dean said, mustering a look of innocent interest, "Just being honest." He glanced up at Sasha. "I see you weren't lying about the hair," he said.

Indeed, Sasha's mother had the same fire engine red hair as Sasha, only hers fell well past her shoulders. It was also clear that the brilliance of Sasha's blue eyes came from her, though Deklin's had picked up more brilliance after his initiation, so really, it probably didn't matter where Sasha's eyes came from.

And after all, those blue eyes were only a disguise. The brothers had seen a moment of the real thing, and they were as red as Sasha's hair.

Sasha was still grinning over the comment about his natural coloring, and just had to give Dean a sidelong glance as he said, "You know, that offer for proof's still open."

"Ha…" Dean averted his eyes back to the image of Sasha's mother, but his now patented uncomfortable laugh fell from his lips anyway. "I'll, uh…take your word and your mother's locks as...proof enough, thanks," he said.

The grin on Sasha's face spread a little wider, but he didn't press the issue.

To be honest it made Dean feel a lot better about things with Sasha acting…well, normal. It meant they were okay. It meant Sasha didn't hold any resentment over Dean's zeal for blaming him as the killer. For that Dean could only be grateful. He liked Sasha. Being able to still count Sasha among the few decent people in the world meant a lot to Dean, even if Sasha wasn't human.

"So this is your aunt?" Sam asked, indicating the other woman in the family photo. She looked remarkably like Sasha's mother, only her hair was black.

"Yeah, Aunt Shi raised me after my parent's death," Sasha said, pronouncing the name like'shy', "She's my mother's older sister so she's always been a little protective. She was supportive when my mother and father wanted to be together, but she's never really forgiven hunters for what happened to them. She would never attack a hunter or seek one out, but…she wasn't too thrilled when I said I wanted to follow in Dad's footsteps. Or when I said I was teaming up with some on this case."

"You told her about us?" Dean felt both a slight violation of trust and a swell of pride over that.

The night had already come with several surprises, but the last thing the Winchesters expected from their companion was uncomfortable squirming. "Uh…she, uh…sort of keep tabs on me. You know…calls, and…expects calls, and…occasionally shows up when I'm on a case to drive me absolutely insane because she can't accept that I actually know what I'm doing. So…if I don't tell her what's going on, she'll show up. And you do not want that to happen. She's great! She's just…such a _mom_, you know?"

Sour smiles took form on both brothers' faces. There was really nothing to say to that.

Sasha realized too late his mistake, so when it dawned on him, he squirmed that much more. "God, what an idiot," he said, "You'd think I'd be quicker on the uptake, huh. Sorry."

"It's okay," Sam said quickly. He was the one whose only memories of their mother came from the time he saw her ghost in their old house.

Dean was the one who knew how to miss her. "I'd be willing to bet we know just what you mean actually, only on the other side of things," Dean said, shaking off the unintentional comment, "Dad was a tight-ass like no other, especially where it came to keeping me and Sam in line. I'd imagine it's the same with your aunt. Bark's worse than their bite most of the time. They just wanna look out for us."

It was no secret between the brothers that Dean meant this comment for Sam as well. Dean had been forced to take over the parental role, and he would live up to it until the day he died, even if that really was less than a year from now.

Somber as the mood had become, Sasha was already smiling again.

"Bark's worse than their bite, huh?" he grinned, "Only mine's actually got fangs. Once in a while, anyway." Sasha chuckled a little, and then chuckled even more when Dean stared down at the family photo like he must be seeing it wrong. "Photographs don't always capture the truth, Dean. We can look human, but we're not. Fangs is the least of the difference."

The way Sasha said all that seemed off-handed, just a passing comment, but Dean couldn't help being curious now. He and Sam had seen those red eyes, and now he knew there were fangs. He just had to ask, "What exactly _do_ you look like?"

Sasha laughed again. Dean almost expected another "Wouldn't you like to know," like he had received when asking about Sasha's below-the-waist tattoo, but instead Sasha just gave a small shrug and said, "Believe me, by the time we finish this hunt, I'm sure you'll find out." And then he was getting up from the table. "We should get some rest," he said, but before he could move too far, his legs gave out from under him and he nearly fell straight to the floor, saved only by Sam's quick reflexes to help steady him.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked, more concerned than he probably needed to be since he knew it was because of him that Sasha was less than healthy right now.

Sasha allowed Sam to help him regain his balance, but he maintained his usual grin. "I'm fine. I'll be better in the morning. Don't beat yourself up about it," he said, understanding that Sam felt responsible, but not blaming him at all, "As long as I feed a little tonight I'll be back in tip-top shape by sunrise," he added.

This comment made Dean feel a little queasy, and he knew Sam was right there with him by the worried glance that passed between them.

It would have been impossible for Sasha to miss the silent exchange. "Hey, don't look so freaked. I'm not about to jump either one of you, okay," he said with a half-laugh to better ease the tension.

Dean wasn't sure if he felt better or not.

"Really," Sasha was saying, "It's okay."

"But…" There was a crease in Sam's brow that proved he was trying to voice his dissention without stepping on anyone's toes—namely Sasha's. "It's just…don't you usually need a week, you said, to…mark someone?"

Sasha's grin changed a little, becoming more pacifying and subtle, "That's preference not a necessity. And I didn't say anything about sex. Just feeding."

Now Sam and Dean were thoroughly confused. They hadn't discussed any incubus details since discovering Sasha was one, so all the Winchesters knew about them were what they knew before now. And as far as they knew an incubus fed off of sexual energy during sex with their victims.

"There's more than one way to get sexual energy," Sasha said, as if answering the brothers' thoughts aloud, "I don't need a partner, just thin walls and a few amorous couples."

A sideways smirk took hold of Dean's expression then. He had been thinking Sasha was going to say something about 'private time' for other ways of getting sexual energy, but then that wouldn't make much sense since it would just be an incubus' own energy diverted back to him.

This was much more interesting.

"Are you saying all you have to do is walk the hallways of the hotel until you find a couple having sex in one of the rooms, and then just…sit back and enjoy?"

"That about sums it up," Sasha smiled.

"But I thought…" Sam didn't know how to word his feelings and he looked completely perplexed, which was always a goofy look if Dean had ever seen one, "I thought…well, don't you need sex?"

Dean tried not to giggle at how funny Sam sounded saying that.

Sasha, entirely patient and understanding, said, "We do. I do. Once a month at least. Once a week is better—"

"I hear that," Dean cut in—really, he couldn't help it.

"_But_," Sasha continued, acknowledging the comment with a sideways grin of his own, "I can get by from hotel runs. There's always a few people having sex. I just need the natural sexual energy given off, and that has a pretty good half-life. Being outside the door is almost as good as being in the room. Real sex is a necessity, yes, but not everyday. I'm a hunter. That isn't always an option."

Dean hated to admit that was true. Ever since coming to terms with his crossroads deal, he had been trying to keep that option open as often as possible.

"So," Sasha said, looking maybe slightly nervous as he moved his gaze between Sam and Dean, "You trust me enough to let me wander the halls a little, right? It would really suck if we found the succubus finally and I was only at half-strength. She moved fast. She's probably pretty old. Experienced. It's hard for an incubus and succubus to sense each other, that's why I kept thinking it couldn't be an incubus, but she felt me coming, I'm sure of it."

"Wait," Dean said, holding up a hand to make sure he got this comment in, "You can sense males but you can't sense females?"

Sasha shrugged, "We can, but it's harder. Like we're on different frequencies, or something."

"Heh," Dean chuckled, "That's men and women for ya."

The comment was definitely laugh-worthy, but nobody laughed. Sam and Sasha were staring hard at each other and Dean had the strangest feeling that they were communicating with their brains. He was pretty sure the messages were not matching up.

Therefore, there was really nothing else for Dean to do. "Let's go then," he said, grabbing Sasha by the arm and leading him towards the door.

"Dean," Sam started, but didn't have anything to finish with.

Dean just looked back over his shoulder and gave Sam a nod. "We trust each other but there's weirdness. I go with Sasha to prove he's not a psycho killer—weirdness over. Sound good to you, Sammy?"

"Dean," only this time it was Sasha, sounding softer of voice than usual, "I appreciate this, but…if it really makes you guys uncomfortable…maybe I can—"

"What?" Dean interrupted, looking Sasha square in the eyes, "Starve for the next week so you can stumble and get in the way when we finally track this broad down? I don't think so. Sam's cautious. I'm curious. Let's go." Dean pulled Sasha along after him and reached for the door knob.

"Dean." It was Sam again.

Having had enough of just about everything, Dean snapped back, "What? We trusting each other or not, Sammy? Coz I'm inclined to believe the guy whose life we just saved, after nearly killing him I might add, and who probably could have gotten the jump on us any number of times this week. Okay?"

Sam just stared back at Dean with a look of completely unwarranted shame. "I was just going to say…that I'll probably still be up when you get back. I want to do some research before calling it a night."

"Oh," Of course Dean felt like a complete jackass, but he wasn't about to say so, "Right. You do that. We'll be roaming," And with that Dean hauled Sasha the rest of the way out of the room and into the hallway.

It wasn't that Dean was really that anxious to see Sasha stand in a hallway drinking in invisible sexual energy. He just really wanted to get out of that room. He knew what Sam was going to be researching, much as it annoyed him. It certainly wouldn't be about the easiest ways to catch a succubus even if you have an incubus helping you, that's for sure.

Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew Sam had been spending all of his spare time working on ways to get Dean off the hook with his deal. Dean had told Sam it was no use, that any attempt to mess with the deal would end it—and therefore end Sam too. And Dean wouldn't allow that. He couldn't.

"Dean…are you okay?"

Right. Reality. Dean snapped back to it and looked up at Sasha with the best grin he could muster. "Fine. Now let's go find you some sex."

--

Sasha didn't bring up the reason Dean was so eager to be out of the room, but Dean had a pretty good idea that his incubus friend knew it had something to do with Sam's research. Sasha was always pretty perceptive that way, and with when—and when not—to bring issues up. Dean wondered if that was a particularly enhanced incubus skill, and almost asked. But then Sasha spoke up first.

"We're close," he said, pointing down the hallway of the second floor, which was a couple floors down from where they were staying, "Must be one of the rooms at the end."

Sasha was leading Dean through the hotel in search of occupants having sex. Oh, Dean knew how weird that sounded, how weird that _was_, but he was an all-hands-in kind of guy, and if he was going to accept Sasha as an incubus then he had to accept everything. Even feeding time.

"Here," Sasha said, stopping in front of room 211 and placing his right palm flat against the door. He closed his eyes a moment and then smiled, turning so he could rest his back against the door.

The look on Sasha's face was pure bliss, and Dean was pretty sure he should be creeped out by the whole thing. He wasn't though. It wasn't as if Sasha was breathing heavy or moaning or anything like that. He was just leaning against the door, eyes closed, taking in…whatever he was taking in. Nothing seemed to be happening to his body at all.

Dean didn't know what he expected, but damn, if Sasha was soaking up sexual energy right now, wouldn't that have to make his body react?

"So…you just have to stand there?" Dean prompted, softly because they didn't need any extra attention, and because he wasn't entirely sure if it was appropriate to speak to Sasha while he…fed.

Blue eyes flicked open but remained heavy-lidded as Sasha replied, "That's what I told you. I basically just…open up, like…flipping a switch or turning on a current."

_But your body looks normal_, Dean wanted to say. He still couldn't bring himself to ask about that though. "So…" he started again, since Sasha didn't seem to mind him asking questions, "Can you...mentally see what they're doing in there?" Dean smirked a little at the thought. Talk about free porn.

A mirrored smirk appeared on Sasha's face. "It's not like that. It's about feeling. I feel their…passion. I can tell when they go faster or slow down, when they're reaching the end or just getting warmed up, even how much they really love each other while they're together. But I can't tell you who's touching what or putting what where, sorry to say. You'll have to stick with cable access for that."

Dean barked a laugh, but then stifled it quickly remembering that it was well past midnight and they were in a public place. If someone did come down the hallway, they could just pretend to be guests out and about, or maybe guests who finally got in from their night out. It wouldn't be suspicious at all. Not with Sasha just…standing there.

He wasn't even sweaty. He looked like someone listening to relaxing music, not someone feeding off of the very essence of sex. Dean didn't get it.

Well, since he had managed pretty well with the first few questions, he figured he could risk a little more. "I gotta ask," he began, but Sasha finished for him.

"Why aren't I hard as a rock by now?"

There was Dean's uncomfortable laugh again. Only Sasha could bring it out of him so easily. "Uh…well, yeah," Dean finally admitted, "You're not human, fine, but you still...function like a guy, don't ya?"

"Oh, I'm fully functional," Sasha grinned, knowing full well how much he made Dean squirm by saying that, "It's just not necessary with this. When I'm feeding from actual sex, sure, all systems go, like any other guy. But this is…mental. It's different. There's a current either way, but right now that current stops at me. Do you get it?"

"I think so," Dean nodded, feeling surprisingly comfortable with the whole thing. It made him really curious about what it felt like, just soaking in what the couple in the room was doing. It didn't make Sasha's body react, but did it still feel like…sex?

The look on Dean's face must have given him away, or Sasha really was just that good at reading people, because the next thing he said was, "You wanna know what it feels like?"

If Dean hadn't been leaning against the opposing wall, he probably would have fallen to the floor. "Uh…"

"Head out of the gutter, Winchester," Sasha said, raising a hand towards Dean in invitation, "All you have to do is touch my hand…and you complete the circuit."

Now Dean was sure Sasha was messing with him. He couldn't be serious. "No thanks," Dean said, "But I'd rather not help give you a boner if it's all the same."

Hardly unexpected, Sasha gave a hearty laugh at that comment. "No, Dean," he said, "This is a different circuit. It's coming from them. You'll just feel what I'm feeling. It won't do anything to me. Go ahead." Sasha was completely calm in his insistence, so Dean knew that if he really did refuse, there would be nothing lost, nothing gained.

And damn if he wasn't curious. He stared at the offered hand and then glanced down both ends of the hallway as if the sight of some sudden passerby would make his decision for him.

There was no one in the hallway but them.

Dean returned his eyes to Sasha and said, "This isn't a trick, right?"

"No trick. Just an offer. You won't hurt my feelings if you say no," he added, reaffirming Dean's earlier assumption.

Well, if Dean really thought about it all he would be doing is tapping into the frequency Sasha was picking up, so he too would feel the sexual energy coming from the couple on the other side of the door. It kind of was like cable, only free and without the messy cleanup.

Dean knew he might regret it later, but he still reached out to take Sasha's offered hand.

The reaction time was immediate. As soon as Dean's hand took hold of Sasha's, as soon as their skin touched, Dean was right there on the brink, no build-up, just heat, raw heat pooling low in his stomach, like every nerve in his body was alive. His breath hitched as the feeling continued to pour into him, constant, like living that moment right before climax over and over again. How the hell did Sasha _not_ react to this?

It was so intense, so overpowering that Dean couldn't stay on his feet. He had no support other than Sasha's hand, and that was only the barest touch. Before he could help it he started to sway. Sasha saw what was happening and knew to catch him, but that was the mistake. Dean guessed it was instinct on Sasha's part, and that otherwise Sasha never would have done it, but by grabbing Dean securely by both shoulders to steady him, something went wrong. All those hot, pulsing feelings surged through Dean like fire, and the next thing he knew he was on the floor, looking up into Sasha's worried face.

"What…was that?" Dean managed, caught off guard by how strangely ragged his voice sounded.

Sasha was leaning over him, looking extremely guilty. "Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. When you started to fall I just…" he shook his head, "Touching your hand is one thing. But when I grabbed you, all of my attention was on you. I probably forced about three thousand volts of raw sexual energy through your body back there. I am so sorry."

In a different world Dean might have considered it ridiculous to apologize for something like that, except that he probably needed to change his shorts, and he did feel significantly more uncomfortable with the situation as time moved on. The initial dismissive-ness he felt seemed to be a side-effect, because now that he was back to his own senses, he was starting to realize just how embarrassing this was.

Strangely though he didn't feel like he had just experienced a waking wet-dream, and indeed when he glanced down his body, he saw no sign of awkward stains or a raging hard-on. It really had been all in his mind. He might actually think that was cool if he wasn't so mortified.

"Dean?"

"I'm good. I'm just…gonna lay here a minute," he said, setting his head back on the carpet and letting his pulse return to normal.

Sasha's expression was about as humiliated as Dean's, which actually made Dean feel a little bit better. "I swear I didn't mean for that to happen, Dean," Sasha insisted.

"I know," Dean said, and he really did believe it, "If you really wanted to get me on the floor, you'd be doing something about it," he added with a laugh. Then, realizing that joking around about things like that right now was only making things worse, he started to sit up. "Uh…maybe I do want to get off the floor."

This time it was Sasha who laughed, "Here," he said, offering Dean a hand.

Dean stared at it like the damn thing must be infected with the Ebola virus or some other horrible form of plague.

"It's safe," Sasha smiled, "I severed the link. I promise it's just a hand."

Right. After tonight, Dean would never consider any part of Sasha to be _just_ anything. But no matter how he looked at it, he knew he could trust Sasha and he took the hand anyway. As he expected all that happened this time was Sasha lifting him from the ground.

"You sure you're okay?" Sasha asked.

He was standing very close to Dean after helping him off the floor and something about that kind of proximity with another person right now, especially another person who happened to be responsible for the most accidentally erotic moment of Dean's life, made Dean feel a little…twitchy.

He had to get out of there.

"Yeah…really, I'm…uh…fine. So…I think I need to be…gone. You're good here, right?" Dean started to back away. "Consider trust issues covered. I'll…see ya later." And as he finished his ramblings, he made a sharp turn on his heels and headed down one of the hallways. He wasn't exactly sure if it was the one they came from, but he knew somewhere in the direction he was going there had to be a way back up.

"Dean!" Sasha called after him, sounding understandably concerned.

"I'm good! Need se—sleep! See you in the morning!" Dean said as he increased his speed down the hallway. He heard another call from behind him but didn't even bother acknowledging it this time. That was more than Dean ever needed to know about an incubus—up close and…way too personal.

Which is why he really didn't understand his motives for telling Sam about it. Okay, so Sam started barraging him with questions the moment he returned to the room, but Dean had initially ignored him and gone to the bathroom for a quick—and very cold—shower. When he returned, sure Sam started barraging him again, and yeah, he told Sam the things he had found out about how an incubus feeds and that Sasha is definitely on the level. But really, Dean could have left it there. He didn't need to tell Sam about touching Sasha's hand and sharing the feeding experience. He didn't need to say anything.

But for some reason that Dean couldn't quite understand, he told Sam everything.

"And all you did was touch his hand?"

"Yep."

"And when he grabbed you to keep you from falling it was like…"

"Bam," Dean supplied, slapping his hands together, "Dean, down for the count."

Sam blinked at him with an amazed and very wide expression. "And it was all…sexual?"

Normally, Dean would have laughed at Sam's expression and the way he said that, but tonight it was all too serious. "That doesn't even do it justice," he emphasized. They were in mirrored positions, sitting across from each other on the edge of their beds. It was strange but Dean felt really good about this, relieved really, because it was something he just had to get off his chest. "This was like…sex-concentrate," he said.

At first, Sam opened his mouth to say something, but his mind must have been playing several images that Sam did not want to think about, because he suddenly went very red. Then, out of nowhere, he burst out laughing.

"Dude, what is with you?" Dean prompted, staring at Sam like his brother must have lost his mind to change moods so quickly. At least Sam wasn't reprimanding him, but that didn't mean Dean enjoyed being laughed at.

After some time, Sam finally returned his attention to Dean, but had significant trouble speaking through his laughter. "Dean…" he tried, "You…you and Sasha had like…crazy incubus mind sex!" And he threw back his head and laughed harder.

This just dawned on Sam now?

No, Dean did not agree with that statement. That is not what happened. It wasn't something between Sasha and Dean, they were just part of the current from the couple in the bedroom. It was not incubus mind sex!

He said this very vehemently to Sam and considered the matter closed.

The brothers got comfortable in bed and prepared to finally get some rest, but after a few dangerously silent minutes had passed, Dean heard a distinct mumble of "crazy incubus mind sex" from Sam's bed. Such treachery was not worth commenting on, Dean decided. But it was definitely worth a pillow to the face.

tbc...

A/N: Woot, was that a doozie. Thanks for sticking with me. This arc shall have two more parts to it, but after that I plan to continue with the boys into more stories. Thanks again!

Crim


	6. Part 6: It Can't Get Worse Than This

Part 6: It Can't Get Worse Than This

* * *

Hands. Soft hands. Lips. Definitely lips. And skin. Everywhere skin. And yet Dean knew there wasn't as much skin as there could be.

What was he doing? He couldn't remember. Where was Sammy? Sammy was here with him, wasn't he? But there was no Sammy, no hotel, just the bed, his bed, and the sheets were already pulled back. They were sitting on it, not lying down yet, but they would get there. Oh, Dean knew they would get there.

Those hands, they were softer than they should be, Dean thought. They should be more callused like his. But somehow they were so soft, the way one touched his face as they kissed, and the other brushed the small of his back to pull him closer. That was where the skin was. Dean was fully clothed, but his shirt was hitched just enough at the back for that hand to touch as much skin as the one on his face. He wanted there to be more skin. Skin everywhere. _Everywhere_.

And those lips. The kiss was so tender and slow. They barely met tongues but already Dean was feverish. He wanted more, and so he searched for it, pressing his tongue deeper for more contact, anything, as much as he could get. The warmth. The wet. It wasn't enough, not enough, and so he reached out, and again he found skin. Yes, when he touched back there was only skin. He wanted to be like that too, and felt constricted in his clothing.

There wasn't time though. He couldn't think about undressing when they were kissing like this and touching small teasing places with trembling hands. Dean couldn't remember a time it was ever like this, tentative and thrilling. Maybe his first time, years ago, but it was hard to remember that now. It was hard to remember a time when he had ever been with anyone else. To him there was only now. There was only this. It had been that way with everything since…

…the deal.

That thought struck a cord in Dean, and he almost thought he heard the clang of a gong. The deal. He couldn't have this. He couldn't have anything. He was already dead. He didn't deserve this skin, these lips, this feeling. He had…he had to get away.

Dean pulled out of the kiss, out of the hold that had started to encase him. He was surprised and yet not surprised…to see Sasha staring back at him. Sasha was naked, smooth and perfect, but Dean wasn't embarrassed to see him that way because he couldn't look anywhere but Sasha's face. Sasha was smiling. _Smiling_. And it was so beautiful, he was so beautiful, Dean felt—for a moment—safer than he ever had.

And then he was grabbed from behind, forced to lie back on the bed, and pinned down so he could not get back up. Above him suddenly was the face of his brother. It was Sammy. But it wasn't Sammy, it couldn't be. His eyes were mottled yellow like the demon's. But Dean knew the demon was dead and that those eyes were Sam's real eyes somehow. He wasn't possessed. He _was_ the demon.

Dean tried to scream, but nothing left his throat. He tried to kick, but Sasha was there holding his ankles. _Sasha_. Sasha would help him…wouldn't he?

Staring down at the end of the bed, Dean saw Sasha crouched on all fours, holding his legs. No, not Sasha, it couldn't be Sasha. His eyes were red with slit pupils, and when he grinned—not smiled, but grinned—he showed twin fangs on his eye teeth.

Not understanding what was happening, Dean forgot to struggle. He simply stared at what had made him feel so secure and now only made him tremble. Sasha was still naked, and Dean felt the embarrassment now because he couldn't help looking at everything. That pelvic tattoo…

Dean swallowed.

And then a low voice was whispering wet against Dean's ear, and though he knew it was Sammy, the laughter in it was too cruel. "I thought you liked it rough, Dean," Sam said.

More laughter sounded from Dean's knees, and when Dean looked again, Sasha was suddenly closer, on top of him. "I know _I_ do," Sasha grinned, and claws Dean didn't know Sasha had cut into his skin as his shirt was ripped open.

Sam laughed above him. _Laughed_. This wasn't happening.

"Time's up, Dean," Sasha growled—actually growled.

And Sam finished the phrase. "Time to collect."

Dean flinched as Sasha pulled his jeans and shorts down until they were tangled at his ankles. Not happening. _Not happening_. If Dean really was going to Hell, then this was it. He was there.

Then everything was a blur like it had been in the beginning, but this time it was not friendly, or nice, or anything beautiful. There were hands. Rough hands. Teeth. Fangs. And skin. Too much skin. And laughter. Sammy's. Sasha's. Laughter everywhere. Skin Dean didn't want everywhere. _Everywhere_.

"No!"

The sheets tangled around Dean and he fought fiercely for several moments before he realized he was fighting nothing. His pillow lay rather violated on the floor now, but there was no real threat. Not anymore. Not with Dean finally and fully awake.

Damn it. Not a dream Dean ever wanted to relive. Ever. He couldn't remember one ever being that bad, at least, not since the one he had in New York when they were staying at Ash's friend Manfred's house. Dean could still imagine perfectly the succession of women from his and Sam's life, one after the other, frozen on the ceiling and bleeding from the belly before flames consumed them. But the worst, the last in line was not a woman, it was Sam. And when Sam looked down from the ceiling there was no fire, just mottled yellow eyes.

Still, Dean thought, this new dream was decidedly worse.

Dean flopped back onto his pillow-less bed and just laid there for a minute. He knew it was too late to do anything other than go back to sleep, but right now that was definitely not an option.

After awhile he stole a glance at Sam in the other bed. Sammy was fast asleep, hair a mess, blankets bunched up under his chin like a five-year-old. Sammy wasn't a demon. He was the furthest thing from it. Dean knew who to really blame for the dream, and it wasn't Sam or Sasha. It was his own damn subconscious. Apparently his non-waking mind hadn't yet caught up to his waking mind's acceptance of the freaks in his life. And that was just stupid. Dean trusted Sam and Sasha.

Didn't he?

Dean only closed his eyes for a moment, but there he was again, pinned down by too much weight with Sasha grinning fangs, and Sam smirking down at him as he held his arms with that cruel mottled yellow stare. Sasha's clawed hands feathered up Dean's thighs and started to reach between his legs.

"No!" Dean gasped himself awake again, glad at least that he hadn't called out too loudly and woken Sam. That was the last thing he needed.

It was decided that Dean had to get out of the hotel room. He was so tired, still on that edge of sleep, that if he stayed lying down he could easily end up right back in the dream again. Funny how that never seemed to work with good dreams.

Carefully throwing back the covers and tiptoeing to his discarded clothing, Dean almost pulled on yesterday's pair of jeans before he decided he would rather wear something a little more clean. Besides, he wanted out of the room, but he didn't want out of the hotel. Where would he go anyway? He didn't know Minnesota that well. The last thing he needed was to get himself lost in the middle of the night. So he snuck over to Sam's duffle and stole a pair of sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, both of which were way oversized on Dean's smaller frame, but that was exactly what Dean wanted. Comfort.

When Dean had safely snuck out of the room, he closed the door behind him and then just stood. He looked down both ends of the hallway and realized he hadn't really planned this out. He supposed he could go for a walk. It wouldn't be that cold out, and he had his shoes on—sans socks, but still. Of course, he didn't really feel like walking, he felt like sleeping.

For a brief moment Dean thought of knocking on Sasha's door. But Dean didn't even know what time it was. He hadn't looked before leaving the room and he wasn't wearing his watch. It seemed such a simple thing to go back into his and Sam's room and grab his watch from the nightstand, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Maybe it had only been a couple of hours and Sasha was still out hunting for amorous couples. Maybe it was five AM and Sasha was fast asleep, needing his rest after what the brothers put him through at Carol's apartment. Dean couldn't be sure either way. Besides, Dean didn't really want to be around Sasha any more than he wanted to be around Sam right now. In fact, he probably wanted to be around Sasha less.

To hell with it, Dean thought, sliding down the door until he landed in a neat pile of exhausted Winchester on the floor. He'd just sit here for awhile, and maybe, after he had taken some time to banish the dream from his mind, he would be able to go back to sleep.

--

The next thing Dean remembered was the touch of someone's hand on his face, real gentle. It was soft, softer than it should be, Dean thought, since he knew from the combination of smells who the hand belonged too. Which of course made Dean immediately jump.

"Shit, Sasha," Dean gasped, tensing up as he pulled himself back against the door, "Don't _do_ that." Dean was trying very hard not to think about how it had only been a week but he already knew what Sasha smelled like.

The guy actually had the nerve to be grinning down at Dean, looking all presentable and well groomed. Dean figured that meant he had been right about it only having been a few hours and Sasha was just now getting back from feeding. But then…when did he change clothes?

Dean glanced around the hallway. He was still sitting on the carpet, leaning back against the door to his and Sam's room. But something was definitely different, like the world was just a little more alive than it had been a few minutes ago.

"Sorry," Sasha was saying, "I just figured it would be better to wake you than have the hotel staff call the police about the bum sleeping in the hallway." He laughed, all casual and cool, like he usually was. Dean noticed then that Sasha didn't look nearly as sickly and fatigued as he had last night. A round of feeding had clearly done him good.

Wait. Last night? Sleeping? Figured it would be better to _wake_ you…

Damn it. Dean didn't know when or how, but at some point he had fallen asleep right where he sat. Sasha was right; it was probably a good thing he found him.

"What time is it?" Dean said, rubbing his eyes to get his brain to wake up with the rest of him.

"Around eight. You're fine if you wanna go back to bed, Sleeping Beauty, but I think you'd probably rather do it in there," Sasha said, nodding towards the room behind Dean's back. His grin went a little crooked then. "Need a hand?" he said, standing a little taller and extending said hand in offering, which of course resembled what had happened last night only too well.

Dean assumed Sasha was trying to make a joke, since there was no way the incubus wasn't purposely reminding Dean of last night's experience. Dean, however, was not in the right frame of mind to find it funny, or even to pretend he found it funny so he could laugh the whole thing off and get over it. It wasn't that sharing the incubus feeding experience had been all that traumatizing. It wasn't because of that part of the night at all. What haunted Dean now was the dream.

Red eyes. Fangs. Those were real aspects of Sasha underneath his human disguise. Dean didn't want to ask if the claws were real too.

Of course there was also the beginning of the dream. Dean wasn't sure if that part scared him less or more. Kissing Sasha. No, making out with Sasha on his bed, while the guy was completely naked, Dean reminded himself. And when Dean had pulled back in the dream and realized who he had been so totally enamored with, his dream persona wasn't even all that surprised. Well the real Dean sure as Hell would be.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sasha said, since Dean had been just sitting there, staring at Sasha's hand like a zombie. Concerned over Dean's lack of reaction, Sasha knelt down and moved as if to reach for Dean's shoulder and shake him.

Before Sasha could even come close to contact, Dean jumped away, managing to knock his head pretty hard against the door in the process.

Sasha frowned. "Guess I…really freaked you out last night, huh?" he said.

Shit. The last thing Dean wanted was for Sasha to think he was afraid of him. It was just the dream, that damn, stupid dream. "No…it's not that," Dean tried, wincing a little over the growing bump on the back of his head, "You didn't freak me out," he stressed, "Believe me, I can do that plenty on my own."

This explanation, though true, left Sasha staring at Dean in uncomprehending concern.

"Look," Dean tried again, "It's not you. Really. I mean…it did freak me a little, because I wasn't expecting what happened, but I…" Dean rubbed his eyes with both hands, still struggling for complete alertness, "It's just that…dream," he finished, more to himself than as further explanation for Sasha.

"Dream?" Sasha repeated. Dean would have had the foresight to worry over Sasha pressing him for details, but luckily he wouldn't have to. Sasha just thought it over for a second and then managed to find some of his usual mischievousness. "A nightmare," he said, and it wasn't a question this time, "Is that why you're sleeping in the hallway?"

Dean scowled. "I'm not sleeping in the hallway on purpose," he said, and realized that now would probably be the right time to get up off the floor if he wanted to save any of his remaining dignity. He did so, and Sasha stood up with him. "I was going to go for a walk…or something," Dean explained, "I just sat down for a second…"

"Yeah, that'll happen," Sasha nodded.

Then, though Sasha seemed like he was going to say more, he suddenly stopped. His eyes had begun to travel over Dean's body, making Dean feel very exposed. Dean wasn't sure if he should feel better or worse about the situation when Sasha started chuckling to himself.

"Do you usually sleep in stuff you could swim in?" Sasha laughed.

Dean's initial thought was '_what?_' But then he looked down at himself and remembered the clothing he had stolen from his brother's bag before going into the hallway in the first place. "Shut up," he said, since Sasha was still chuckling at him, "They're Sam's, okay? And I'm not…swimming."

"Uhh…" Sasha swept his eyes over Dean's body again, "Right. Are you even six feet tall?"

Okay, that was it, their friendship was definitely in peril now. Dean was not short, just short_er_, which really wasn't that much of a feat when his brother was the size of a barge. Dean was not little, or petite, or any of those damn words people kept throwing at him ever since he was five. Sam had received the same treatment once, until his last growth spurt struck and he left Dean behind in the dust. Stupid 6'4" baby brother. Dean hardened his gaze at Sasha. Stupid 6'2" incubus too.

The truth was that Dean was just barely six feet tall, and usually told people 6'1" because…because he just did, okay? He probably wouldn't even care about something so stupid if Sam wasn't towering over him all the time, and to be honest usually Dean didn't care at all. He was still taller than average. He just didn't need to be reminded of his barely slighter stature by yet another person bigger than him.

"Yikes, I take it that's a sore spot," Sasha said, putting up his hands in mock surrender, or maybe in hopes of protecting himself from whatever malevolence Dean looked capable of right now, "What's with everyone wanting to be tall anyway?" Sasha added, "Because…personally speaking…I think you're much cuter the way you are." This final admission was accompanied by yet another once over of Dean's body. And this time Sasha was definitely not admiring clothing.

Dean couldn't help it—the dream, the look in Sasha's eyes—the whole thing made him shiver so hard he felt instant goose bumps grow over his skin.

He seriously hoped Sasha didn't notice.

"Okay, last night?" Dean began, "Really, not creeped out. But if you wanna get me there then by all means, keep it up."

Apparently, Dean was not being nearly as clear as he thought he was, because Sasha said, "Oh," grinning dangerously, "I always do."

Dean didn't even have time to properly gape because Sasha suddenly started to move in closer. Sasha got so close that Dean could smell whatever it was that told his brain _Sasha_. He didn't even know what the combination of scents were, it was just…Sasha.

Dean pressed himself against the door.

"L-Look," he tried, and couldn't believe what a pansy he was for stammering like that, "Whatever you're thinking, you can just—"

But whatever Sasha was thinking, Dean was way off the mark because all the guy did was reach past Dean and knock on the door.

Sam must have been right there about to come out, because less than half a second later the door was opened to reveal a very agitated younger Winchester. "Sasha! Have you seen—" Sam cut off abruptly and gave a slight jump at seeing Dean, "Dean!" he said then, "Where have you been? I wake up and you're just _gone_. You didn't leave a note. Nothing. How was I supposed to know—"

"Geesh, sorry, _Mom_," Dean broke in, having had just about enough of Sam's emasculating of himself, "I was outside the door the whole frickin' time, Sammy, give me a break here." And with that Dean pushed past Sam into the room, trying to forget Sasha's extra acute teasing and how red his face had become because of it.

"Are those my clothes?" Sam asked then.

Dean ignored him. He was much more interested in finding his own clothes and getting dressed for real. He debated taking a shower, but he had taken one last night, and he knew how important it was that they start early today. He grabbed what he hoped were clean clothes from the bottom of his duffle and headed for the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. "Five minutes," he called behind him. The tall duo could wait for him.

There were murmurs from the main room the entire time Dean was in the bathroom. He could only hope that they consisted of Dean having been found in the hallway and not that he had slept there, or that he had mentioned a bad dream. Sasha might be courteous enough to leave Dean alone about it, but Sam would pry.

Five minutes later exactly, Dean emerged from the bathroom feeling significantly better—other than the crick in his back from sleeping against the door—and was ready to switch over to case-mode. They had a succubus to catch. Dean couldn't afford to let some stupid dream distract him. It didn't mean anything anyway. It was just a dream. A very real, very tactile dream…

"So what's our plan?" Dean said, ignoring his traitorous thoughts as he sat on his bed next to Sasha. He kept a good amount of distance between them, but he didn't want to start avoiding the guy. Besides, Sam was on the other bed and since they had already chosen to convene like this Dean knew he would seem out of place if he sat at the table.

Sam and Sasha were quiet for a long time. It was more than unnerving.

"Uhh…hello? Earth to the freaks. You with me?"

Sasha offered a supportive smile, which told Dean that the originator of this silence had to be Sam. Typical.

"Whadja do this time?" he said to his brother, only half serious despite the accusing tone to his voice.

Sam grimaced. He could always tell when Dean was messing with him, but that didn't make it any less fun. "I didn't do—_Dean_. Will you just listen for a sec? I was telling Sasha…I was starting to tell him…that I want to come clean about my abilities."

Okay. That was unexpected. "Uh, what? And why exactly? Did I miss something?" Dean trusted Sasha, all dreams and innuendos be damned, but what had got into Sam suddenly that he wanted to tell Sasha all about his freaky powers?

Dean glanced at the incubus in question who if anything looked embarrassed. And then Dean felt really stupid. Sasha. There didn't need to be any other reason for Sam's behavior other than Sasha. Sam the martyr felt guilty about what happened last night and now he wanted to make amends. Since they accidentally found out Sasha's secret, why not tell theirs? At least, that's the way Sam's warped mind would see things.

"Sammy," Dean started, and he knew he sounded a little too much like Dad whenever his voice took on that tone.

"I already said he didn't have to tell me anything," Sasha broke in, and then added with a look at Sam, "You really don't. Finding out about me was an accident. We don't need to break even here. We're even. We're good. Really."

The arguments seemed pretty stacked against Sam, but he hardly looked convinced. Dean and Sam were different in many ways, but one thing they definitely had in common was their stubborn streak. Dad always said they got it from Mom, but they weren't too sure about that.

Wherever it came from, Sam was displaying it proudly and not anywhere near backing down.

"I wouldn't be doing this if I needed to. It's because I want to," Sam explained. His posture was a little too straight, all business with serious intent. "I keep thinking about what happened last night. Not…Carol. Though I doubt I'll forget that soon, either. I keep thinking about…" Sam was the one who wanted to come clean, and yet he still trailed off before he could say what he intended.

Sasha gave a weak smile and finished for him, cautiously in case he was overstepping his bounds, "About…that really strong gust of wind down Nicollet Avenue?"

There was no getting around it now. Sam nodded. "I appreciate you acting blind, deaf, and dumb about the whole thing, but we all know what really caused that. Or at least who. I don't really understand it, and I didn't mean for anything to happen last night, but…I have some…telekinetic abilities."

"My guess exactly," Sasha nodded, "But you can't control it?"

"I haven't really…tried."

Dean was getting a little annoyed with how they seemed to be pretending he wasn't there. "Okay, if we're going to do this then can we start be saying how power number one for you, Sammy, was always those vision things, and you haven't had one of those since before the gate opened." Dean hated being left out of a conversation. Besides, that particular point seemed really important. They kept thinking about Sam's powers, but the stunt on Nicollet was the first sign of anything since the demons escaped.

"I know," Sam said, all somber and introspective, "But think about it, Dean. My visions were always about other children like me. Well…there aren't any others left, remember? What would I need the visions for? The only reason the other powers aren't coming up is because I'm not letting them. Last night, I…I don't know what that was. I was just so…angry."

"Sometimes that's all it takes where power's concerned," Sasha offered. He was handling everything so easily, but then he was an incubus, an otherworldly creature himself, so there probably wasn't much that would freak him out.

"Get on with it, Sammy," Dean said, figuring they might as well go all in since they had come this far, "I don't even know all the powers myself. Only ones I've seen in Sam are the visions, that move stuff with his mind thing, and…well, that's it. The others had different ones, right? What, there was…telling people what to do and they couldn't refuse. Crazy strength." Dean meant to rattle off more but really, that was all he knew about. Sam hadn't been all that forthcoming with what the other peoples' powers had been.

It looked like he was ready to be forthcoming now though. "There's also…well, there was this girl, I never saw her use it, but…she said she stopped people's hearts just by touching them. Killed her girlfriend on accident."

Dean felt a shock go right through him at hearing that. Fuck. What if that had been Sammy's power? What would they have done then?

"And, uh…Ava, at the end, she…she could control demons. I saw it with my own eyes, Dean, it just…did what she told it to. I mean, that's gotta be the key, right? That's what the yellow-eyed demon wanted. Someone to lead the army."

Now they were getting ahead of themselves, Dean thought. He hadn't thought Sam meant to let Sasha in on everything, but in those few sentences he had basically handed over their deep dark secrets and said go ahead, be curious, ask away.

And naturally, Sasha was looking mighty interested in hearing more. Then, before Dean knew it, they were telling Sasha everything. Everything they knew anyway. About the powers, the others kids like Sam, the yellow-eyed demon, and about what happened at the Devil's Gate. Sasha knew quite a bit himself actually, but they were filling in the blanks, and when they were finished he didn't look at all weirded out.

Again, Dean felt he had to contribute that to the incubus thing.

"Wow," Sasha said, "Guess that explains why so many hunters aren't too happy with you guys. Everything sort of looks like…well…your fault." He held up his hands immediately upon seeing the affronted looks on the Winchesters' faces. "Hearing the facts I can see that it's not, so don't worry. The Devil's Gate, all the demons, or the mess with those other kids with powers. Things don't look too good for you guys though from most hunters' perspectives. Good thing Ellen's so open minded, huh. You'll need friends like her. And me if you'll still keep me." He flashed his usual smile.

Dean had to admit, he was beyond happy to see Sasha completely back to normal. Last night he had still been a little unsteady on his feet. Now Sasha was Sasha again. And…

Wait. What was that about Ellen?

"Open minded?" Dean repeated, staring at Sasha with something close to accusation. "You saying Ellen _knows_ you're an incubus?"

Sasha's face went blank. "Uh…"

"She got us together knowing you were an incubus and didn't say anything?" Dean didn't mean to sound upset, but…yes he did. "What was all that stuff you said once about her making you promise you'd be honest with us? The whole 'I-drink-in-sexual-energy' thing just sort of fell by the wayside, or what?"

Sasha was squirming now. Dean was the one speaking, but Sam's gaze had hardened quite a bit too. "Look, being an incubus wasn't included in things to tell the Winchesters on either of our ends," he explained, "And the reason is because…because she knows how difficult it is for me to work with other hunters, and Ellen would never ask that of me. I had to be honest with everything else, and I have been. Come on, Ellen knew you could trust me, otherwise she wouldn't have helped set this up. She didn't tell you for my sake. Don't be angry with her."

"How did she find out?" Sam asked then, and didn't actually sound all that upset, just interested.

A sly smile hooked around Sasha's lips at that. "I was…sort of desperate. I'd gone over a month without sex, hazard of the trade, ya know, and if I didn't find someone soon I was going to frenzy and just…jump the first person I came across. Not good. The Roadhouse was the closest place, and…like I said…I was desperate…" There was a blush spreading over Sasha's cheeks.

No way. That just couldn't be it. But the more Dean played over what Sasha was saying, the more his mind steered in one direction. "You…fed off Ellen?"

Apparently Sam hadn't been thinking like Dean because upon hearing Dean's assumption a very strangled cough sounded from the other bed.

Sasha didn't say anything but his silence said more than enough. That and the blush.

Sam started trying to make verbal sense of this. "How…but she's…Ellen wouldn't…you must have…" Sam shook his head. He just couldn't get the words out.

While the younger Winchester's brain continued its meltdown, Dean was trying his own way to sort through this new information. Part of him wanted to ask about the circumstances, the details, the how and why Ellen didn't just kill the guy. But then Dean would still be thinking about this, and the more he thought about it, the more his brain painted pictures of Sasha…and Ellen…together. Ellen was an attractive older woman, but it was sort of like picturing your brother with your mother.

Nausea inevitably ensued.

"Let's just…forget we found that out." Dean said finally, "We need to start working out this succubus stuff anyway. But while we're in the…sharing mode," he added, "there is one thing I still want to know." Dean looked over at Sasha and, as much as his better judgment told him not to, he allowed his eyes to travel down the incubus' body.

Sasha was wearing a long sleeved black shirt and jeans. Normally, the shirt would be perfectly long enough, but the way Sasha was leaning back on the bed made it hitch and his pants were hanging as low as Brad Pitt's did in Fight Club. This revealed hip bones. And it also revealed the top of that pelvic tattoo.

"Okay, two things," Dean corrected, and quickly moved his eyes back up to meet Sasha's. He had been caught though, because the grin on Sasha's face made him look far too pleased with himself. "One," Dean began, "You say you can initiate someone into becoming an incubus or succubus. How? And two…are those tattoos really just tattoos or some crazy incubus thing, coz I just don't buy that a guy would willingly get tattooed…_there_."

Naturally, Sasha gave a hearty laugh. "Okay," he said, "Answer to number one, and you can feel completely at ease, is that the person being initiated has to willingly accept the change. There's sex involved, but it's still a conscious choice by both parties. You're not going to catch it just by being friends with me, and there's no biting or blood sucking like with vampires and werewolves. Got it?"

Dean and Sam collectively looked relieved. Even if they hadn't really been all that worried, they still wanted to know.

"And as for the tattoos…" Sasha grinned, giving Dean that same old once over, that hungry stare that made Dean shiver every time, "It is an incubus thing. You'll see when you see me transformed. Though I gotta say, I'd miss them if I was human. Apparently they're…kind of sexy. Don't you think so, Dean?" He winked. _Winked_. And then he leaned back barely enough to be noticeable but enough so his tattoo and his hip bones showed all the more.

And damn it if Dean didn't shiver again. "Haha…" and damn it if the inevitable laughter didn't quickly follow, "I'm…sure the ladies think so," he managed, which he actually considered to be a fairly praise-worthy feat just then.

Dean had to keep reminding himself of the bartender that left Sasha's room the other morning. The _female_ bartender. Sasha was just a sexual being. Literally. He wasn't being serious. Oh god let him not be serious. It made Dean's mind drift to thoughts of his dream, of the pleasant part of his dream…

Heh. Pleasant. Since when was making out with a guy pleasant to Dean Winchester? Right now Dean really wished it wasn't barely nine in the morning because he could really use a drink.

"Why don't we get cracking on the case?" Sam said, sounding somewhere between amused and uncomfortable, "We only have a week. Maybe. And we have a new victim to find, remember?"

"You're right," Sasha greed, turning immediately back into serious-mode. He sat up straighter, making his hips and the tattoo disappear beneath his shirt. "I don't want to mess up again. For you, we lost Carol. But for me…soon I won't be able to count the girls I've failed on one hand. We know more now, and we're not screwing up again."

Dean couldn't agree more. He also made a mental note to do something nice—but not too obvious—for his brother later. Getting the subject changed was as much as he could have hoped for in that situation. Besides, Dean really wanted to work. The more he worked the less he would think of last night and that damn dream.

--

They decided to start back on Nicollet. They had a smaller range to search now, assuming the succubus stuck with the same pattern, but that didn't make the time go any faster or their hopes get any higher. Instead of splitting up, they had chosen to stay together considering Sasha would be best equipped to spot a new victim and therefore they wouldn't really cover all that more ground if they were on their own.

The first day turned up nothing though, but they weren't really all that surprised. They had made a point of staying away from last night's restaurant in case they were called as witnesses. They had been hanging around Carol rather suspiciously, and they couldn't afford to get caught up in police business. Dean was still technically wanted in several states, and Sam wasn't really off the hook anymore either. They had had to explain those little tidbits to Sasha too, and so far they didn't regret a single truth they had given him.

Close to eight o'clock and way over due for some dinner, the boys ended up back at the bar they had visited the first night. The same bartender was not working and Dean had to wonder if Sasha would have been okay going to the bar again if she had been there. He wasn't really sure how it worked with victims after the fact.

Victims. Dean had to come up with another word. It wasn't as if Sasha was hurting anyone. Prey? No, that was pretty much the same. Marks? Not much better.

"Dean, what do you think?"

"Huh?" Dean hadn't actually been paying attention to his brother and Sasha's conversation. He was too busy letting his mind wander. "What now?"

Sam gave an over-exaggerated sigh. "Dean, we asked what you thought of Sasha hanging back for a few days. Since this succubus is older and can probably sense him it might be keeping her off the map. If it's just the two of us maybe we'd have better luck."

Dean took another swig of his beer. Blue Moon again. He was really starting to like the stuff. "And, uh, how exactly are the two humans in this group supposed to spot her? Pheromone detector's bogus, remember?"

"You don't have to be sure," Sasha supplied. He also had a Blue Moon and was reaching for the last slice of pizza they had wrangled before the kitchen closed, "You find the most likely candidate and give me a call. I come and check. If she's it, great. If not, I make scarce again."

Really, Dean was listening, but he was also debating how worth it it would be to fight Sasha for the last slice. Dean always got the last slice. It was already heading for Sasha's mouth but that didn't mean Dean couldn't—no. Dean shook his head. Focus. "Sounds tedious," he said, thinking about how fun it would be to scavenge for girls with dark hair and blue eyes with his brother while Sasha did…what exactly?

"It's the best bet we got," Sasha shrugged, "Use your judgment. There aren't that many places to check now, and there really aren't that many girls who fit the MO either. Attractive. Blue eyes. Dark hair. And now we have better questions."

"Any crazy chicks hanging around," Dean supplied. Then he wondered, "Hey, you got a description for us?" he asked Sasha, "I mean, one we could use. I know the succubus was transformed when you saw her but…hair color maybe?"

Sasha looked a little put out, like he couldn't believe he hadn't said something about that earlier. "What an idiot," he said, meaning himself, "I didn't see much but she was definitely blonde. Like platinum. If we do this with me keeping hidden, you better watch out for her too. She might know hunters when she sees them, even if she only saw me the other night. Don't take the whole sex vampire thing for granted," he added with a grin, "We're stronger than humans."

Oh, Dean didn't doubt that. He didn't want to test it either.

Dean was about to ask Sasha another question, but Sasha' attention seemed suddenly elsewhere. Dean followed his friend's gaze and found a table a ways away filled with four rather attractive girls and one guy. They definitely looked like they could use a little more testosterone, and Dean knew exactly what was going through Sasha's mind. To be honest he was sort of thinking along those lines too, only he didn't have the excuse of survival.

"Okay, I'm gonna be completely honest with you guys," Sasha said, at first not even moving his eyes from that tempting table, "Usually when I'm on a hunt, once I start closing in I make an effort to be at my best. Well, my best comes from being…well fed, if you get me."

A small chuckle left Dean. Sometimes he wondered if his best came from the same thing.

Of course Sam had to go and look all ruffled and uncomfortable.

"If it bothers you…" Sasha started, hardly able to ignore Sam.

"It doesn't," Dean jumped in. He cast is brother a nasty glare. "Consenting adults don't bother us at all long as no one gets hurt. Right, Sammy?"

Sam had the decency to look ashamed, and with a forced smile, he nodded. "Right. Sorry. I think I'm gonna head back and do a little research again anyway."

Great. That meant Dean _wouldn't_ be going back to the room any time soon. Of course it also meant he could join Sasha at that table. Sasha couldn't go home with all of them and Dean was way overdo for some fun himself. "You do that, Sammy," Dean said, "I'm sure Sasha and I can find ways to entertain ourselves." Dean grinned at Sasha and gave a little nod towards the table. The girls had started to notice them too.

Sasha grinned back. Apparently he liked the idea of some company, which was fine by Dean because he was looking forward to a different kind of company later tonight.

--

Dean woke up with a groan. He couldn't remember how much he had to drink after Sam ditched them, but it had been way too much. He was also pretty disappointed to discover that even in his drunken stupor he hadn't gone home with anyone because he was in his hotel bed alone. Sam must have already gotten up because the other bed was empty and Dean could hear the shower running.

That's right, Dean thought as the night started to come back to him. Most of the girls had turned out to have significant others and were loyal through and through, which Dean had to admire even if it disappointed him. They had had a good time regardless, and Dean was pretty certain Sasha had returned to the hotel with one of the few single ones anyway. At least, he thought he remembered two people help him to bed, and neither was his brother.

Dean shook his head to clear it. He needed coffee. He got up and made some with the complimentary stuff in the room, knowing it would be more akin to sludge but not being too picky at this point. Once he had his cup he gave the bathroom door a knock.

"Sammy!"

Eventually there came a muffled, "What!"

"I'm gonna go check on Sasha! Didn't want you bursting a vein at finding me gone!" Dean chuckled to himself. He loved calling Sammy on his over-protective nature.

There was some form of obscenity thrown back, but Dean just smiled, took another sip of his coffee, and went out into the hallway. This time he was wearing what he actually wore to bed—one of his own T-shirts and a pair of shorts. He gave Sasha's door a knock. The girl might still be in there, but they had a case, incubus friend or not, and needed to get back out in the field.

"Hey! You awake in there!" he called.

There was some shuffling and a few minutes of silence, but finally, Sasha appeared in the doorway, a little mused and only wearing his boxer-briefs. "Dean," he smiled, running a hand through his too red hair, "Didn't think you'd be up before me. Sorry you had to sleep alone, man, but I didn't think you'd want to share."

Dean laughed. "Funny," he said, and then tried to look around Sasha into the room, "She still here?"

A strange look of embarrassment took hold of Sasha's features at that. "Uh…"

"Shit, I'm so gonna be late for class!" came a voice from inside, and it was decidedly not female, "I gotta catch the bus to the U."

Dean could only stare as a cold chill crept up the back of his neck and the one _guy_ from the table last night appeared next to Sasha.

He was shorter than Dean with dyed blonde hair, glasses, and the look of 'serious student' about him. Dean remembered the guy who he had assumed was just guy-friend-of-bunch-of-girls, who existed in droves as straight men everywhere. This one…apparently wasn't.

The guy noticed Dean and cast him a quick smile as he slung his bag over his shoulder and straightened his glasses. He had obviously dressed in a hurry because his shirt was only half buttoned.

"Hey, great time last night," he said to Dean, and then turned to Sasha and leaned up for a quick kiss, "You too," he said, and there was more innuendo in the way the guy said that than Dean ever needed to hear. "Gotta go!" the guy said then, and he was gone, zipping down the hallway.

Dean wasn't really sure how long he stood there, but by the time he had the sense to take another swig of coffee, it was already getting cold.

--

"I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"It was a guy, Sammy."

"So. He's an incubus. I don't think it really matters."

"I'm not talking about feeding here, I'm talking about sex."

"No, you're talking about Sasha being perfectly okay with having sex with women _and_ men. Which freaks you out because it means he might not be entirely joking when he hits on you."

Dean opened his mouth. Nothing came out. How did he respond to that? He hated it when Sam was so thoroughly and completely…right.

"Look, Dean," Sam started, leaning back against the wall of the building. They were standing outside the Guthrie Theatre with half finished Starbucks and several more blocks to cover before they could take another break. "I know you're not comfortable with people who are gay, or the subject of people who are gay, or anything even remotely related to people who are gay…"

Dean grimaced. "I am not a homophobe," he said vehemently.

And suddenly there was Sam's understanding look, which always seemed patronizing to Dean. "Homophobic doesn't only mean the violent kind Dean. You're okay with people being gay and loving whoever they want just so long as they don't do it around you."

Again, Dean opened his mouth, because there had to be a comeback to that, but with a very prominent scowl he drew another blank.

"Well, you're in luck," Sam said, taking a quick drink of his vanilla mocha, "I don't think Sasha can even be classified as gay, or bi, or however you want to say it. I don't think you can categorize an incubus. Some have preferences, some don't. Sasha clearly doesn't. I mean, he can't have much for standards if he keeps hitting on you." Sam smirked around his frou-frou coffee drink.

Dean, glaring murderously, took a drink of his overly priced _black_ coffee, and started to consider the benefits of fratricide again. "So what was with you telling me he wasn't serious, huh? That he was just messing with me?"

"He is. Was. I think he was. I don't know, I guess I was just messing with you too, so…I could have been wrong." Sam smirked again. He was having way too much fun with this.

They had awhile until they were supposed to check in with Sasha and give their report. _Nope, haven't found anything. Again._ Dean was getting really frustrated. He couldn't concentrate because every time he tried to focus he got a picture in his mind of Sasha with that guy. All this time Dean had been banking on Sasha being straight, or at least that he preferred women if he wasn't supposed to categorize. But now there was proof that Sasha really didn't care either way and that meant…

What? It didn't have to mean anything. Really, it could just explain why Sasha finds it so easy to tease Dean, not that he means his advances seriously. And why was Dean obsessing anyway? So what if Sasha was serious? What would that matter? Sasha wasn't about to try anything if Dean didn't want him to. Sasha just wasn't like that.

Dean really needed to stop thinking about this. He decided the subject had to be changed. Then he looked up and he realized he had the perfect topic too, ready and solid right before his eyes.

"Uh…Sammy? You see that chick over there?"

Sam looked towards the river and could see a woman with black hair and blue eyes about to walk past the Guthrie on the sidewalk. "Candidate?" Sam questioned.

"_Victim_," Dean said firmly, "Check out her friend."

It was so obvious that Dean felt pretty good about having spotted the pair first. And Sam said he wasn't observant enough.

The women hadn't been together a moment before, but the second one was catching up to the first now, and they clearly knew each other. The woman with black hair and blue eyes smiled in greeting to her friend, who Dean had to admit was blindingly beautiful and had the most brilliant platinum blonde hair he had ever seen.

"Met her yesterday and now making second contact?" Sam said, and though it was a question, it didn't really sound like one.

Dean nodded. "Call Sasha."

tbc...


	7. Part 7: Transformation

Part 7: Transformation

* * *

Dean liked taking naps in the Impala. He was used to it after years on the road and participating in many a stakeout. He especially liked it when he had the chance to nap because Sam had taken it upon himself to be first shift.

It was early afternoon and they hadn't had lunch. Dean was sleepy. Besides, it didn't take two sets of eyes to watch as a pretty young brunette and a gorgeous blonde succubus chatted over coffee.

Muddy Waters Café was on the way from Downtown Minneapolis to the area known as Uptown. It was small enough to keep a good watch over, and had parking spaces within easy view as well, so the Winchester didn't have to take things so far as spying over their own cups of coffee inside. At this point anything they could do to keep a low profile was a good thing.

Sasha had been hitting the work places of the old victims, asking specifically about a blonde that had been hanging around before the girls' deaths. He hadn't yet met up with the brothers, but told them over the phone that he was being fairly successful in confirming their suspicions over the blonde Sam and Dean were watching. She fit all the descriptions. The only place that couldn't be sure about her was the "Gay 90s", and understandably. More bottle blondes then cold be counted moved through that space on a regular bases. Some actual women. Some near enough.

Before hanging up a few hours before, Sasha had said he was going to make a few more stops and then meet the Winchesters wherever they happened to be. Unless of course something drastic happened. So far nothing had, and Sam had been keeping Sasha up to speed through text messages about their whereabouts. Dean would have done the honors, if he knew much about texting or how to do it, that is.

Technology just wasn't Dean's thing, and cell phones were way too complicated these days. All Dean needed was something to make and receive calls from and that could keep his messages. Sure Dean used his phone as an Ipod and took embarrassing pictures of Sammy sometimes, but all that texting and crazy stuff got to be too much for him. He still had to ask Sam to help him whenever he felt like changing his ring tone. Currently it was set to the new Finger Eleven song, "Paralyzer," which Dean had to admit—though not classic rock or metal—was pretty damn good.

Dean's mind was wandering over all these things, current events, the case, _Sasha_…as he began to drift off. He hadn't really intended to. Usually napping in the Impala meant dozing or resting one's eyes in the Impala, not actual sleep. But today Dean was tired. He still felt a little off after last night's alcohol overdose, not to mention the shock to his system when he went to see if Sasha was awake that morning and found his latest food source—Ian, the intellectual and very male film student.

Dean groaned in his sleep. He was dreaming about that morning, about finding Ian in Sasha's room, only it wasn't how it had actually been. Dean walked right in on them still in bed, and they were not sleeping. The only thing Dean could be thankful for was that the covers had most of the view obscured, but really that only made Dean's imagination run wilder. He could still see the position they were in—Ian face down into the pillows, Sasha on top of him…moving—and he could hear them too, which made it all the worse.

Even as Dean was taking all of this in, he knew he was dreaming. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them with both hands, something that usually always worked for getting him to wake up. But this time when he brought his hands down again, the dream was still in front of him, only now Sasha had noticed Dean was there. The incubus flashed that smile of his, never once ceasing his movements, and oh so coolly asked if Dean wanted to join them.

A faint gasp left Dean as he awoke, his eyes slowly focusing on the lock of his door, pressed down as they all were to keep out possible threats. There were no such locks, however, at least none Dean knew of, to protect him from the threatening nature of his own damnable mind.

Dean had to focus; he had to get himself together. Any sudden movement or sound would alert Sam that something was up—Dean was surprised the gasp hadn't been enough—and then there would be worrying and ultimately…questions. Dean didn't think he could take that, so he did his best to remain quiet and collect himself. Of course, he had little choice in the matter, since he looked up just then out the window, and, being met by the grinning face of Sasha on the other side of the glass, he immediately screamed. Oh, it was no girly scream by any means, but a good 'ah!" fell from Dean's lips regardless.

Promptly ignoring Sam and any remarks his brother might make, Dean began to roll down his window so he could glare at Sasha properly. "Dude," he growled, "Don't _do_ that. You trying to give me a heart-attack?"

And of course Sasha just had to be grinning as if he thoroughly enjoyed catching Dean off-guard. "Sorry, man, it looked like you were awake. I just keep startling you lately, huh?" Sasha winked at that, but it wasn't his usual wink, the one that made Dean think Sasha was hitting on him. This was more like a peace-offering, like maybe Sasha was worried he had shocked Dean one too many times.

That had to be because of Ian. After all, Sasha didn't know about Dean's traitorous dreams. And Dean had to admit, Ian was a much bigger shock.

"Dean…you know…about this morning…"

Oh shit. "Not my business," Dean said quickly. The last thing Dean wanted right now was an explanation, or God forbid an apology. "Assuming should be a cardinal sin. I shouldn't have…yeah. So let's just forget it, huh?"

By this time they had pretty much forgotten Sam was also in the car, trying desperately to disappear into his seat. "Dean, it freaked you. I'm not an idiot," Sasha said, "That nice job of mumbling you just did there, that's all you've said to me save maybe two words since my little co-ed left this morning."

Dean had the sudden urge to laugh at that use of the term 'co-ed'. He didn't, but he also couldn't deny that Sasha was right. The only reason he knew the guy's name was Ian or that he was a film major was because he was in the room when Sasha and Sam were oh so politely discussing it. Dean knew it was Sam's way of dealing with Sasha being an incubus, it was the way Sam always dealt with things—the more he knew about it, the less it worried him. But Dean had to sit there, hearing them talk about the guy, when all Dean wanted to do was forget the guy existed. He hadn't picked up on the guy's name at the bar the night before because he hadn't been interested in the guy at all, and he figured Sasha wasn't interested either.

Being wrong about that just shook Dean. It wasn't that he really cared who Sasha fucked to feed off of. What did that matter to him? Sasha would never see Ian—or that female bartender from the other night more than likely—again. So why the hell was Dean feeling and acting like he was…

No, Dean wasn't going to say it. It was official. Sasha had permanently fried his brain. Dean decided it must have happened the night he and Sasha shared the feeding experience. Yeah, that had to be it. Something was definitely wrong with Dean in the head.

"Dean?"

"Yeah…yeah, I know I've been kinda…quiet," Dean said, trying to look Sasha in the eyes, but ending up staring at his door lock again, "I was just…surprised. Not a big deal. Really."

Sasha was quiet for awhile. Then suddenly he called across the car to Sam and said, "Hey, Sam, you can handle a little lookout on your own for a sec, right?"

That got Dean's attention. He turned to look at his brother and saw Sam just sitting there gapping like an idiot, wishing he was still being ignored, and trying desperately to make his mouth work properly. "Uh…well, I mean…sure. I can…do that."

"Thanks." And Sasha reached in the window, unlocked Dean's door, opened it, and then just took Dean by the arm and literally hauled him out of the car.

There was nothing Dean could do. Struggling certainly wouldn't help matters. Besides, he could feel the futility of that in the vice that was Sasha's grip. He realized then that a little of Sasha the incubus was showing through, and that did not make Dean feel any better about the situation.

"Come on," Sasha said, half dragging Dean along with him as he took them behind a nearby building. It was pretty much an alley, complete with dumpster, various types of grime, and of course there wasn't a single soul in sight.

"Whoa, okay?" Dean said, finally feeling Sasha's grip loosen enough for him to pull his arm free, "What are we doing?"

Sasha turned back to Dean, satisfied that they were in an adequate enough place to talk this out. "We have a problem here," Sasha said, and there was a seriousness to Sasha's words that made Dean pay close attention. Sasha never sounded that serious. He even crossed his arms, which universally meant hostility or some form of challenge. "Look, I've enjoyed our little roundabout way of going about this and all, but the truth is…you're starting to distract me."

"What?" Dean was definitely confused now. "I'm distracting you? Okay, first," Dean started in, because now he was more than ready for a fight, "_You_ keep hitting on _me_. I thought you were just messing around. Sam thought you were just messing around. Then you keep…doing things, and when I find you with a guy instead of a girl this morning it's all business as usual."

"Dean, you knew I planned to take someone back with me last night," Sasha said, charging right into the confrontational tone that had been set, "So it was a guy. Big deal. Or so you keep saying. But it's really driving you crazy. And what's distracting me is you being driven crazy. It's so…frustrating," Sasha added, practically tossing his hands into the air.

At least his arms weren't crossed anymore, Dean thought. But the elder hunter was still confused. What exactly were they talking about? "Back up," Dean said, "What do you mean roundabout way we've been going about this? And why does me freaking out have anything to do with you being distracted?"

Now Sasha really looked frustrated, but he was an easygoing guy by nature, that Dean knew, and so it was no surprise that Sasha took a moment to calm down before he spoke again. When he did speak, he took a few very deliberate steps closer to Dean. "You really don't get it, do you?" Sasha said, "It's driving _me_ crazy now and you don't even get it. Dean," Sasha stressed, and his voice fell a little. The animosity had faded as well, but the intensity was still very much there. "I'm an incubus. It isn't possible for someone to be attracted to me and for me not to know about it. Especially when I'm spending most of my time with them."

Whoa. Back up. What? Dean was suddenly very aware of how close Sasha was getting, but for the life of him he couldn't think how to move away.

"Maybe I was just messing with you at first. I have to admit, it was kinda fun."

Sasha was getting very close, enough that Dean could smell that _Sasha_ smell again.

"But Dean, I wouldn't push the way I have been if I didn't think something might come of it. I wouldn't make advances…if I didn't think you kind of liked it." Sasha made to close in then, to close the last of the gap between them, and God knows how Dean managed to come back to his senses in time to move out of the way.

"Whoa," Dean said, leaning as far back as he could to avoid whatever Sasha had been intending to do just then, "You need to just…back up, buddy. I don't know what you think you know about me, but…attracted…to _you_? Not possible. Sounds more like you need to get that incubus sense checked coz it is way off."

Sasha looked a little disappointed but eventually just looked skeptical. "Dean, again, I am an incubus. You can't lie to me, or fool me when it comes to passion or attraction. That you can only do to yourself. Trust me, if someone is attracted to me, I know. How do you think we hunt?"

This was not a conversation Dean planned to have today. Or _ever_. "Look, I'm telling you, it's just not possible. You're not attractive. I mean," Dean shook his head and tried to find a better way to say that, "You're attractive just not…to _me_, okay?"

Finally taking a step back, Sasha crossed his arms again and gave Dean a once over that was entirely scrutinizing. "Okay," he said finally, "Let's make a deal."

"A deal?" Right now all Dean wanted was to get out of this alley.

"A deal," Sasha repeated, a small smile playing at his lips, "Either you're attracted to me, or you're not, right? So we find out for sure. If you are, you have to deal with that. If you're not, I have to deal with being wrong—for the first time in my life, I might add. Also, if I am wrong, I promise, hands down…I leave you alone. No more flirting. Nothing. Sound good to you?"

It sounded too good. There were only so many ways Dean could prove he wasn't attracted to Sasha, and he was pretty sure he knew what the incubus was going to suggest without prompting, "So…how am I supposed to prove it?"

That small smile turned only too quickly into Sasha's devilish grin. He dropped his hands to his sides again and shrugged. "It's simple enough. You let me steal just one little kiss—"

"Ha." Dean laughed, if a little uncomfortably.

"_And_," Sasha went on, "If you feel nothing, really nothing, fine, I'll accept it. But if you do…"

"What? Your next feeding time is me? I don't think so." Dean really wanted out of this alley. He couldn't understand why his legs weren't moving.

But Sasha, in that moment, while answering that question, didn't look devilish at all. "Whoever said I only wanted to feed on you?"

Dean was fairly certain he shivered, but at this point it was hard to keep track of how many times that had happened during this conversation. He couldn't actually agree to these terms. It was ridiculous.

"Come on, Dean," Sasha pressed, though he didn't make any moves to bring himself closer again, "Just one kiss and we can end this little dance we've been doing. Fifty-fifty chance."

No, this had to be a bad idea. It had to be. "Listen…I…"

"Come on, Dean," Sasha said again, "Don't you want to prove me wrong? Or," Sasha's mouth quirked up again, devilish as before, "Are you afraid I'll be proven right?"

That was it. There was no way Dean could turn down a bold-faced challenge like that. Besides, he had nothing to lose. He knew he was right. He had to be. "Fine," he said, feeling a surge of panic the moment the word left him, "But I swear, if you try anything…"

"Just…a kiss," Sasha promised, at last beginning to move again. He only had to take a few steps, but Dean certainly wasn't going to bridge that new gap, "Just a kiss…" Sasha said again, and he wasn't giving Dean any time to prepare for this, he was just moving in for the kill.

Dean tried to tell himself this was a good idea, tried to focus on Sasha no longer hitting on him and being able to just put all this weirdness behind him. He would much rather be friends with the guy than deal with all these freaky feelings. Sasha was an incubus. It's not like any of this was normal.

That got Dean thinking. _Incubus_.

"Wait," he said, a hair's breath from Sasha's lips and feeling suddenly very short and very small, "No…incubus stuff either."

Sasha's brow creased. It was so close to Dean he could count the lines. "Incubus stuff?"

"None a that….you know…pheromone crap. No cheating."

The lines in Sasha's forehead disappeared again, and he smiled. "Dean, I wouldn't do that. This is just us. Just Sasha and Dean. For all intents and purposes, right now I'm practically human."

"Ha," Dean laughed, "Right."

"No tricks," Sasha said, very softly again, and moving in that much closer so that he was practically speaking against Dean's lips, "Just…" the word was pure breath, and he didn't say anymore, he simply closed the gap.

Dean didn't even realize his eyes were already shut. Half of him thought he must still be dreaming and that when he opened his eyes again he would be back in the car with Sam. His senses told him different.

Sasha's lips, _damn_, they were so much like the dream, that first dream, that Dean couldn't believe it. They were as soft as Dean's were chapped, and pliant, and giving. Dean found himself leaning in, reliving that sweet, perfect part of the dream when he wasn't afraid of anything, not even the kiss. Then Sasha's lips were moving against his, and Dean was moving his too, and their mouths were open just enough that the smallest tilt of Sasha's head pushed the kiss deep enough to touch tongues. Dean shivered, and shivered again when he felt Sasha's hand at the curve of his face and neck, gentle, guiding.

It was lasting too long already, Dean knew. He had to think quickly. He readied himself as much as he could and pulled away, smiling.

"See," he said, and his voice didn't waver in the least, "Nothing. Sorry, man."

Sasha just blinked at him, frowning for awhile, until finally he found a smile too, though it wasn't a truly happy one. "Fair enough," he said, pulling his hand away slowly so that it brushed Dean's neck as he lowered it, "Thanks for…humoring me," he added, and after stepping away from Dean completely, he nodded towards the way they had come, "Guess we should go back."

"Yeah…" Dean nodded, "Just, uh…give me a sec, huh? If I look all flushed, Sam'll get the wrong idea." He grinned, his wide and devious grin.

A laugh left Sasha, though it wasn't as full of humor as usual. "Gotcha. Take too long though and I bet he'll still worry." Sasha stretched his own grin, but it wasn't genuine. Not really. Sasha didn't want to be proven wrong, but he accepted defeat and headed out of the alley, leaving Dean alone with the dirt and grime.

As soon as Sasha was out of sight, Dean fell back against the wall, not caring about how dirty he was making his jacket. Finally, he could breathe again, and his breaths came shallow. His heart was still beating so fast; he had been certain Sasha would hear it. The flush to his cheeks was not from embarrassment, Dean couldn't deny that. He brought up both hands and ran them hard through his hair.

Practically shaking and swallowing low against the pounding of his heart, Dean looked up at the sky and pleaded, but he doubted anyone was listening.

"I am so…_screwed_."

--

It was official, this had turned out to be the most boring hunt they had ever been on. Dean couldn't take any more of just watching the two women—or woman and succubus. They had spent the whole day together. Coffee and talking, shopping and talking, walking and _talking_. Did women ever stop talking?

The brunettewith blue eyes and the succubus with blinding blonde hair had driven together—in the brunette's car of course—back to the brunette's apartment around dinner time. This apartment was actually downtown and very close to the Guthrie Theatre where Sam and Dean had first spotted the pair. They assumed the brunette had initially been heading home when the blonde caught up to her.

They were there again, and as much as all three hunters hated it, they were staked out just as they had been with Carol. It hadn't been a full week, but they figured the succubus was desperate after almost getting caught, and tonight could well be the night for the next kill.

Dean was waiting around the side of the building where he had a view of a well hidden window into this new victim's apartment. It wasn't as private as when they were in Brooklyn Park—it was downtown Minneapolis—but it would be private enough for what they had to do.

Dean's stomach growled as he leaned back against the building, watching the window with mild disinterest. He couldn't see the women from his vantage point, but he could see that the lights were on, and would know if there was any big movement. The main watching was done from the Impala. This time they would not make the same mistake they had made before. For one, they knew the succubus was already in the apartment. If the two women moved from the main room, or if any lights went out, they would act, but they had to bide their time. There was still the small chance they were wrong.

Dean thought fondly of the food Sasha had been kind enough to pick up for them for dinner. He still had some leftover Chipotle in the back of the car. But thinking about Sasha forced a slight huff from Dean's lips. Sasha wasn't being kind when he offered to get the food, he was using it as an excuse to get away from Dean. Dean thought that proving to Sasha he wasn't interested would be the end of it. What he didn't want was for them to stop being such easy friends. He still liked Sasha. That never changed.

And of course he hadn't been entirely honest when he told Sasha he felt nothing from the kiss. In fact he had outright lied. Whatever it was Dean had felt when their lips met, it was far from nothing.

Dean sensed an oncoming shiver and pulled his leather coat a little tighter around him. He couldn't afford to think this way. He was on a case, for crying out loud, and an important one where several women had already been killed. Dean had to focus. Glancing down at his watch Dean realized he also had to head back to the Impala. It was Sam's turn. Great.

The walk seemed long and short as Dean moved out of his little hideaway and out to where the Impala was parked. Sam saw him coming and was already out of the car, offering an open driver side door to Dean before Dean was completely across the street.

"Happy hunting," Dean offered to Sam, and with strained smiles they switched places. Within seconds Sam was across the street and gone, hidden back where Dean had come from.

Dean didn't waste any time. Partially out of honest necessity and partially to keep from having to strike up a conversation with Sasha, Dean reached into the back and grabbed his container of Chipotle. He had his mouth full around a bite of beans and rice when the first sounds of Sasha's normal, pleasant laughter filtered over to him.

At this point, Dean couldn't imagine a sweeter sound.

"Do you always eat like it's your last meal?" Sasha asked, grinning over at Dean in what was finally a genuine expression, "The first time I saw you eat, I assumed it was a fluke. Maybe you hadn't had a good meal in a while. But…it's been close to two weeks here, pal, and you're still putting it away. Where do the calories go?"

"In my belly where they belong," Dean said, greedily taking another bite.

Sasha laughed again. "I'm serious. Is the hunter life that good to you?"

Ha. Now there was a thought: hunter life being good to the Winchesters. "Strong metabolism," Dean shrugged, "Sam's the same way. You just wouldn't know it unless he has a bunch of sugar in front of him." Dean grinned at the thought.

One of Sam's few weaknesses was indeed sugar. Dean once got Sam to forget all about a huge fight that he had definitely started and was definitely in the wrong about by buying Sam Cinnabon. Pure genius really.

"Me?" Dean said, "Give me real food any day. I'd kill for ribs, potatoes, and corn bread."

Again came an exuberant laugh from Sasha. "I'll buy you Famous Dave's sometime." He grinned. "And I'm sure I'll be very thankful they give you those little moist cloth things with the meal."

This time Dean was the one who had to laugh, but only halfway since his mouth was full of tortilla. What could Dean say? He liked to eat. And he had to admit he was really happy he and Sasha were talking normal again. All afternoon things had felt weird. Maybe it had been Dean's imagination, or at least only on Dean's part. After all, Dean was the one with issues to get over. Sasha was just…right.

No, Dean thought, not right, just…not entirely wrong. Dean would not admit to being attracted to Sasha. There had to be another answer. Again Dean thought of how he and Sasha had shared a feeding. Maybe that was it. Maybe they formed some weird bond when they did that and Dean was just feeling the affects. Maybe it was an incubus thing. Maybe Sasha was just that good of a kisser.

Yeah, that was probably it. Not everyone was that good at kissing, but Sasha was built for sex, so naturally he would be good at all things sexual. It wasn't Dean's fault. Yeah. _Yeah_. Dean was definitely not…

"Dean…"

There was a quietness to Sasha's voice, a whisper that made Dean shiver before he could help himself. He really hated how that kept happening.

Looking up from his mutilated Chipotle, Dean found himself practically nose to nose with Sasha. How the hell did the guy get so close to Dean without him noticing?

But despite the lump in Dean's throat, Sasha was not closing in for another stolen kiss, or planning on making any moves. He wasn't even looking at Dean. He was trying to lean past him.

"Look…" Sasha said, in that same breathy whisper. He was pointing up at the apartment building.

Dean looked, not sure what he would find, and then he saw her. The victim. She was standing in front of her window looking out, thankfully not at them, but beyond them out at the city. Behind her stood the succubus, still looking so very human and very, very beautiful. As Dean and Sasha watched, the succubus slipped her arms around the brunette's waist from behind and pulled their bodies close.

Dean gulped. This was bad. _Hot_. But bad.

Leaning forward the succubus started planting little kisses along the brunette's neck, and with what they could only assume was a smile since the pair was too high up to really make out their full expressions, the brunette turned and started leading the succubus from the window.

Outside it was almost completely dark. It wasn't even six o'clock, but this was Minnesota in late fall. The sun started setting at five.

It was time to move. In a moment's time Dean's food was thrown as safely as possible into the back of the Impala again, Sasha and Dean both had weapons ready but tucked in their jackets, and they were running across the street to get Sam.

This apartment building was a lot nicer and a hell of a lot harder to break into then the last one. Dean worked as quickly as he could on a back door that was in an alley near the lookout point beneath the victim's side window. Dean liked to pride himself on being a very adept lock-picker, but he had to give some credit to this one.

Finally, Dean heard that wonderful click and with a slightly held breath he opened the door. No alarm. Everything would be easier from here on in. Until they got to the succubus, of course.

Dean looked back at Sasha and Sam, who nodded, and they made their way quickly into the building. Making sure to keep their weapons hidden until they reached the victim's apartment, they moved fast, allowing Sam to take the lead since he had the best spatial memory and was fairly certain he could lead them right to the victim's door.

"This one," Sam said, speaking quietly despite their being no one in the hallway. They had passed a few people on the way up the floors, but no one paid them much mind.

Typical. No one knew their neighbors anymore.

Dean reached out to test the door—they couldn't afford to waste time knocking—and cursed when he found it locked. Immediately Dean started to reach for his picks, but he was stopped by Sasha's hand touching his.

"I can take this one," Sasha smiled, and Dean tried not to shiver yet again at the combination of Sasha whispering, touching him, and looking at him like _that_.

Sasha moved in front of Dean quickly though and took hold of the doorknob. He turned it until he felt resistance, and then…kept going. Dean heard the strained crunch as the lock broke. The elder Winchester had to admit, incubus strength was pretty damn scary.

With a gentle push, Sasha opened the door. The main light was off now and they could hear no immediate sounds. With a quick glance at one another, the boys decided that the women had more than likely moved to the bedroom and they had no time to waste. Barely thirty seconds went by before they found themselves—weapons ready—at the bedroom door. Sam took the liberty of pushing it open and they all cocked back the hammers on their guns.

"Police, don't move!" Dean shouted commandingly.

Sam glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eyes but Dean held firm. It was the first thing he could think of.

In front of them was pretty much what they expected to find, only thankfully there was not yet a new corpse for them to mourn over. The brunette was laid out on the bed in her underwear and bra, while the succubus, quite naked already but still human looking, straddled her.

Again Dean had to think _hot_. But he shook his head and tried to focus. "So sorry for interrupting ladies, but I'm afraid we have to take the blonde here in for questioning."

The brunette was already gathering up some blankets to cover herself, and the hunters were pretty sure the only reason she hadn't started yelling at them was because Dean said they were police. "Questioning?" the brunette repeated, glancing worriedly at her companion, "Questioning for what? How did you even know she was here?"

"We've been watching her for quite some time, Miss," Dean said, which was actually the exact truth, something he didn't get to say too often.

"We have strong suspicions she is connected to a string of recent murders," Sam added, following Dean's lead and trying to make his voice sound as authoritative as possible.

Dean glanced at Sasha then and understood why Sasha hadn't joined in. The succubus was staring at him and he was staring right back. She had gotten off the bed—_and_ the brunette—and was standing now bare as anything.

This was definitely not a good time to look like they didn't know what they were doing. Dean gestured from the brunette to his brother, "Miss," he said, "If you'll be so kind as to accompany Officer…Sandborn here out of the apartment, it would be best if you stayed with someone else for a few hours. We need to, uh…take the other lady in." Dean realized he was running out of ways to talk about the succubus without sounding suspicious that he didn't know her name.

Again, Sam gave Dean a sideways glance. He didn't like that Dean was taking him out of the action, even if only for as long as it took to get the brunette into one of the other apartments, assuming she knew someone else in the building. But at this point Sam didn't have much choice. He nodded to the brunette and she moved quickly to reach him, getting out of the bed on the opposite side as the succubus and looking very betrayed.

Seeing that her food source was about to get away, the succubus made a quick lunge to grab the brunette, but a step forward from Sasha and wave of his gun kept her in place.

A moment later Sam was gone, the victim with him, and Dean and Sasha were alone with their prey. Dean readied his gun to just fire and get things over with, since the succubus looked so transfixed with Sasha and hadn't made much of a move except to grab for the victim. But something about the way Sasha and the succubus were staring at each other again made Dean pause.

Then Dean realized what it was, and he worried for the briefest moment of betrayal as he had that night when they first discovered Sasha's secret. In the succubus' eyes was a clear sign of recognition.

"So…Sasha dear…still following in Daddy's footsteps, I see," she said, speaking casually despite the tension in her body. She looked twenty-five, just as she should, and absolutely flawless in body, face, and everything else. But Dean knew this hag could be as ancient as stone.

Sasha sort of twitched at being addressed personally, but he didn't lower his gun. "I…I knew it was you. When I saw you after the last victim…I…I knew, but I didn't want to believe it."

Dean almost felt like he was invading a private conversation. Just how the hell did they know each other? Dean looked hard at the succubus, as if that would be enough to make everything clear to him. Strangely enough, it was. The hair was different, but the face…the face he had seen before.

"You blink out of existence. I see you once every, what, five years," Sasha was saying, and his voice trembled in a way Dean had never heard before, "Shi never spoke of you fondly, but not cruelly either. How can you…do these things? Our people do not kill. We take what we need but we always give in return. You've been…slaughtering these women…"

"Hahahaha…" the succubus laughed but it sounded unnatural, emotionless and flat, "Sasha," she said, "Women? Humans are cattle. A good meal. That is all." She took a step, a single step closer to Sasha, and though he held his gun firm, he did not fire. "I thought differently once, like you do now, and like your mother…my poor dead sister."

Dean could have kicked himself for not realizing right away. A brunette, a blonde, and a redhead. There were three sisters.

"But age changes that," she continued, "Experience changes that. Just wait…wait until you find someone so…enticing…that you can think of nothing but possessing them. And when they finally turn from you because they've gotten bored, or they don't feel the same passion as you do, or maybe…just because you tell them the _truth_…and they see you only as a monster," her eyes flashed and Dean suddenly realized he was looking at red, "Then…then tell me about slaughter."

The succubus moved so fast in the next few seconds that even if Dean had thought to fire, he would have hit nothing but air. In those same short moments, Dean saw the transformation as if in slow motion. Truly, it was remarkable.

The way the succubus rose into the air and grew wings to carry her more quickly forward, wings like that of a gargoyle that stand atop buildings. Her hair, blindingly blonde, grew longer, fuller, and from her temples grew horns, black, that went straight up and came to dangerous points. It was more than Dean could have imagined or dreamed about. The red eyes he could see, the fangs on her eye teeth, and even the claws made from her white skin fading to black where her fingers became talons. Her feet were the same. She had been wearing no clothing, but now there were coverings, strange and black, that gave back her modesty, like a bikini woven out of intricate tattoos.

_Tattoos_. Now Dean got it, but that couldn't prepare him. Not for how the succubus rushed at Sasha in this new form and slammed him back into the wall, making him drop his gun to the ground. And certainly not for how Sasha pushed with such uncanny strength to get her away. And definitely, definitely not for how quickly Sasha too…changed.

He didn't need his gun, he had claws just as she did, and on his feet as well. He had wings that spread farther than hers for his greater size. Like her, Sasha's hair grew longer, past his shoulders, his eyes blazed red, his fangs glimmered as he growled. His horns grew from his temples but they were different, rolling down and then curving back up into even sharper points than hers. And yes, there were the tattoos—for Sasha's clothing had simply vanished as he changed—the ones on his back to form black wings, and the ones below the waste to cover him.

There was nothing of a man about Sasha as Dean stared at him in the split second he had time to look. But when Sasha charged forward to meet the succubus again and together they soared back and burst out the window to fall gloriously to the alley below, all Dean could think was...

"_Awesome_…"

tbc...


	8. Part 8: The Grass Isn't Always Greener

Part 8: The Grass Isn't Always Greener

* * *

Today was not a good day.

Dean ran out of the bedroom and through the apartment as fast as he could get his legs to move. He didn't slow down even when he burst from the main door into the hallway, passing Sam and the confused victim who was still wrapped up in the sheet from her bed. There wasn't time for explanations. Dean yelled, "Come on!" and expected Sam to follow. Naturally, Sam did, without giving the victim, or the few people who had begun to stick their noses out from behind their doors, any explanation either.

The panicked pace Dean had taken on did not stop Sam from demanding his own explanation, however, as they made their way down the stairs to the ground floor. "What happened!? What are we doing?!"

"Battlefield moved!" Dean shouted in answer.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the only way out of the apartment besides the main door was out one of the windows. "We're six stories up!" Sam said, half horrified and half amazed that Sasha and the succubus just went flying out a window from that kind of height.

Dean bounded down the last set of stairs that would lead them to the door they came in and right out into the alley where Sasha and the succubus would have landed. He didn't bother looking at Sam who was right behind him. Really, he didn't need to see his brother's reaction to guess what it would look like. "There's…a couple other things," he said, a little softer and out of breath.

"Other things?"

"Yeah…" Dean grabbed the knob to the outside door and pushed, gun at the ready. "They're in all their glory out there, so be ready. And…the succubus…is Sasha's other aunt." And without offering Sam any more than that, or any time to think about what he had said, Dean ran out into the alley to join the fight.

At first Dean couldn't see anything. The alley was dark despite the time, the sun having set long ago, but there were only so many places two gargoyle-like creatures could be hiding.

Dean felt Sam exit into the alley behind him and they waited. Suddenly, Sam gave a great shout and pulled Dean back against the wall.

"Look out!"

A twinge of pain swept through Dean's shoulder at the unexpected impact into brick, but he was mighty thankful his brother's reflexes had been better than his own just then. Sasha and the succubus came tumbling down out of the air above them and crashed into the alley's cement ground. For a moment Dean wondered about the delayed reaction—could they really have run fast enough to beat the pair to the ground?—but as incubus and succubus reared up again, Dean understood. This wasn't just a ground fight. They had wings, for Christ's sake.

Apparently neither the sight of the two of them transformed nor the news that they were dealing with Sasha's aunt was enough to deter Sam from helping, which Dean was very grateful for, because Sam drew an iron knife from inside his jacket and raced towards the succubus before she could get too far off the ground.

Sasha was still getting to his feet—or, taloned hoof things, since Dean didn't think they looked much like feet anymore—but the succubus wasn't foolish enough to only notice her downed nephew. She saw Sam coming, heard him maybe, and wheeled around, hovering a few feet above the ground. As Sam moved to strike she dove, plowing Sam to the ground and knocking the knife clean out of his tight grip. Dean watched the knife fly through the air and then slide its way beneath the alley's dumpster.

Perfect.

Dean's first thought was to take aim and just fire. He had two guns on him now since he had the foresight to grab Sasha's before racing from the apartment, but with the succubus so close to Sam, Dean wasn't sure he had a clear shot.

The succubus rose up above Sam, perhaps debating whether to finish the puny little human off, Dean figured, but she hadn't noticed that Sasha was recovered. He leapt into the air as well, ramming into her and sending them both soaring right over Sam to hit the ground several feet away.

This alley was not big enough for this fight, Dean thought, especially during rush hour in downtown Minneapolis. Sure, they were hidden from the street, and hopefully none of the occupants of the apartment building would be looking down, but there was always a chance.

Dean needed to get in there. At his current distance it was even harder to gage a good shot with how Sasha and the succubus tussled. Half the time Dean couldn't even tell whose wings were whose. There were iron bullets in his gun, damn it. He couldn't risk hitting Sasha. Of course, by the looks of things Sasha wasn't fairing very well on his own.

As Dean began to move towards the grappling pair, he saw out of the corner of his eyes that Sam was up and searching for his knife. Dean gave a quick yell about where he had seen it fly, and then went running. He couldn't wait for Sammy. Not this time. Sasha and the succubus were still on the ground fighting viciously. The sight of it almost made Dean stop, and he felt a tremble working its way up his arms. He shook his head and pushed that feeling away. Dean Winchester did not get scared. He did not hesitate. And he did not fucking freak out when a friend needed him

A friend. For a moment Dean wondered if he could ever remember a time when a _friend_ needed him. Dad, sure. Sammy. Bobby, maybe, but he was more like a father figure too, just like with Jo needing him but sure as hell feeling more like a sister than a friend. Really, if Dean thought about it, he didn't have…any friends. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever really had one. There was never time. Never a chance.

So if Sasha was in trouble, even if he was growling like a fucking vampire, with practically glowing red eyes, horns, and a body straight out of that Disney's gargoyle cartoon, Dean was going to damn well get in there and help.

Dean got as close as he dared, found his shot, and he took it.

The shot would have been dead on too, if the succubus hadn't spotted him just then and jumped out of the way. Well, not out of the way really so much as right at Dean.

"Shit!" Dean tried to duck, but those wings were faster than his reflexes. Dean anticipated an impact like he had seen with Sam, but the succubus didn't ram him. She flew right at him, reaching out with one of her taloned black hands, and grabbed Dean by the throat.

He lifted so effortlessly from the ground that Dean almost forgot to choke. It was the worst kind of hold. It hurt, it cut off air, but not enough that he would pass out or be in any real danger. No, this grip was the kind you used on bait that you wanted alive until you were ready to kill it.

_Double shit.  
_  
Dean saw the ground getting further away until the succubus finally stopped about the same distance up as the victim's apartment. If Dean fell he doubted he would fair as well as Sasha had. Wings definitely must have come in handy with that.

"You come here to kill me, Sasha!" the succubus called down to where Sasha stood on the cement, looking battered but not yet beaten, "And you have to use human hunters to help you!?" Her words should have sounded more mocking, Dean thought, but they didn't. They sounded as calm and dead as the ones she spoke in the apartment.

Then Dean felt her grip let go, and he didn't have time to think of much else. That stomach flip Dean always hated about rollercoasters was much worse when you were falling to a much more possible death.

Dean didn't close his eyes. No fucking way would he close his eyes and just accept this. If he timed things right, rolled, something, he might get away with a broken bone—well, a few broken bones. He had jumped from all sorts of things before, crazy heights, moving cars. Granted, this was a little bit different.

Before he could meet the pavement, however, Dean suddenly felt very stupid, because Sasha was right there after all, and Dean still had several feet to go when strong arms and clawed hands caught him.

The succubus had to have expected that, right? Surely she didn't think Sasha would let Dean pave the ground in a fine Winchester goo.

Dean was safe, but his heart was up in his throat, beating wild. When he looked up into Sasha's changed face, he had to admit it didn't really make him feel much better. Sasha looked plain scary in his true form. Awesome, in the original sense of the word, but scary.

Managing a pretty pitiful 'thanks', Dean tried not to look as freaked as he felt and let Sasha drop him safely the rest of the way to the ground. Sasha didn't say anything, but he smiled, something that did indeed soften his otherwise imposing face what with the eyes, the horns, the fangs, and the slight point to his ears that Dean hadn't noticed until now. Still, the smile reminded Dean that although Sasha may be an incubus, Dean could trust him, and in Dean's mind that was all he needed to know.

Reality snapped back into place and Dean looked up past Sasha just in time to see the succubus coming in fast. He yelled Sasha's name, watching as his friend turned in preparation only to be crashed into yet again. This time they landed against one of the walls, feet on the ground, with Sasha pinned back by the grip Dean now knew better than he wanted to.

Looking down the alley, Dean saw that Sam had recovered his knife, but he looked at Dean with the same helplessness Dean was feeling in his gut. She was just so damn strong. It was a lucky thing these creatures weren't usually bad guys, because hunters would have their hands full.

Dean almost growled at himself. What kind of hunter was he? He had faced things this strong before. Vampires, shapeshifters, a frickin' werewolf! This was some psycho sex vampire with a complex who needed to be put down, and by God Dean was going to see that get done.

Dean may have lost his gun when the succubus grabbed him, but he still had Sasha's. He took it from where he had tucked it into the back of his pants, looked across the alley at Sam, gave a sharp nod, and started moving for the pair against the wall.

The succubus still had Sasha held firm, and she glared back at Dean with a growl. "Enough," she said, and he started to recognize that her voice sounded different than it had in the apartment, low and rumbling. He imagined he hadn't noticed before because he was hanging by his neck above the ground. "You don't know…you don't know anything," she said, "What I've been through…"

"Save it, sister, I'm not into Hallmark moments, okay?" Dean said, steadying his weapon. He was pretty sure he had a good shot this time, but there was always that chance she might make another move like she had before. "Oh, my life's been so sad," he said in a mocking voice, "Nobody loves me for me. Poor little succubus. You wanna find true love, try not killing your victims then."

The succubus growled again. "She did love me!" she screamed, and her voice sounded shrill and inhuman as it rang through the alleyway.

Dean cast a glance at Sasha. The succubus' grip had tightened, but Sasha looked, more or less, no worse for the wear. He gave Dean the smallest possible nod, and that was all the encouragement Dean needed. "Some chickie a few years back gives ya the ditch, huh, and you figure might as well take your revenge out on every girl who reminds you of her pretty blue eyes and dark hair. That's not love, sweetheart. You need professional help."

Sam had worked his way closer by now as well, parallel with Dean and just as close to Sasha and the succubus. She gave him a warning growl as if to say she knew he was there.

"Textbook case, really," Dean continued, pushing as much as he could because as far as he could tell the only way they were going to get this broad to mess up was if they pushed her farther than she could handle. The look in Sasha's eyes said he agreed. "You get your heart broken by this chick, right? She, what, found out you were a sex vampire and said she didn't want to have any more sleepovers? I'm sure killing her really convinced her how wrong she was, right?"

"Shut up!" the succubus yelled, and Dean saw her grip on Sasha tighten even more. That was either good, or very, very bad. "You think you understand what it is like to be one of us…_hunter_? Even Sasha has yet to discover what it really means." She turned back to look at Sasha, one taloned hand on his throat, the other holding his shoulder to keep him against the wall. "Your mother was as rare as…I am," she said, "You know that. We don't get the human happily ever after. We get night…after night. We get moments. I just wanted…to be with her. Yes, she was afraid. And I was…desperate. I knew I could convince her if only she'd let me. I didn't…I didn't mean to take so much…"

Staring back at the succubus, Sasha's eyes began to change. Dean saw sympathy and pain there, and he thought he understood why. An accident? That still didn't make up for all the deaths since. Dean steadied his weapon. He could shoot now. He could end it right now.

"She was dead before I realized what I'd done," the succubus was saying, still looking only at Sasha, "If she hadn't struggled so much maybe…maybe I wouldn't have been so…violent. She said she loved me, but she turned away when she discovered the truth. And so I kill her…again…and again. So I…never…"

"Have to get hurt like that again." The voice was Sasha's but it wasn't, because it growled as the succubus' did, also half choked behind her grip. Sasha's words were not a question though. They were a statement of what he believed to be the finish to the succubus' words.

The succubus grinned, and it was immediately clear that Sasha was wrong. "So I never forget how good it felt…when I realized she was dead."

Dean clicked back the hammer of his gun but he was already too late. The succubus moved, still holding Sasha in one hand as she reached out with the other to grab Dean again. This time she had him by the arm and his gun fell useless to the ground. She was so damn strong, Dean didn't doubt she could rip his arm clean off if she tried.

"You're fond of this one, hmm…?" the succubus said, moving her eyes from Dean back to Sasha. "Will you be as fond of him without his limbs, I wonder." Red eyes focused hard on Dean then and he would swear they shimmered. Dean was already preparing to say goodbye to his right arm, which he rather liked and wasn't too keen on losing, when the strange but familiar sound of Sasha's laughter started to filter through the alleyway.

The succubus turned back to Sasha with a sneer. Her wings spread out wide, black and threatening. "You think you have something to laugh about, child?" she said, leaning in close to Sasha's face, though keeping her grip tight on both of them. Her voice still sounded out of place to Dean, dead despite her cynical words. What she said next made him finally think he understood why. "You will live eternity alone and hungry for something you can never have," she said, "The chance that you will find happiness in love with a human or even your own kind is lower even than a demon's. And believe me, eternity is a very long time without company."

Sasha's laughter had long since died and as these words were spoken a deeper sadness like nothing Dean could ever imagine on Sasha's face broke into his expression like a crack on a mirror. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice still that strange rumble, "But that doesn't change…that you've lost, Aunt Sabine."

For a moment the succubus could only stare at Sasha, not understanding what he could possibly mean. But Dean understood, he understood even before he saw her start to convulse. She had forgotten one very important thing.

Sam.

Dean and Sasha fell from the succubus' grip at the same time, both managing to stay on their feet but definitely feeling more pain than either would like. It was not until the succubus fell, however, that they saw Sam where he had been standing behind her, holding his now bloodied iron knife.

"Rule number one," Sam said, though he wasn't smiling or at all smug.

"Never monologue," Dean finished, and he wasn't smiling either.

Sasha, standing there between them, just looked so broken somehow. They knew he had wanted this, that this was the only outcome they could have found, but it didn't make killing a family member any easier.

That thought forced Dean to look up at Sam, and he hated that Sam was already looking at him with an expression that said, "One day you'll have to do this for me, Dean."

Dean had never wanted to hit Sam more in his entire life.

The succubus gave a few more spasms, staring up at them all in disbelief. If she could speak, she didn't try. Sam had gotten her right in the heart. It wasn't quite like they had seen with Sasha with the spreading of blue veins. Instead, the veins seemed to be everywhere all at once, only they shimmered, disappearing and reappearing like a hologram. When she finally went still, there were no sign of veins at all, but her red eyes lay open.

They all just stood there, silent. It started getting to Dean real fast and he knew he had to break them out of it. He mustered his courage and gave Sasha's strange true form a good smack on the back. "Dude, you are freaky as hell," he said, because somehow it made him feel better to say that out loud. "But…kinda cool."

Sasha smiled at Dean, showing fangs of course, and shrugged as if to say, 'what can I say', just as Dean remembered him doing one of the first nights they met. It was a totally different Sasha standing before Dean, but something about that expression and accompanying action made it all seem normal again.

Then Sasha knelt down beside his fallen aunt. He reached out and closed her eyes, having to act more carefully with his claws then he would have had to in his human form, and then he placed one hand on her forehead and one on her heart. At first Dean thought he was doing some sort of incubus prayer or something, but then the succubus started to glow and in a moment she had completely vanished.

"Whoa," said Sam, "Where'd she go?"

Sasha stayed on the ground, staring at where the succubus had been. "Home. Back to where our people gather. It's better that way." He looked up at Sam and though Dean couldn't see his expression, he imagined Sasha was attempting to smile. "Part of our fae heritage comes with hearth spells like that. Nothing too crazy though."

Sam gave a small smile and nodded, but Dean could tell he wanted to ask more. Then he did. "Should we expect retaliation?" he asked.

"No, they'll know it was one of our kind that sent her back. They'll understand." Sasha stood up then, the Winchesters book-ending him, and Dean wondered what a passerby might think should they come traipsing down the alleyway.

Sasha was a sight—long red hair, red eyes, black horns, and black wings, and black clawed hands and feet, all set against striking white skin everywhere else. Dean was of course thankful for the black 'tattoos' that covered Sasha below the waist in this form, but for the most part the sight was as menacing as anything they had ever faced.

Again there came a silence. Sasha was still staring at where his aunt had died with that deep, longing sadness Dean didn't quite understand. Seeing such a large creature so otherwise ominous looking so distraught struck a cord with Dean. It was weird, but it kind of reminded Dean of how he felt when he saw his Dad looking beaten or scared. It just didn't seem right.

"It may sound crazy," Sasha started to say, and his grumbling voice was very soft and low, "But…I think I get what she meant, you know? It's almost impossible for us to fall in love. I know that. We're not built to be monogamous. So when it happens, it's really special. My parents," he said with a smile that managed to look sweet even with fangs, "They had that. Can you imagine…loving someone finally after living so long without it…and then to have that person just…hate you because…all they see when they look at you…is…" Sasha stared suddenly at his claws, his taloned hands, and if Dean didn't know any better he would swear his incubus friend looked close to crying.

Sasha had been this unstoppable force of happiness and good humor since they met him. It was unsettling to see him like this. Dean honestly didn't know what to do.

So naturally, as much as he had felt the urge to hit Sam a few minutes before, when his brother spoke up Dean could have kissed him.

"Sasha…" Sam started, puppy-eyes in full force, "I'm…gonna do something that's…probably gonna get me teased for the next week and a half, but…" And then Sam moved in, and by God Sam _hugged_ Sasha in all the incubus' changed and crazy gargoyle like state. It was the first true sign Sam had given that he was really okay with Sasha being, well, Sasha. Being an incubus and not being a bad guy.

And Dean thought _he_ was the one who took longer to accept freaky things.

Carefully, Sasha reached his arms around to return Sam's gesture, making sure his claws didn't cause any damage or that his strength didn't crush the shorter man—though usually taller man, Dean thought—as he did so. Within that hug, which Dean would definitely tease both girls about later, Dean saw that Sasha was starting to shrink. Well, not shrink, Dean realized. Sasha was changing back, back into his guise of a normal, human form.

For the briefest moment Dean thought Sam was going to be left hugging a naked Sasha, which just couldn't be good no matter how you looked at it, but then Dean remembered that Sasha hadn't ever taken off his clothes, they had just vanished. They reappeared just the same, and after a moment Dean might have believed that none of that mess between incubus and succubus ever happened.

Yeah. Right.

The pair pulled out of their hug, Sam smiling, his puppy-eyes glowing, and since Dean could only take so much of that kind of mushy, girly crap, he got in between them as quickly as he could. With one arm thrown around both brother and friend, Dean looked each in the eye and said, "It's like…six o'clock. What do you say to pizza…and lots and lots of beer?"

Sam laughed.

Sasha, smiling much more like the Sasha Dean had grown so very fond of, said oh so fittingly, "Hell yes."

--

It was Dean's suggestion that they choose a new place to spend their money and merriment, given that Minneapolis had quite a lot to offer for a night life, and really, though Dean would never admit it, he didn't feel like heading back to the place near St. Louis Park where Sasha had hooked up twice.

Besides, he assumed Sasha would appreciate that too. If the guy planned to hook up again tonight, it had to be better to have fresh blood around.

They settled in a bar that was close enough to their hotel should they need to walk back, but still close enough to downtown to be lively with excitement. The kitchen served pizza, the bar served good domestic and imported beer, and the music—while mostly top 40s—wasn't half bad.

"To surviving?" Sam offered weakly, lifting his beer in the center of their booth's table.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother, then lifted his own mug and said, "To kicking ass and walking away," which to him sounded much better.

There was a laugh from Sasha as Sam rolled his eyes, but soon the incubus too had his glass out for the toast. "I don't know if I'd call that kicking ass," Sasha said, "but…I'll drink to it."

They clinked. They drank. And for all intents and purposes, they felt pretty damn good. Dean certainly wasn't about to bring up the fact that they had just killed Sasha's aunt. It would ruin the mood.

Really, Dean should have expected that Sam would ruin it for them anyway.

"So, you really okay with what happened back there?" Sam said to Sasha, concern drawn all over his youthful face, "I mean, she was family. That can't be easy on you."

Dean took another drink from his beer and glowered at Sam with as much animosity as possible. Of course, whenever Sam 'the concerned and understanding bystander' took over, the kid never noticed anything but the person he was sympathizing with.

The mood was officially killed. And the pizza had been so good too. At least Sasha didn't look as devastated as Dean expected. He had seen sadness on Sasha's face far too much for one day.

"I'm…okay," Sasha said, giving the smile Dean remembered from the alley—the one he didn't believe but had to give props to the guy for mustering, "Sabine was never that big a part of my life. Not like Shi. Sabine's the oldest. Maybe that's why Shi never did anything about this. She never even told me."

"You think she knew your other aunt was killing?" Sam queried. They hadn't met the aunt that raised Sasha, but after meeting aunt number two both Winchesters felt better about that on all accounts.

Sasha stared at his half full mug of beer, his smile still trying to look natural but failing, and said, "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. You see, my kind, sure, we don't kill. It's not a rule, it's just the way things are. But when one of us does, everyone kind of just…looks the other way, ya know? No one wants to be the person to have to stop them."

"To have to kill them, ya mean," Dean offered. Part of him didn't even want to get involved in this angst-fest, but he figured if he didn't things would only get worse from here. "Being a hunter can't make you too popular with your fellow sex vampires then, I'd imagine."

Again there came a wave of that sadness Dean had started to recognize must be in Sasha all the time, he just usually kept it better hidden. "Nope. Popular I'm not. Let's just say I'm welcome in my aunt's home. And that's about it."

Dean was ready to leave things there, but Sam just had to go and push things a little bit further. "You don't have any…friends like you?" he asked.

_Like you.  
_  
Smooth, Sammy. Real smooth.

"I did once," Sasha said, either ignoring or not minding Sam's momentary ineloquence, "Maybe even a couple would still speak to me. If I ever saw them. Things got different real fast after the change." Sasha took a long swallow of beer and then let the mug sit there on the tabletop with only about another swallow-full left.

Again, Sam just had to press for more. "Change?" he repeated. Dean almost wanted to say 'hey, curiosity killed the nosy little college boy!' but he didn't. He had to admit, there was still a lot about Sasha they didn't know, and damn it if Dean didn't want to find out more.

Sasha was smiling a little more genuinely now. At least that was a good thing. "That story might need another round," he said, fingering the handle of his beer, but still not picking it up to down the last of it, "But basically, the change is like our version of puberty. Yeah, sounds more like menopause, we really need to work on a new name, but puberty's closer to the truth." He laughed a little, and Sam and Dean chuckled a little too, waiting for him to go on. "Happens at sixteen, and I can tell ya it is way more intense than whatever you guys go through. It's faster for one. Comes and goes in a couple weeks. It's basically when our sex drive kicks in. When we start needing sexual energy to survive."

"Start needing?" Dean questioned. He had always assumed an incubus always needed sexual energy.

"What, you think a little five-year-old incubus goes around getting laid?" Sasha grinned.

Point.

"No, we live off a more subtle energy when we're younger. Affection. Usually we get all we need from our parents and other relatives just by being around them. When sixteen hits though…it gets crazy. Suddenly it's just BOOM, frenzy, no control at all. I mean, you could attack anyone at any time, you need sex so bad."

Dean felt his grin growing and just couldn't help himself. "Really? Sounds a lot like when I was sixteen," he smirked. Dean didn't need to look at Sam to know his brother was scowling, but Sasha gave a good laugh and that was good enough for Dean.

"I'm sure," Sasha said. Then he trailed a little and his expression fell, not quite back to that strange sadness, but more serious. "It's not all fun and games though," he said, "Where do you think all the bad rap for my kind comes from? It's the change. Back in the day, when an incubus or succubus came of age, they just ran wild. Usually…ended up killing people coz they couldn't control themselves. A couple hundred years ago or so, some of the elders decided that needed to stop. A lot of parents were already being more careful, keeping their children locked away during that time, but that's not really healthy either. We need sex for a reason, right? So…we found another solution."

Sasha paused, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean for a moment, maybe wondering if one of them would prompt him further. Both were too intrigued to really say anything though, so Sasha just went on.

"The short of it? They lock as many frenzied sixteen-year-olds in a room together as they can and let them go at it for a couple weeks."

Dean practically snorted beer out of his nose. "You mean…when you were sixteen you got put in a room with a bunch of others going through the same thing and just…had crazy orgies for a few weeks?"

Sasha shrugged. "More or less."

Dean could not believe his ears. "Dude…that is so not fair."

"Wait…I don't understand," said Sam, ignoring what he surely considered an inappropriate comment from his brother. He and Sasha were on one side of the booth while Dean occupied the other alone. Sam had turned towards Sasha more fully at his question, and had on that especially humorous look of being perplexed. "I thought you needed to feed off humans. Your first…meal…is each other?"

And the award for the most awkward way to word things goes to…

Thankfully, Sasha only laughed.

"We…prefer humans," Sasha explained, turning to face Sam as well now and speaking in a way Dean thought sounded pretty patronizing actually. He doubted Sam noticed. "Feeding off each other is like…vampires feeding off each other. We can survive, and when you're frenzied you really don't notice the difference. But when you're just feeding normal, being with one of our own kind…it isn't worthwhile. It isn't…satisfying."

Now that made even less sense as far as Dean was concerned. He had to speak up. "Uh, must have sucked for your parents then coz didn't your Dad become an incubus?" That might have been the very worst thing Dean could say right then, but Sasha just turned back to Dean and gave him a rather honest and amused smile.

"That's different," he said, "You're gonna make fun, I know it, but…when it comes to love…the same rules don't apply. When you're in love everything's just…better."

Dean barked a laugh before he could help himself. Love. Right. "Dude, you don't really believe that, do you?" he said.

There was a grunt from Sam that Dean recognized as his 'shut up now' sound, but Sam was a hopeless romantic. Of course he would side with the Lifetime channel.

Sasha seemed to think just the same though, because his expression became instantly serious again.

"It's true, Dean. At least when my people find it. We feed off passion. And when you're in love with the person you sleep with, the passion there is greater than anything else. Guess that's why it's so rare a find."

Dean just sat there a moment, staring across at Sasha, and when he glanced at his brother the expression he saw was pretty much the same on both faces. They both wanted to believe in what Sasha had said. Love. Perfect and wonderful. Hell, maybe Sammy had had that with Jess, but it sure didn't turn out so well for them, did it, Dean thought.

When it came down to it, Dean already knew what his response had to be, and he certainly wasn't about to change his philosophy on the matter. If he had ever been in love, it was only once, and it sure as Hell didn't have any happily ever after to it.

"Sasha," Dean said, leaning over the table towards the pair across from him, "That is the sappiest, stupidest thing I have ever heard. Next round?" he added, standing from the table and gathering up their collective mugs. "I'm picking this time."

Sasha nodded and smiled at Dean as he stood, but Sam was giving Dean the evil eye. He started making little head gestures towards Sasha like Dean needed to apologize to the guy or something.

Dean almost sighed aloud. Instead, he turned and headed for the bar.

It took Dean a little longer than he intended to get them a fresh set of drinks, Sapporo this time to commemorate when they first drank together, and because it was easier to carry three cans than three mugs. When he returned to the table, he saw that Sam and Sasha were talking in a way that could only mean Sam had gone off on one of his soul-searching tangents again and kept the mood right where Dean didn't want it to be.

Depressing.

"Sasha was starting to tell me about how, you know, how things changed after the, uh…"

"Incubus/succubus orgies?" Dean supplied, sitting back down and passing around the beers to the others.

Sam gave a small scowl, but simply turned to Sasha for him to continue.

Great, Dean thought, now this felt like a therapy session, with Doctor Sam pulling and prodding every last pit of personal information he could from Sasha's reluctant brain. The look on Sasha's face told Dean that he didn't really want to talk about any of this, but talk he did in that sad, strange drawl that didn't fit Sasha anymore than a sad expression.

"I was just saying how excited I remember everyone being after the change was over," Sasha said, "It meant we were adults. We could go out on our own. Everyone had some kind of plan. Me? I had to go and say…"

"I wanna be a hunter," Dean finished, almost surprising himself with how smoothly he broke in. It was an easy enough story to figure out, after all.

"Yeah…"

"And they just….what, shunned you?" Sam said, sounding rightly scandalized, but maybe a little too much. The last thing Dean wanted was for them to bring all this up and put Sasha back in it like he was right there again.

By the distance in those brilliant blue eyes though, Dean was pretty sure Sasha was already there.

He didn't answer at first. He didn't have to. But eventually Sasha spoke on anyway.

"It's kind of like…living in two worlds…and not really belonging in either. Familiar sob story, right?" he smiled, though without anything really like a smile in the expression, "I don't have friends anymore. I don't work with other hunters. Most of the time, when Aunt Shi's not breathing down my neck, it's just me. But I'm doing good out here. At least I'm trying to. And these last couple weeks, well…I worked with some other hunters on a case and felt like I had friends. Not too bad for almost ten years later, huh?"

The smile on Sasha's face still wasn't nearly as true and brilliant as Dean wanted it to be. He was used to Sasha's eternal good humor. He supposed he had forgotten that Sasha, more or less, was still a regular person who couldn't possibly be happy all the time.

Then Dean thought about what Sasha had said. On principle Dean couldn't jump on the sentimental crap, much as he was pleased to call Sasha friend. He thought more on that ten years. Sasha was almost twenty-five, the end-all age when it came to an incubus.

"When's your birthday?" Dean asked suddenly. They really needed to get out of this funk Sam had pulled them into.

Sasha looked a little flustered for a moment and then said, "Uh, December seventeenth. Why?"

"December seventeenth," Dean repeated. "Alright, wherever we all are on that date, we're getting together to throw you a party. Or at least for a few more rounds of beer and pizza. It's your last milestone, buddy. We wouldn't want to miss it."

Dean meant well. He could have sworn he meant well. But then why the hell did Sasha still look so damn sad?

As realization struck him, Dean could have kicked himself. Last milestone. Like Sasha wanted to be reminded of what his aunt had said about an eternity alone. But then that's why Dean had said they should get together. Friends got together. It's what they did so they didn't have to be alone. Dean wasn't sure he believed in love and happily ever afters, but he wanted whatever was as close as he could get to it. He figured Sasha probably wanted that too.

Dean assumed that had to be the reason Sasha eventually found his real smile again, and he knew he could relax when Sasha looked him right in the eye and said, "I'd really like that. On _you,_ right?" he added, smirking a little, "Birthday boys really shouldn't have to pay."

Dean laughed. Now that was more like the Sasha he knew. "We'll see about that," he said, leaning back with his beer in hand, "Might have to earn it."

"Oh? And, uh…how might I do that?"

Dean's initial reaction was to grin. Right now even Sasha's sultry, flirty tone of voice was an improvement over that depressed shit. But then Sasha wasn't supposed to be flirty around Dean anymore. And he certainly wasn't supposed to be moving his foot up and down Dean's shin.

The table gave a loud smack as Dean jerked his knee up into the bottom of it. He couldn't help reacting that way; it was reflex.

"Dean," Sam said in reprimand, "What are you doing?"

There just wasn't an answer. Sasha's old expression and look of merriment was starting to come back, but with it also came the look that made Dean think the guy wanted to…things Dean didn't want to imagine or describe. Hadn't they dealt with this?

"Dean?" Sam pressed.

"Nothing. Just…a cramp. Okay?"

"Right."

Dean scrutinized Sasha across the table as hard as he could, because that look couldn't be what it seemed to be. This was over and done with, damn it! "I'm…gonna get another round," Dean said, rising once again from the table.

"Another?" Sam questioned, "Dean, we haven't even started on the one you just brought."

Dean glanced back briefly and damn if Sasha didn't look perfectly innocent and unaware of what had just happened. Maybe Dean…imagined it.

Yeah.

"Believe me, Sammy, I think we're going to need it."

After about round six, Dean couldn't even remember what he had freaked out about. Life was looking better than ever as far as he was concerned. Especially since at the moment the table was an eruption of laughter.

"You don't have a car?" Sam said through chuckles. It shouldn't be that funny, but for some reason it was one of the funniest things they had heard all night.

"Why do you think I rode with you everywhere?" Sasha replied, chuckling just as merrily.

Duh, Dean thought, "Coz my baby's shit hot, that's why."

Sasha gave a contented hum. "Damn straight. But no car for me. I'm a public transportation, hitch-hike my way 'round kind a guy. Better for the environment."

Dean almost spilled his mug bringing it up to his lips, he laughed so hard. "Fuck the environment. My baby made that hole in the ozone layer personally, and I couldn't give a shit."

"Shhh…" Sam slurred, bringing a wavering finger up to his lips. "Don't swear so loud in public, Dean. People might hear you."

There was a small silence, and then all three men burst into laughter again.

It was a night they didn't plan to remember much of in the morning, but they would sure as hell remember they had a good time.

"I don't feel so good," Sam said, lolling his head back against the wall beside him and cradling a bottle of Budd Light in one of his large hands, "You guys are dangerous together," he added, trying somewhat successfully to use his beer bottle as a pointer at Sasha and Dean respectively, "You keep getting me drunk, and I don't…I don't even like being drunk."

Sasha snorted, and then crinkled his nose as if some of the beer he'd just downed must have risen up into his sinuses. "You need to loosen up, Sammy," Sasha said, grinning even as he twitched his fizzed-up nose.

Dean gave a loud, mocking gasp and reached over the table to grab Sasha's shoulder. "No, no. You can't call him that. Only I can call him that. He gets all…testy when someone else does. Trust me. Personally, I think he just gets jealous someone's gonna take me away from him." Dean snickered at that. Sam was such a girl sometimes.

"Jealous!" Sam laughed, throwing his head back far enough to hit it against the wall this time, though he hardly noticed. Then, still giggling, Sam leaned close to Sasha and threw an arm around the incubus' shoulders. "Sasha," he said, "Hey, Sasha."

Naturally, Sasha was giggling too. The laughter was just too infectious right now. "What?"

"Dean called dibs, see?" Sam said, not thinking clearly enough to be scandalized by his forgetfulness of tact, "And…and…he is all yours." Sam gave Sasha a hard smack on the back. "Go ahead and have him."

Dean may have been half-chuckling still, but he managed to find half a scowl too. "Not…funny," he said, and immediately tripped over his feet when he tried to get up from the table. "I…I gotta take a piss," Dean managed. Standing took a little more effort than it should have, but eventually Dean was up and had clear sights on the bathroom. At least he thought he did. Two steps later he was sitting in Sasha's lap. "Oops," he said, chucking a little again. In the corner of the booth Sam sounded like he was about to bust a gut.

"Here, I can actually walk straight still," Sasha said, helping Dean stand and then standing up right behind him. Then, taking Dean by the arm, Sasha started to lead Dean towards the bathroom.

Dean had to admit, it made for easier going. "Okay, but…my arm is the only thing you're holding once we get in the bathroom."

"Whatever you say, Dean."

Of course Sasha was a perfect gentleman about the whole thing. He was pretty drunk himself, true, but he could walk straighter and steadier than Dean. Dean thought maybe incubus' had a higher tolerance or something.

Sasha simply helped Dean into the bathroom, leaned him against one of the urinals, and politely stepped back until Dean was done. It was a good thing he didn't step too far back though, because the movement of Dean zipping his pants back up almost unbalanced him right to the tiled floor. Sasha caught him before that could happen.

"That's twice you've caught me today," Dean mused, thinking it kind of funny, since Dean never thought of himself as someone who ever needed to be caught.

"Three if you count my lap," Sasha offered.

Dean laughed. "Sad but true, my friend."

As before, Sasha helped Dean make his way out of the bathroom. They were still behind the wall that blocked off the bathroom from plain view to the rest of the bar, when Dean started trying to push Sasha away from him.

"Hey, I can…I can do it myself."

"You sure?"

"Sure I'm—" Dean pushed with a little more force, and pushed himself right off of Sasha like a landing pad. If Sasha hadn't reached over to catch him yet again, Dean would have had a nice collision with old carpeting. "Oops." Why did that keep happening? Dean couldn't seem to wrap his brain around it.

Catching Dean had managed to press the both of them against the back wall, and as Sasha started to steady the two of them a little better on their feet, he allowed himself to press pretty closely into Dean's body. There was no one else around, but that did not give Sasha the right to get fresh.

With anyone else, Dean might have thought it an accident, but Sasha didn't have to be that close. "Hey," Dean said, squinting to focus better on Sasha's too-close-for-comfort face, "You gotta quit that. I may by drunk…but not that drunk. We had a deal, remember?"

Sasha was smiling, and he was so close to Dean that the smell of Sasha that had managed to remain unsoiled by the smell of too much alcohol wafted up around him sweetly. "I know," Sasha said, "I remember. I lay off…if you feel nothing from our kiss." There was the smallest pause, and then everything moved too fast for Dean to stop it.

Either Sasha was half-faking how drunk he was, or he was just that good at recovering, because there was no way he should have been able to move like that. Suddenly, Dean found himself pressed back into the wall, his wrists pinned up above his head, and Sasha pressed in against him so tight that Dean could feel the contours of Sasha' body all the way down.

Dean had managed to avoid the sensation for several hours, but now Dean shivered harder than he yet had.

"How much of an idiot do you think I am, Dean?" Sasha breathed, softly and with an edge that almost made him sound dangerous, "I'm an incubus. You. Can't. Fool. Me." Sasha leaned down to Dean's ear on those words, breathing hot air on his skin and making Dean shiver even more. "But if you're going to go to this much trouble…to pretend…you don't want me…" Suddenly Dean was free, though his arms remained above his head at first since he didn't know he had the freedom to move them. "What more can I do?" Sasha finished. His smile was as pleasant and kind as ever, and when he walked away, leaving Dean there against the wall, Dean knew there was nothing really dangerous about Sasha. Not really.

But then, why the hell did he feel so damn scared?

Deciding he had had enough to drink, Dean managed to make it back to the table feeling surprisingly more sober. Sasha made no indication that there was anything amiss, so that if Dean so chose he could pretend nothing happened. He could pretend the kiss never happened too. He could pretend he never had that dream. He could pretend a lot of things.

But for God knows what reason, even as they were finally heading back to the hotel, Dean couldn't stop shivering.

--

It was time to part ways. They had had their rest, checked out of their rooms, and the case was done and over with. All that remained was to say goodbye.

Oh, Dean still at least half remembered their reckless night and Sasha's very prominent advances towards him. But Dean didn't want to think about that. He would rather focus on the friend he was happy to have gotten to know even if the guy did have the hots for him.

Dean swallowed. He was supposed to _not_ be thinking about that, he reminded himself.

They were saying goodbye, and Sammy, being Sammy, was in the midst of hugging Sasha again. It wasn't that Dean didn't want to follow suit, he just hated that he kind of had to now. Dean was never big into the hugging.

"You're sure you don't want us to drop you somewhere?" Sam was saying, giving an extra squeeze for good measure. "It's no trouble."

"Nah, I can find my own way. I'm sure we're headed in opposite directions anyway."

Sam pulled back and gave that sad, sweet, puppy smile of his. "You know, you can give us a call before your birthday rolls around, and I doubt you'll be bothering us. Especially if it's ever about a case."

Sasha nodded. "Your numbers are on speed dial," he said, and then looked around Sam to meet eyes with Dean. "He had a teddy bear when he was little, didn't he?"

Oh, Dean knew there was a reason he liked Sasha so much. "Like Linus and his blanket, I swear to God."

Sam let out an obviously false laugh and said, "Oh…I hate you."

"Sure ya do, Sammy," Dean said, and moved in to take his turn at goodbyes since Sam had so kindly stepped out of the way. "Look, can we at least guy-hug this? Sam's been enough of a girl for all of us."

Surely, Sam was scowling behind Dean, but Dean wasn't going to bother looking.

Sasha understood, and gave a good laugh as he pulled Dean close, they patted each other's backs quick and hard, and then they let go. Painless.

"See ya around?" Dean said.

Sasha nodded. "I'll be around."

And a few minutes later Dean and Sam were in the Impala driving away.

--

"For crying out loud we're not even on 35 yet!" Dean shouted out his driver's side window. They were leaving late, but it was a Friday, and Friday rush hour began somewhere around noon. "We're still in the suburbs," Dean said to Sam, who was pouring over their father's journal entry on incubi again. They had things they needed to add, after all. "I can still see shops lining the streets."

"It's raining, Dean," Sam pointed out, something that had started about the time they left, which really wasn't all that long ago, "Traffic slows when it rains."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. It rains all the time! It's a natural occurrence!"

Sam just sighed. "Remind me never to go urban with you again. Or at least let me drive like in New York. Your road rage could best Dad's."

"Ha," Dean barked, that would be a feat. Dad had a temper like nothing else. One of the few times Dean actually thought he channeled some of that was right after their dad's death. He had taken a crowbar to his baby's beautiful paint job that day. Damn. Dean hoped he never got that angry again in his life.

"Uh…Dean?"

"Not now, okay. We're merging in like…five cars."

"_Dean_."

"Not now, okay?"

"But Dean!"

"What!?" Dean turned to Sam sharply. He couldn't help it. This traffic shit drove him crazy. But as Dean looked at Sam and then followed the direction of Sam's outstretched hand, he saw what had caught Sam's attention so fully.

There were still shops along the streets right now, and standing outside one of them in the pouring rain, with his one duffle and one shoulder bag…was Sasha.

At first Dean thought he must be seeing a ghost. He had seen quite a few in his life, after all. But to be honest, with the way traffic had been moving, and how short a time had passed since they left, Dean wasn't surprised Sasha had been able to catch up to them.

Dean couldn't risk pulling over, but he rolled down his window and waved Sasha to come to the car. "Hey, good lookin'," Dean said, flashing the smile he usually saved for hot chicks in short skirts and low-cut tops, "Going my way?"

Sasha couldn't help laughing, of course. He looked soaked to the bone, his red hair, darkened by the rain, clung to his cheeks and forehead, and his clothes had suctioned to his skin.

Dean reached back and unlocked the rear driver's side door. "Get in," he said. It seemed the natural thing.

And therefore Sasha naturally listened, tossing his wet bags onto the seat behind Sam, and climbing in to sit his wet self on the seat behind Dean. Normally, this would have driven Dean crazy. His baby was a temple. But…it was only water, Dean thought, and he figured he could have Sasha clean the Impala if the water left a mess.

Sasha had joined them just in time, because in the next few moments, Dean was merging ahead, and finally starting to curve his way onto highway 35W South.

Once they were safely in faster moving traffic, Sam looked back at Sasha and said, "Change your mind?"

Sasha was busy trying to dry his hair on an extra sweatshirt from inside his duffle, but he tossed Sam an easy smile. "I figured I could at least let you drop me somewhere. What with the rain and all."

"Sure," Dean said, looking back at Sasha through the rearview mirror, "Where you thinking?"

"Oh…" Sasha started, looking as if he was thinking that question over very carefully. Then he looked up, meeting eyes with Sam, and then Dean in the mirror. "Maybe…wherever you're going?"

Somehow, that was exactly what Dean expected Sasha to say. "You know, I was thinking the same thing," Dean said, and he knew Sam was smiling beside him, "Us freaks gotta stick together, right? You know, safer that way."

Sasha laughed. "Right."

Eventually, Sam settled back into his seat, facing forward, and they were on their way. It felt a little too easy, Dean mused, how they had picked up someone they hadn't known from anywhere a couple weeks ago, and now they were letting him tag along. But really, Dean didn't mind. He had always preferred having three people to their posse anyway.

After a few minutes of relatively painless traffic, and Sam being once again buried in the journal, Sasha leaned forward, making a point to come up next to the side of Dean that wasn't close to Sam, and whispered, "Besides…you can't lie to yourself forever, Dean."

Dean's eyes darted immediately to the rearview mirror, and he caught Sasha's perfect blues. The voice had sounded almost menacing, but when Dean looked at Sasha sitting in the backseat, having leaned back again to give Dean space, there was nothing but sweet, friendly charm.

Maybe three was a crowd after all, Dean thought, but he didn't want to have to mull on that just yet. Instead, he reached over and turned on the radio for some nice distraction. It came on as some local station at first, and some slow moving ballad started to play.

"Oh, good song. Turn it up," Sasha said, reaching up between the seats to do so himself.

Oh no. Not going to happen. Dean caught Sasha's wrist so fast that the incubus was the startled one for a change. "Whoa. Dude. We have one rule in this car," Dean said, and he knew his eyes looked just as serious as he meant for them to, even if he was smiling. He let go of Sasha's wrist, reached down between the seats, grabbed a tape of Styx, and popped into his tape player. "Driver picks the music."

About half an hour into their drive, having no real destination in mind just yet, Sam's cell phone started to ring.

"Hello? Hey, Bobby. No, we were just leaving Minnesota actually." Sam listened for awhile. After a few minutes, he moved the phone from his mouth a little so he could speak to Sasha and Dean. "Bobby's got a lead on the demons."

"About damn time," Dean said. They hadn't heard much of anything since the Devil's Gate opened. And there had to be hundreds, maybe more of those damn things out there. Dean was more than happy to get in gear and exorcize or maybe even kill himself some demons.

Sam was listening again, and again he moved the phone away so he could speak to Sasha and Dean, "Sounds like we're going to Nebraska."

* * *

The End of Arc 1, BUT TBC...right here with Arc 2!

Crim


	9. ARC 2: Seven, PART 1: Not What It Seems

ARC 2: Seven – PART ONE: Not Always What it Seems

* * *

They had left Minnesota around noon and the place Bobby was calling them to was right outside Lincoln, Nebraska—close to seven hours away. Most of their day would be spent on the road, and there wouldn't be enough time to start hunting once they got there. Sometimes their job required night work—most of the time actually—but general investigation was always better in the light of day.

They had passed the halfway mark awhile ago and were finally stopping for gas and food in Thornton, IA. It was closer to their usual spec on the map town, only about 400 people. Dean had to admit, he would take a town like Thornton over big cities any day. The more open road the better.

Dean was gassing up the car while Sam stocked up on food for the road. They didn't want to take the time to sit and eat anywhere, even if that meant gas station food and sludge for coffee. Sasha's whereabouts, however, had Dean worried. The trip so far had been harmless enough. Sasha hadn't so much as winked at Dean since his little whisperings when they first left. Again, it almost made Dean think he imagined that Sasha was being so forward with him. He figured that was probably exactly the kind of false sense of security Sasha was trying to instill in him.

But that wasn't why Dean was worrying over the guy. He liked Sasha. Couldn't stop even if he was freaked out by the whole incubus thing half the time. Because the other half of the time things were so good, so easy, Dean felt like he finally had a friend in life other than his brother. No, what Dean was worried about was that Sasha had disappeared around the back of the gas station as soon as they arrived so he could phone his aunt. Dean couldn't imagine their discussion would be anything good. The guy had to tell his aunt he had just helped kill her sister. Sasha said she probably already knew since he had sent the succubus' body home, but the fact that his aunt hadn't called him had to be bad.

Once Sam returned to the car with provisions, Dean parked around the side of the building so they could wait for Sasha to come back. They waited fifteen minutes before they started getting twitchy.

"Dean?"

"Gotta check on him?"

"It's probably a good idea."

Dean agreed. He turned off the car, opened his driver's side door, and pocketed his keys. "Come on."

They hadn't even turned the corner to the back of the building when they started to pick up on Sasha's conversation. It was a lot louder and more heated than a private conversation should ever have to be.

Sasha didn't see them join him behind the gas station. He was half facing the brick building wall and half facing away from them. His body language was as telling as his tone—shoulders tight, free hand clenched, the quick shuffling pace of his feet. This was bad.

"No, I'm not!" Sasha was practically yelling, "Because it's not the same! You know it isn't!" He paused, listening for a few moments, but his feet kept a steady pace. When he spoke again his voice was a few decibels lower, but not by much. "Yes. Yes, they're good guys, and you can sleep a little easier knowing I'm not out here alone. But that doesn't mean I don't—" He cut off abruptly, and made a sharp turn to the wall that gave them a view of his profile. Sasha's face was almost as red as his hair, and there was a smudge on his cheek as if he had brushed away a stray tear.

Seeing that Sasha had more of a chance of noticing them, Dean grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled his brother back around the corner so they could listen in less visibly.

Sasha's voice filtered over to them, surprisingly softer now so that they had to strain to hear it. "Shi…if there had been any other way…" he trailed, said a few words they couldn't hear and then, "But I just…I can't accept it. It isn't fair." His voice took a sudden sharp turn then, "Because I'm out here trying to help people. Giving something of myself to the people who need it. That's what we do!"

A tug on Dean's sleeve made him glance up at Sam, whose puppy eyes were already in force, so concerned for Sasha's sake that he was actually looking to Dean for reassurance. Dean just shrugged and shook his head. He didn't know what the conversation was about, but it wasn't good, that was clear. His attention on Sam made him miss whatever Sasha said after those last few words, but finally he heard Sasha somewhat angrily say his goodbyes and then there was the sharp click of a cell phone flipping closed too fast.

There was silence, hard and tense. Dean risked peering around the corner and felt Sam beside him peer as well, having a better vantage with his extra inches in height.

Sasha was still facing the wall, giving them a perfect profile. He held his cell phone tight in his left hand, but his right was pulled into a fist. They couldn't see it at first, but when he reeled back and suddenly punched it hard into the brick wall, it was pretty hard to miss.

Dean cringed. That had to hurt, but by the look of the aftermath, the blow did more damage to the wall. Really, that shouldn't be surprising, since whatever surge of anger had made Sasha react that way had also brought out a few aspects of the beast. Sasha's right hand was now that of his incubus self, black and taloned. Dean saw a snarl on Sasha's face as well that showed the hint of fangs. And when Sasha suddenly turned, as if he sensed finally that he was being watched, red eyes met the figures of the brothers.

They didn't try to hide that they were there. Dean started first, stepping out around the corner, and Sam followed. Dean knew how to deal with this. First of all, he couldn't show fear, even if he felt it. He had learned that long ago with Sam.

"You keep being this sloppy and someone's gonna cry incubus," Dean said, tossing a grin and walking up to Sasha with all the confidence he could muster.

In the blink of an eye those incubus features were gone, morphed away into Sasha's human guise. He gave Dean a guilty smile and said, "Yeah…I swear I'm not usually so stupid." Sasha turned and grimaced at the dents in the bricks.

"You okay?" Sam asked. It was his usual opener. Dean swore he heard that phrase from his brother more than any other. "I'm guessing your aunt didn't take the news too well."

Sasha shook his head. "No, she understood. The elders told her about the body right away, so…she already knew. She's…disappointed, I guess. In Sabine, not me. But she's not angry."

They were missing something here, Dean thought, had to be. It was Sam who pressed for more. "Then…if the argument wasn't about her reaction to the hunt…" Sam said, trailing for Sasha to fill in the blanks.

Blue eyes looked up, a little too bright-looking, Dean thought, like maybe Sasha was trying too hard to make them look real since he felt ashamed for losing his cool. "The elders…know it was me," Sasha tried, and his voice gave a little crack that made Dean feel uncomfortable with this on a whole new level. He had seen Sasha close to tears, seen him hysterical and near death, but honest crying would be a little more than Dean could handle from the friend that always seemed so happy. "I don't know what I thought they'd do, how I thought they'd react. I knew they wouldn't retaliate by coming after us, they wouldn't do that, they know Sabine had to be stopped. But now…to them…I'm an just incubus who killed his own kind. That's all they care about. I've hunted all these years, but I've…I've never killed my own. Never came across a rouge one before."

Whatever Sasha wasn't saying yet, whatever the punch line was, it was bad. Sam's arm seemed to move of its own accord, lifting to place a soothing hand on Sasha's arm and squeeze. That 'I'm here for you' gesture that Dean could never quite get the hang of. Dean wanted to do something too, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't seem completely stupid.

"They…they told my aunt to tell me…" Sasha started again, and he clenched his eyes for a moment to stay his tears. One streamed down anyway. "I…I can't go home," he finished finally, "I'm not allowed to go back. Ever. They won't let me go home…"

Sam's arm gave another instinctive squeeze and another tear streamed down Sasha's face. He was managing pretty nobly to keep from crying outright, so Dean wasn't about to grudge him the few tears he couldn't stop.

Dean didn't think he really knew what it was like to have a home. Not really. He was a lifelong transient. It was all he ever knew. But although Sasha lived their same life, he also lived another one. He was an incubus too, and he had family. Even if he rarely got the chance to go home, he could if he needed to. But now he never could again.

It was silly, but Dean likened what Sasha must be going through to never being able to drive the Impala again, bickering back and forth in it with Sam. To Dean the Impala was as close to _home_ as he might ever have. He doubted he could live if it was taken away from him forever.

"They…banished you just like that?" Sam was saying, "But they understand it needed to be done? That's not right. You did what they couldn't, so they punish you? And you didn't even do it, I mean…I struck the blow. Maybe, maybe you can tell them—"

"That won't matter to them. It was my hunt. My responsibility," Sasha said, wiping at the wetness on his cheeks and taking a breath that finally seemed to banish his tears completely, "It's all the same to them. They'd probably say I should have…caught her and brought her home for rehabilitation. Heh. Right. You can't change hundreds of years of psychological progression. She didn't give us a choice."

"No. She didn't." Dean said, and he said it with more finality than Sasha had, because he figured Sasha needed a little convincing of that truth himself just now. Blue eyes met Dean's then, and they were so wet they sparkled. "She would have killed that girl. In the fight, might have killed any one of us. It was our hunt and we did what we had to. They wanna think differently, let 'em. You can be sure you'll never get kicked to the curb by us. You'd be more likely to run away after putting up with us for a while longer."

A laugh left Sasha before he could help himself, and Dean felt accomplished. He managed this stuff with Sam all the time. He could manage with Sasha too. No, everything was not okay, but it could be for awhile if you got each other to laugh and forget about it. If that was all Dean managed with Sasha, at least it was better than nothing.

A few more wipes at Sasha's eyes and a few deep breaths later, they were back in the Impala, chatting and passing the time as Sam handed out various gas station garbage trying to pass as food. Sasha's smile was like the one Dean remembered after their kiss in the alleyway—impressive, but not real. That was okay though, because Dean knew that eventually Sasha would pull himself together and the smile would be real again. Somehow, the incubus always managed to do that, just like Dean did, and just like Sam did too.

Maybe one day they wouldn't have to pull themselves together so often, faking smiles along the way, but that day was not today.

Dean didn't see it happening in the too near future either.

"So, what do we know from Bobby again?" Dean started in, happy to steer the conversation towards the hunt, since if anything else it worked well to keep their minds distracted. "Demonic signs, right?"

"Yeah, cut and dry ones too," Sam nodded, unscrewing the cap to his Mountain Dew for that warning hiss as the pressure released. Cans were not allowed in Dean's car. Too likely to spill. "Bobby said the areas around Lincoln are swarming with cicadas, especially this one spot just outside the city. Figures we should start there."

Dean thought about that. Cicadas were glorified flies, if anything, but he certainly wouldn't want to be in a swarm of them. "That's all he's got?" Dean pressed.

Sam gave a slight shrug. "Better than nothing. After all those black clouds seen over so many cities, you'd think we would have heard something by now. So much for a war."

"Unless they're biding their time," Dean said miserably. That would be just like demons. Big show, crazy fear instilled in all, and then they just sit back and wait for the people who know they're out there to freak out and mess up. Hell, they would hardly need to do a thing to cause chaos if more people knew what those black clouds really meant.

"That. Or…" Sasha's voice came softly from the back seat, but he didn't finish. Dean could see him laying his head back on the headrest, thinking hard. It more than piqued his curiosity.

"Or…what?" Dean said.

Blue eyes looked up and met Dean's in the rearview mirror. "I don't know. Seems like if there was a plan to all this, they'd be following it. With Sam out of the picture for them…maybe they don't know what to do with themselves so they're just…acting on their own. Individually, you know. It would explain a lot. Except our friends the cicadas," he added.

"What do you mean?" Dean almost didn't want to ask. Sasha's tone spoke of all kinds of bad news.

"A swarm big enough to be noticed like that…has to mean more than one demon in the area, if you ask me."

The car went silent for a moment. That made a lot of sense, actually, and yeah, it was definitely bad news. One demon, Dean didn't doubt they could handle easily. Maybe even two or three. But if it was more than that…

"I'm sure Bobby's thinking the same thing. That's why he called you guys," Sasha said, "Not just coz he thinks you deserve to be in on the hunt you started, but because he knows he can't handle it alone. Bobby's smart that way," Sasha added, smiling a little, "Never thinks so big of himself to assume he can handle things all on his own. Makes me feel a little guilty for turning him down so many times."

As it turned out, Sasha knew Bobby. Certainly not as well as the Winchesters, but he knew him. Sam had mentioned to Bobby they were working with a hunter named Sasha Kelly, and Bobby's exclamation of amazement had come through the phone loud enough to be heard by everyone in the car. He knew Sasha, and he knew that Sasha was the last hunter who would ever work as part of a team. Sam didn't have much time to think of what to say to that, so he basically told Bobby the truth. A hunt had come up that Sasha couldn't handle alone and the Winchesters had seemed safe candidates for temporary partners. Temporary went up a notch after realizing they worked so well together, and now Sasha was right there in the back seat. Bobby didn't question it, but he sounded pretty pleased Sasha would be joining them.

Apparently, Bobby often offered to help him on cases or called to ask for help from Sasha in return. Sasha always refused.

Dean and Sam had already known that Bobby knew Deklin Kelly. That's where their father had learned all of Deklin Kelly's stories. Bobby wouldn't have been much older than Dean back then, so Deklin was a sort of hunter role model. Sasha sought Bobby out when he started hunting for himself, wanting to learn any tricks he could from people who had known his dad. But Sasha was always careful. He never worked with any of those hunters for real. He couldn't take the risk to really trust any of them.

This had brought up a few concerns, of course, but Sasha assured Sam and Dean that if they trusted Bobby enough to work with him so many times, he could too. As long as a certain little truth about Sasha's heritage remained secret. Bobby didn't know Sasha was an incubus, but Dean had said quite plainly that as long as Bobby didn't ask point blank, "Is Sasha an incubus?" he wouldn't say anything, and Sam agreed.

"Hey, Sasha, we should probably go over some demon details before we get to Nebraska," Sam said, looking back at Sasha between the seats, "Not that I doubt you know your stuff, just...how much experience do you have with demons? Dean and I have only encountered a few but that was plenty to know how prepared you have to be before facing them."

Dean was sure to keep his eyes on the road, but that didn't mean he didn't also have an eye on Sasha. He watched the incubus' face for a reaction to Sam's questions, and there was a definite flicker of concern. "I've never faced the real thing," Sasha admitted, "But I know my lore. Iron, devil's traps, possession, exorcizing. Demons can't be killed, but sending them back to Hell is good enough for me. Unless you believe that legend about the Colt." Sasha added with a laugh.

Darting his eyes to the side, Dean met gazes with his brother, but neither said anything. A second later Dean looked back up into the rearview mirror and saw Sasha's blue eyes staring at them.

"No way…" Sasha was saying, "You mean it's real?"

The cat was out of the bag now. Dean shrugged and said, "Out of bullets. But the last one found a nice cozy home in the asshole who started this mess."

Sasha had begun perching on the edge of his seat but now he fell back against the padding behind him with a thud. "Wow, you guys really are something else. I can't believe you have the Colt."

"Bobby has it," Sam corrected, "He's been trying to see how it ticks, maybe figure out a way to get it to work again with different bullets. So far no luck."

"But it's still an advantage just having it," Sasha said, "Imagine being able to kill the bastards instead of just sending them to Hell so they can rally up and come again. We might actually start making some headway."

There was a loud sigh from Sam, and Dean knew immediately what the problem was. If winning this war came down to who had what weapon or power then as far as Sam was concerned, they were screwed. "The Colt isn't a for sure thing any more than my powers are. Right now our hunting has to be about intelligence and skill. Don't get me wrong," Sam said, turning around again to look at Sasha fully, "You understand your abilities, so use them. I'm sure they'll come in handy. But I don't know mine yet so I'm not planning on using them before I can work on them. And the same goes for the Colt. We can't count it as an asset until we know how it works and whether or not it will be of any help. Otherwise we'll get cocky and sloppy, and that'll only get us killed. And this war is something I don't plan on losing."

Dean caught himself clutching the steering wheel a little too tight, and had to take a breath to get his head back on straight again. Sam always sounded smart and always tried to think of logical ways to deal with things, but lately he had been sounding a little methodical too. Dean knew it mostly had to do with Sam's determination to save him from his deal. But whatever was different about Sam lately, even if it wasn't much, it was different enough to make Dean wonder about what the yellow-eyed demon had told him the night the Devil's Gate opened.

_What makes you so sure that what you brought back is one-hundred percent pure Sam?  
_  
It was a stupid thing to think about, Dean told himself. Sam was talking about not using his powers yet, not getting ahead of themselves over the Colt, and about thinking things through before they faced a swarm of demons. All smart stuff. All stuff Dean agreed with. So then why did Dean feel so anxious?

As visions and memories of Dean's long ago dream came flooding forward, Dean firmly decided to declare war on his subconscious and swore never to dream again. He didn't want to remember the feel of Sam's hands holding him down like that, or the feeling of anything else in that dream for that matter. Sasha's eyes may really be red, but Sam's were not yellow, and damn it, they never would be.

"You know I wonder sometimes," Sasha was saying, and he was smiling despite being somewhat talked down to by Sam a moment ago, "Are you sure Dean's the older brother, coz Sam, you are clearly the sensible one." That smile snaked up into a smirk, and all of the tension in the car seeped out again.

Whenever Dean though he might forget why he liked Sasha so much, the guy always managed to remind him.

"I can tell you one thing," Sasha said then, turning serious again, "As far as demons go, you shouldn't have to worry about me. Lore says that because my kind has some demon characteristics, we can't be possessed and we can't be swayed by demon powers."

"Lore tells you?" Dean said, stressing the word 'lore' since he knew for himself that it wasn't always foolproof.

That same flicker of worry blinked across Sasha's face. "Most of my kind stays as far away from demons as they can. So…to be honest…"

"You're not sure if any of that is true," Dean finished.

Sasha gave a slight laugh but there was worry in that too. "I'm…almost sure."

Well that made Dean feel _much_ better. "Great," he said, but really he knew he shouldn't be worrying about things like. Sasha didn't have any more chance of being possessed or swayed by a demon than him or Sam. Hopefully, lore was right this time and Sasha had significantly less of a chance, but Dean wasn't about to put faith in anything he didn't know for certain. No matter what it was.

They reached the motel Bobby had told them to meet him at after dark. It was nearing eight o'clock, and a day in the car had them all feeling a little stiff. They hadn't had anything close to a real meal all day, so the plan was to get settled in and then have Bobby fill them in on anything he hadn't told them yet over a late dinner. Dean thought that sounded just fine.

"You grown since the last time I saw you, boy?" Bobby said, smiling as he pulled Sasha in for a hug. It was the first time Dean had ever seen Sasha act a little reluctant over physical touch.

"I doubt it, Bobby," Sasha said, and he was smiling too. The smile wasn't false, but it was definitely nervous. Dean almost wanted to laugh at the sight of it. Demons and monsters and the like could get nervous over Bobby Singer, but not fellow hunters, even if the hunter also kind of fell under the category of monster.

"Can't believe you got yourself messed up with these two," Bobby said, smacking Sasha good-naturedly on the back as he released him, "But I suppose if there are any hunters out there like your old man, these boys would be it."

Now that seemed to catch Sasha's attention and he forgot for a moment that he wasn't entirely comfortable around Bobby. "Really?" Sasha said, with the amazement of a five-year-old in his voice as he said that. Then he looked over at Sam and Dean and regained his usual smirk. "You saying my Dad was a sharp-shooting smartass?" he said.

Sam just smiled of course. Dean gave his 'haha, very funny' look. But Bobby let out a good laugh and smacked Sasha on the back again. "That exactly. Where'd ya think you got it from?"

And there, finally, broke in Sasha's full and real smile with nothing to mar it.

Dean didn't understand how Sasha could be afraid of Bobby, if that was even the right word for it. Bobby was like that cool uncle who listened to your problems and bought you a beer when you needed one. He was the furthest thing from a backstabber like that other friend of Deklin Kelly's had been. Sasha just needed to learn to widen his trust circle a little, and Dean liked to think that he and his brother had something to do with making that easier on the guy.

They found out that Bobby had already gotten some rooms held for them, but the boys were going to have to pay for their own rooms themselves. There was only one other room available besides Bobby's so the three would have to share. There were two beds though, and a cot, so no one would be forced to take the floor. Dean didn't mind that, especially since Sasha took it upon himself to claim the cot.

Dean and Sasha were left alone in their room for a few minutes while Bobby and Sam went to the front desk to pay for everything and make sure they had enough keys for both rooms. It was the first time Dean had been alone with Sasha since the other night, but although Dean felt uneasy, that was not the reason.

"Hey, man, I'm real sorry about…you know…the whole banishing you thing," Dean tried to say. He wasn't good at comforting people but he didn't think he could stomach talking about the weather, and it was a sure bet they would be talking about the hunt all night long. "It's bullshit if you ask me. You didn't do anything wrong."

Even if Dean wasn't as good at all that 'there for you' crap like Sam was, his words had the desired effect. "Thanks," Sasha said, smiling, if a little sadly. He was sitting on one of the beds while Dean rummaged for something clean to wear tomorrow so he wouldn't have to do laundry tonight. "And, uhh…I've been meaning to tell you…I'm sorry too."

Dean thought he must have missed something. "Sorry for what?" he said.

Sasha looked up at Dean squarely, meeting his gaze with blue eyes that still seemed a little overly bright. "I'm sorry for last night," he said.

A sudden chill climbed up the back of Dean's neck and he—naturally—shivered. He had been doing his best to forget all about that; why did Sasha have to go and bring it up?

"I was drunk, maybe not as drunk as you, but that's no excuse for it," Sasha went on. He was bent forward, his arms resting on his knees, and as he spoke his eyes moved from Dean's face to stare at the 70's shag carpet of the room. "Forget the kiss. Forget the deal. You say no, you say you're not interested, that should be enough. So…I'm really sorry. I was out of line."

Wow. Okay, Dean was not expecting that. He suddenly felt really stupid for shivering. Sasha was actually admitting defeat and apologizing. "Thanks," Dean said, even though he kind of felt like an ass. He knew he shouldn't. Sasha was right to apologize. After all the crazy he had put Dean through what with the kiss, all the flirting, that damn whispering this morning in the…

Wait.

"Hey, drunk last night or not, what the hell was that in the car earlier then?"

There was Sasha's sad smile again, and Dean had the sense to feel a little weirded out that he had started to understand Sasha's many expressions. "I said I was sorry," Sasha said, "I didn't say I was wrong."

This time Dean did not shiver, but he definitely started to shake. He clenched his right fist tight and had to take several deep breaths to keep from using it. "You really don't let up, do you?" Oh, Dean wanted to be angry. Dean had every right to be angry. But Sasha wasn't wearing any of the expressions that normally made him angry. There was no knowing smirk, no wink. He wasn't even smiling anymore.

"I'm just saying…it's hard for me," Sasha said, softly, like he could almost cry for the second time today, though his eyes didn't look at all wet. "Feeling this from you, and you being so bent on ignoring it…kind of hurts. I get it, I do. It would change more than you think you can deal with. And hell, maybe I am wrong. It's…vaguely possible, right? But really, I promise I'll lay off. I wouldn't want to wreck this. I like being your friend too much to risk messing it up. I've kept myself from having friends almost half my life because I was afraid. Well, I'm not afraid of you, and I don't want to give you any reasons to be afraid of me. Okay?"

Dean's fist slowly unclenched. He didn't know what to say to all that.

The door opened suddenly, giving way to Bobby and Sam in the middle of a conversation. Sasha sat up a little straighter, but he kept his eyes on Dean.

There was a shirt in Dean's left hand that he had been clutching tightly ever since Sasha started talking about last night. He slowly set it down on the bed. It was clean. He could wear it tomorrow. Then Dean looked up, knowing he would find Sasha's eyes boring back at him still, and all he could think to do was smile. So he did, and with a slight nod of his head he and Sasha had an understanding. Dean didn't know if he completely understood that understanding, but it was better than where they had stood with each other a few hours ago. And that, Dean decided, could only be a good thing.

--

The house looked nice enough. One of those big old houses with a real porch and plenty of yard. It was smack dab in the middle of the highest concentration of cicada activity, and despite looking like a generally well taken care of place, something was definitely off. It was unanimous that the house needed to be checked out.

Dean, Sasha, and Bobby had their guns ready after several knocks turned up no response. Sam pulled his gun as well, but focused his attention on reading for sulfur. They entered the house without much fuss and just like the outside there seemed to be little out of place except for a feeling of unease. One swift kick into a closed door, however, and it was more than just a feeling.

A wave of nausea hit Dean as soon as the door opened. The smell of death was one he knew better than he wished he did. Sasha was right behind him and the others were in the room only seconds later. There was a TV turned on to some old program or movie, and on the couch in front of it sat three corpses. A family. Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

"A demon did this?" Sam asked. It seemed unlikely to Dean too. It just didn't seem like the usual MO for a demon. These people looked like they had just sat down and died while watching TV. "I'm not getting much for sulfur readings," Sam added, moving to the windows in the room where he was more likely to find traces.

"If it was a demon, it couldn't have been here long then," Sasha said, one of the few who didn't seem as bothered by the smell. He walked in front of the couch and peered more closely at the three bodies. "But this…I don't get it. How could a demon just…stop by…and cause something like this."

The four hunters stared at each other from different points in the room. No one had an answer to that.

They looked around the house a bit further, but didn't find much of anything, not even heavier readings of sulfur. Bobby caught a few of the cicadas outside, but doubted they would be of much use by themselves. They needed more to go on then just a handful of dead bodies and signs of demonic activity through insect swarms. They decided to head into the city, drive the outskirts first, and then head in completely, checking for similar signs, if any. It wasn't much to go on, but it's all they had.

They were working out some final details for the day when Bobby's police scanner started picking up something that caught their attention. It was murder for one, but that wasn't the bizarre part.

Bobby turned up the volume, seated in the driver's seat of his car, and the three younger hunters gathered closer around his door. "Say again, Dispatch. Over." There was a crackle as Dispatch responded. "You heard right, Daryl. Assault downtown. Two women. One dead. Apparently over a pair of shoes, if you can believe it. Head over there pronto. Over."

Dean couldn't believe he had heard that right. "Shoes?"

"That…wouldn't have to be demonic," Sam offered, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced of that.

"Worth checking out at any rate," Bobby said, turning his car on with a sick rumble that made Dean want to poke around under the junker's trunk. Bobby's car wasn't that bad, of course, but it was no Impala. "Meet you boys down there as soon as possible. I'll call and let you know details and an address as soon as I hear it." Bobby didn't waste any time. He made sure he got an acknowledgement from his young partners, and then took off down the road.

A few seconds later, Dean was shifting his baby into DRIVE with Sam beside him and Sasha in the back, heading their way into Lincoln.

tbc...

A/N: Here is the beginning for the Seven Deadly Sins arc. All is planned and you can expect several parts from this. Do not be discouraged, either, because there will be more arcs after this one. Thanks for your support so far and please REVIEW to let me know you're still with me.

Crim


	10. Part 2: Breaking Barriers

Part 2: Breaking Barriers

-----

The cops hadn't been mulling about the shop for some time now, so Dean, Sam, and Sasha thought it was safe enough to go in and start asking their own questions. Bobby had gone ahead to the police station to con his way in as part of the DA's office; he wanted to talk to the supposed murderer personally.

There were still a good many people around the shop where the perpetrator had killed a woman over a pair of green heels, so it wasn't hard for Sam, Dean, and Sasha to blend in. While Sam went to see if he could get a look at the shop's surveillance tapes, Sasha and Dean split up to try talking to the clerks.

"So, I hear some pretty crazy stuff went down a little earlier. You working when it happened?" Dean asked, having eased his way from casual conversation to business with the pretty brunette working the front counter.

"Well…actually…" hazel eyes darted from side to side, and the girl leaned further over the counter towards Dean, whispering, "We're not supposed to talk about it."

While average in build, the girl was quite cute, and when she leaned her upper body onto the class counter, the fine curves of her cleavage made an even more prominent appearance, one Dean always appreciated. He knew the rules—don't get caught staring—but that didn't mean you couldn't find ways of looking anyway.

The reflections in the glass worked well enough.

"Must have been scary," Dean went on, leaning closer as well with heavy-lidded eyes and that interested half smile he used when he needed to coax what he wanted out of a reluctant target, "You, just trying to do your job—which you work so hard at—and then some crazy chick starts screaming over shoes."

There was the slightest blush creeping into the girl's cheeks. She batted her eyes a few times. "She didn't scream. In fact, she seemed…no, I really shouldn't say anything," the girl said suddenly, standing back up and crossing her arms over her chest in nervous fidgeting. So much for cleavage.

Dean was losing her. He had to think of something else.

But before he could say anything, mouth half open with less than half a thought at what he was going to say, a familiar voice interrupted.

"Hitting on the help again, _honey_?" There was way too much self-satisfaction in those words for Dean's liking.

Sasha slipped up behind Dean, hooking an arm around his waist and tugging him in tight against his side. Dean could have sworn he remembered that they had an understanding of some sort. Didn't they?

"Were you two talking about the whole murder thing? Crazy, right?" Sasha said, his eyes turning to the girl behind the counter who had since dropped her arms and was looking strangely more relaxed. Sasha sounded different too, though Dean couldn't quite figure out what it was. "Man, we were on our way here when we heard. Almost turned right around, ya know? But I hate to be bullied out of something, not when my sister said this place had such cute stuff. Right, Dean?"

"Uhhh…"

"So…you two…?" the girl's smile had changed slightly as she looked between Sasha and Dean. It looked somehow mischievous and Dean felt a strange sense of being violated. What was going on?

"Uh, we're not…" Dean tried to say, also trying to push Sasha away from him. Damn, that incubus strength.

Sasha just continued on, ignoring Dean, and rattling off like one of those airheads from _'Sex and the City'_. "Personally, I think my baby looks better in Manolos, but I wouldn't say no to a pair of green pumps. That's the shoes they fought over, right? Man, even I wouldn't kill for something like that, and I've been known to get pretty vicious during a sale. Embarrasses the hell out of my Dean here."

_My_ Dean? And what the fuck were Manolos?

Whatever amount of crazy was happening around Dean right now, which pretty much had him tongue-tied and stiff as stone in Sasha's grip, it was I-just-overdosed-on-deep-fried-crack kind of crazy.

What made it worse was that the girl behind the counter started leaning forward again, inhibitions somehow banished, and started telling them everything Dean had failed to coax out of her himself.

"Well, I didn't see the whole murder part myself, but when they were in here…"

She went on to explain that the woman who did the attacking was a regular, the nice kind of customer who made small talk and actually bought that extra pair of shoes in the window just because the nice clerk said they would look good on her. The two women hadn't fought at all in the store. In fact they had barely even talked to each other. Minutes later, however, the clerks heard screaming from outside and the woman who had bought the green heels was face first into someone's windshield. Dead.

Sasha thanked the girl for telling them about what had happened, made some comment about how they had to go meet up with Dean's little brother—which at least wasn't a lie—and happily pulled Dean along after him as he went towards the back of the store to find Sam.

By the time they passed the dressing rooms, Dean's brain had remembered how to work. He pushed Sasha away from him and gave his friend a look that clearly said, "Dude, what the hell?"

"What?" Sasha shrugged, as if he couldn't think of anything wrong with what he had done. "You were flirting with her."

_Duh_. "So? It's kind of what I do, if ya hadn't noticed."

Sasha leaned back against one of the dressing mirrors, part of his red hair doubled behind him like someone had colored out of the lines with a Crayola classic red crayon. "Dean," Sasha said, his voice returned to its usual state, but also carrying something that sounded suspiciously like superiority, "That isn't always the best way to get information out of a pretty girl."

"Hn. Always worked for me…" Dean grumbled.

A chuckle left Sasha at that, but he shook his head. "I'm telling you, Dean, sometimes girls don't want to get hit on. Sometimes they would rather think they are the last thing on your mind. Makes them feel safer. Like they have nothing to fear. And nothing to lose. In fact, I've gotten more propositions by acting practically uninterested in girls than I ever have by flirting directly."

"Yeah? And how's your luck when pretending you have a frickin' boyfriend?" Dean snapped. He wasn't stupid. It may have taken him a moment to catch up, but he knew now that the cute girl at the front counter thought Dean's real reason for being in the store was to shop. For himself. For the kind of clothes he usually enjoyed taking off. Of women!

And Sasha just had to look all calm and casual about it all. "Worked, didn't it?" he said, grinning easily. There was no challenge in the expression, just Sasha's usual charm. He pushed away from the wall then and gave Dean a slightly sheepish look that would have almost seemed fake if Dean hadn't learned to read Sasha too well to ever be fooled. "Sorry. Really. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't mean to send any mixed signals here."

"Heh. Right," Dean laughed, albeit a little bitterly, "Your signals are never mixed. Just obvious and more obvious."

But because Sasha was smiling, and his regret was at least mostly real, Dean knew he couldn't stay mad. They had gotten what they wanted, even if it didn't lead them any closer to discovering what was going on. And it wasn't as if Dean wanted Sasha to change his nature for him. Sasha would always be Sasha. He was an incubus.

And really, Dean knew he wouldn't want it to be otherwise.

"Hey, I think I got something," came the sudden arrival of Sam, appearing from a back door near where Sasha and Dean were standing, "Any word from Bobby?"

On cue, the James Bond version of Bobby Singer came walking towards the group from out of the racks of women's dresses. He looked slick as ever—hair neatly done, suit and tie perfectly put together and falling about him as if tailored. It was not the Bobby any of them were used to.

Sasha gave a long whistle, and Bobby, enjoying such a rare moment of getting to look well-groomed, brushed a hand through his hair and came to stand beside Sasha in front of the mirror. Pretending to be part of the DA's office had its perks.

-----

As always, it was only too easy to get all of them into the back room of the store, permission happily granted to let the detectives—or special agents, federal marshals, bikini inspectors, or whatever con they were pulling this time—watch the surveillance tapes uninterrupted.

Bobby had discovered that the woman who did the attacking was not possessed. He even spilled a little holy water on her to be certain. She just really wanted those shoes.

So now the group was looking for a catalyst. Someone else, or some other sign that a demon was at fault for the strange behavior. There was clear footage of a man going up to the woman who had later done the attacking and speaking with her just before it all went down. His hand touched her shoulder lightly as he spoke, though of course there was no audio for them to hear what was being said. He even gestured towards the woman with the green shoes who would later regret ever buying them.

"What do you think?" Sam said, pausing the tape on a shot that showed the man's face more clearly. He was thin, average height, with darker hair and a closely groomed beard.

"I think we got some digging to do," Dean replied, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair he had been sitting in to pull it back on. The others quickly followed suit.

-----

A day's worth of investigating got them everything they needed to track the man down. Word was that he frequented a bar on the edge of town almost every night. It was a given that the hunters would set up shop outside the bar to stake the place out, but they had decided to take Bobby's car to be less conspicuous, much to Dean's chagrin, of course. While Bobby and Sam sat up front, Dean got in the back seat with Sasha.

It wasn't long before they saw the very man they were looking for heading into the bar. They had discovered that a man meeting his description had gone missing from his hometown right around the time the Devil's Gate opened. If that wasn't suspicious enough, his connection to the shoe killing certainly was.

Dean's first suggestion was that they head on in there and take care of the guy while they had the chance, but Bobby shot the idea down. They needed to be careful. They didn't know what was in that bar. Barging in would be the stupidest thing they could possibly do right now. Instead, they would wait. Eventually, the man would come out again, and they could follow him from there.

It wasn't glamorous or exciting, but it was smart.

An hour passed. Two. Dean could feel his eyes growing heavy and it wasn't even all that late. He knew it was because of being in the back seat. Dean was never in the back seat of cars, unless he was making-out, being carted around by police, or sleeping. The conditioned response of 'sleep' was what had hold of Dean now, and before he could help it, his head started lolling to the side.

Stakeouts were always boring. Two sets of eyes were usually enough to watch any given place, but the group of four wanted to be together on this whenever they could be, just in case they came upon any confrontations. It left Dean and Sasha in the back, silent so as not to disturb the atmosphere of watchfulness, and with nothing to do but doze.

As soon as Dean's head hit Sasha's shoulder, he knew he was done for. He almost let himself stay right there—Sasha's side wasn't all that uncomfortable really—but when realization dawned on him Dean felt a surge of both panic and shame. Their understanding had to work both ways, and Dean sleeping against Sasha's side, even if meant innocently, was just plain mean.

Dean lifted his head from Sasha's shoulder and blinked down at his watch. Somehow another hour had passed while he rested his eyes and body. So much for not being mean. He looked up at Sasha, meaning to offer some sort of apology for letting himself fall against him like that, but Sasha's eyes were serenely closed. He probably hadn't even noticed Dean since he was sleeping too.

A little smile cracked from the side of Dean's mouth. He would never admit it, but whenever he caught Sam sleeping like that, he would allow himself a few moments to enjoy the peace he found on his brother's face. He enjoyed watching Sam rest instead of always having to see him fight. Of course, a few moments after that, Dean would be making quick work of a black magic marker, but he had a reputation to keep. And after all, they were still brothers.

It was different watching Sasha. Dean still liked the peaceful look, knowing Sasha had been living the same hunter life as Dean for many years, only Sasha had always been on his own. Sure, the guy drove Dean crazy. But time and time again Dean just dismissed it. Why? They were friends, and Dean liked being friends, but Sasha had all but said straight out that he would rather have more. Dean didn't know what to think of that. What was more to an incubus? Sasha said he didn't want to just feed on Dean. Okay. So no one-night stands. But then…what? Did Sasha want them to date?

Dean almost snorted. He tried to imagine what his Dad would say to that if he were still alive. Hey, Dad, I'd like you to meet my new boyfriend. He's an incubus. Somehow Dean doubted an ex-Marine and first class hunter would take either half of that well.

But all that aside, Dean had to remind himself that right now Sasha wanted the same things he wanted—to be friends only and to forget all that mess of their…kiss, and whatever else. Sasha was willing to do that—stunts in the shop earlier aside—so why did Dean have to keep thinking about it?

Dean's mind had officially wandered, and he jumped back to himself abruptly, finding that he was still fairly close to Sasha, looking over at the incubus' face. Whose eyes, incidentally, were no longer closed.

The first thought Dean had was to grin and offer some smartass remark, but any of his usual barbs fell from his tongue. Sasha wasn't smiling. His face was barely readable. The only thing Dean could be certain of was that Sasha looked just as peaceful as he had while asleep, if a little…sad.

"There!" came a harsh, fast whisper from the front seat.

Dean practically jumped, his eyes torn from Sasha's, and he realized that his heart was beating a little too fast.

Now was not the time for this. They had to focus.

"What's up?" Dean said, leaning up between the front seats.

Sasha's voice filtered up from behind him, sounding perfectly normal and composed, of course. "He finally leaving?"

Bobby's head gave a nod towards the front door of the bar, where there was not one man, but four. Their suspect was among them and they seemed to all be talking excitedly about something. Dean and the others watched closely, keeping their heads low. A few minutes later, another man came out of the bar, this one quite overweight and slow moving. And finally, two women followed behind that, one blonde and one brunette. Once all seven people were outside the door, mulling there around the front of the bar, they all suddenly turned.

To stare right at Bobby's car.

_Shit_.

Bobby had the car shifted out of PARK a second later, immediately taking a high speed reverse out of the parking lot. Even from their current distance as the group of people started towards them, and even in the dark, it was only too easy to see their black eyes, blotting out every bit of humanity from irises to the whites. _Demons_.

The group was wheeled around moments later, racing down the road to escape. At first it seemed that the demons were following them, but they were soon left behind in the dust.

"You see that number?" Bobby asked after they had peeled off more deeply into the city, his voice wild and his hands gripping the steering wheel tight.

"Yeah, that's one shitload of demons," Dean agreed. He had never seen so many together in one place like that, even though he knew there were hundreds out in the world now.

"Seven," Bobby said, his voice quieter now but still wild as he lifted the bill of his baseball hat and wiped his brow, "There were seven."

"No way," said Sasha from beside Dean, leaning forward towards the back of Bobby in the driver's seat, "Can't be…"

"It was proven they're not just myth or Christian ideals of evil," said Bobby, "They're devils, real as any demon."

Sasha shook his head, running one of his own hands hard through red locks. "This is bad."

"What's bad?" Dean pressed, having had about enough of 'guess our crisis', "What's going on?"

Sam didn't add anything, but he turned to Bobby with clear concern as the brothers both waited for some kind of response.

Bobby wiped at his brow again before speaking.

"The seven deadly sins," the elder hunter said finally, "live and in the flesh."

Since leaving the parking lot, Dean's hands had remained gripping the sides of Sam's seat in front of him. Now, Sam looked back at Dean and the brothers just stared.

The seven deadly sins were real live demons? Dean had to say it.

"Well…shit."

-----

They got back to the motel without any sign of demons on their tail, but none of the hunters felt relieved. This particular hunt had just gotten six times more serious than they were counting on.

"I can't believe the seven deadly sins are real," Sam was saying, shaking his head as he sat hunched forward on the edge of one of the beds in their room.

"It's like hunting a frickin' celebrity," Dean added, to which he received one laugh and two very skeptical sets of eyes. At least Sasha was on his side.

"It makes sense," Sam went on, deciding to ignore Dean's comment, "That house…had to be Sloth. I'm sure he loves the new edge TV gives him."

"And the shoe thing has to be Envy then," Sasha added. He was sitting on the same bed as Sam, while Dean sat on the other one, and Bobby kept lookout by the window, "This really is bad. How can we take down seven ancient demons, with powers we don't even know the extent of, when they know we're here?"

"More the question," said Sam, "How we gonna track them?"

Ha. Dean was more worried about the sins tracking _them_.

Bobby seemed to be thinking along those same lines, because he parted the drapes one more time to peer out, gave a good snort, and then turned back to his younger companions.

"I doubt we'll have to worry about that. The important thing is to keep them separate. The last thing we need is to have the lot of them ganging up on us. Now, I can't be sure, but I get the feeling they know exactly who we are and why we're here. Hell, they could be hunting us right now."

Dean squirmed in his seat. He frickin' hated demons. "That's comforting," he grumbled.

"So," Bobby pressed on, leaning back against the window now, though his eyes were consistently darting back to look outside, "We need to make the next move, if we can. Chasing after them now or heading back to the bar would just get us killed. I vote we stay in tonight, all in this one room with a lookout at all times. If they don't find us first, then tomorrow…we'll see if we can find out who owns that bar."

It wasn't the most reassuring of plans, but it was the safest and smartest they could come up with right now. To be honest, Dean didn't know if he would prefer the demons just came right now and started something, or if they managed to see the light of tomorrow only to face the demons somewhere else. Neither option sounded good if it really came down to seven against four.

They took hour shifts starting with Bobby, knowing they would need as much sleep as they could get. Dean went second. He was barely halfway into his turn, his eyes heavy as he stared at the still streets and mostly empty lot outside, when he glanced over at the cot and noticed Sasha was awake.

Sasha smiled and gave a shrug. "Can't sleep," he mouthed, not wanting to disturb Bobby and Sam in the two beds. He rose then, only half dressed but still wearing his jeans that like all of his pants hung low so that his tattoo displayed proudly. "Want some company?" he said once he had made his way over to Dean by the window.

Dean Winchester may not be afraid of the dark, but he was certainly not going to dismiss willing company while having to stay up in it.

There was a chair pulled up to the window so whoever was up had a place to sit while watching, and Dean was slumped pretty heavily in it. Sasha grabbed another chair from the little motel table, and set it down beside Dean so they could pass the time.

For a few minutes, they just sat there, silent. Sasha didn't ask any questions or make any small talk, and Dean didn't feel any need to fill that quiet, not like he usually did. He actually found himself enjoying the company for company's sake. It was a rare thing. So rare that Dean felt he better break the silence soon or risk turning too much into his brother.

Sasha must have sensed Dean's turmoil, like he did so often, because before Dean could say anything, Sasha spoke first.

"I keep meaning to ask," he said, his voice kept low but not quite a whisper, "Your necklace. I never see you without it. Must be special, huh?"

Dean stared down at the pendant resting on his chest. He was still in his jeans and T-shirt, a navy one that looked black in the dark. His necklace, glittering with its fake gold against the dark contrast of his shirt, was indeed something he never took off. Only when he showered, and even then it made him feel so much more naked that he wondered if he'd feel better peeling off his skin instead.

No, it wasn't anything special, not by most people's standards anyway. It was a face, maybe a mask, real tribal looking, like maybe it had been found in some Incan ruin. But Dean doubted that. His necklace had come from a pawn shop, he was almost certain. But if it did, that meant its true origin could be pretty much anywhere.

Grabbing onto it, Dean hooked the necklace with his thumb and pointer finger. "Ah, it's just something Sammy gave me one Christmas," he said, like it wasn't as big of a deal as it really had been for them at the time, "He was supposed to give it to Dad, but…" Dean closed his eyes, remembering how angry and scared Sam had been that night, "But…I was there. I was there and Dad wasn't, even though it was Christmas, and things were so messed up. Sammy was…eight? I don't know, maybe younger. That was the night I…told him what was really going on. I'm not even five years older, ya know, we were both just kids. And I had to tell him…there really is a boogie man." Dean opened his eyes, letting a smile grow, but like many of Sasha's, it wasn't really real.

"I'm sure it was all very different for you than it was for me," Sasha said, smiling back at Dean in the dark as they both leaned against the window and passed occasional glances outside, "I couldn't start hunting for real until after the change. I was sixteen when I went out for the first time. You've been doing this since before you were double digits. It's a different life."

Maybe, Dean thought, but after so many years, all things came back to zero, and all hunters ended up the same. "It was rough," he admitted, "but Dad was just trying to protect us, prepare us for the war he knew was coming. And hey, here we are, right? I'm sure glad I know the things I know. I don't want to think what it would be like to be a civilian in this mess."

Sasha nodded, and his back gave a curved stretch, proving how tired he was despite not being able to sleep.

Dean wasn't sure exactly how it all started after that. He couldn't remember if Sasha asked him another question, or if he just started talking on his own, but by the time Dean's turn as lookout was almost up, Sasha knew all about what it was like growing up as Dean Winchester.

"That was probably one of the hardest things I remember going through, harder than any hunt," Dean was saying, having gotten passed Dean, the early years, and moved on to the time when Sam was ready to head to Stanford, "I mean, I was so proud. Dad was too, he was, even if he couldn't say it. But selfish or not, neither of us wanted him to go. Felt like he was…"

"Abandoning you?"

Dean sighed. He was not looking for a therapy session, but he sure did like having someone listen who wasn't his brother. "Just leaving," he said, "I never like…anyone leaving. This job's one thing, but this job alone…" Dean caught himself then, but it was already too late. He'd said it. Shit.

Glancing over at his friend, he saw the sad smile on Sasha's face, the incubus' eyes turned to the shag carpet just as they had been when he told Dean he wouldn't press for anything anymore.

"Hey…I didn't…mean…"

"Yes, you did," Sasha said, his voice a whisper now. He looked back up at Dean and his blue eyes glowed in the shadows, making him look inhuman in a way Dean didn't mind at all. "You always had someone, Dean. First your dad and Sam, then at least your dad when Sam left, and now…you still have Sam, and Bobby and others when you need them. Me…I've always only been me. And now…when I think about going back…it really scares me. I don't like anyone leaving either."

And there was the regret, the remorse, that horrible weight that Dean had started to forget about again, but couldn't escape. His deal. In less than a year Dean would be just another person who leaves, and Sasha didn't even know.

Now was not the time to tell him. Neither Sam nor Dean had thought to bring it up during the first hunt, because they figured it was a one time thing. Sasha had fixed himself to the group though, and they were glad for it, but it made Dean feel like such an ass. Now there was one more person he was leaving. He tried to tell himself that it was also one more person to keep an eye on Sam after he had gone, but that thought wasn't as comforting as Dean hoped it would be.

Thinking quickly, Dean jumped on the first distraction he could come up with. "Hey, you always had your aunt though, right? You weren't completely alone. And she's not about to abandon you even if those elders of yours are idiots."

Sasha laughed a little, maybe with a touch of sadness at being reminded of being banished, but he nodded before saying, "Yeah…she's been great, I can't deny it. But the last person I would ever want on a hunt. Although…" Sasha's smile grew, and it was at least mostly real now, "I guess she was really good about getting all my dad's stuff before, I don't know, any other hunters or who knows what that she thought would try to take it. So I did have all my dad's notes, his equipment, even his old guitars right from the start. Sometimes it felt like he was with me for real, leading me along, ya know? Sure, I mostly taught myself how to hunt, caught up with a few hunters like Ellen and Bobby who knew my dad before, but…I guess I can't say I have too many complaints considering where I've ended up." Blue eyes batted long lashes at Dean but then quickly turned away. Sasha was holding up his end of their understanding, hard as it seemed.

And again, it made Dean feel like the biggest ass in the world. It wasn't pity, but whatever the feeling was, it sunk Dean's heart a little lower into the pit of his stomach. "So…" Dean tried, hoping for distraction again, "Did you say guitars? What sort of guitars your dad have?" Music. It was one of Dean's elements. And though he couldn't really play himself, he loved a good guitar riff.

Sasha was smiling real again, and Dean knew he had steered the conversation right this time. "Couple acoustics and a fender," Sasha said, "Nice too."

"Sweet," Dean had listened to the tunes of some pretty hot fenders in his day, "Yeah, you know…our dad used to play too," Dean said, surprising himself a little actually, since he hadn't thought about that in such a long time, "When we were real little, when Sammy was still a baby, he loved that old guitar. You play?"

Sasha gave one of his almost mockingly modest shrugs and said, "I don't suck. Better at singing. You sing? Besides humming to metal, I mean."

Now there was a laughable thought. Though if Dean really thought about it, he wasn't all that bad of a singer, it just wasn't something he usually did. "I guess I'm okay," he decided on saying, but then a smirk caught the edge of his mouth and he just had to add, "Sammy, on the other hand…tone deaf as a mute cow."

A louder than he had yet allowed laugh escaped Sasha before he could help it. They both glanced into the room and saw Bobby stir. He didn't wake though, and Sam hadn't even twitched.

That kid could sleep through anything, as long as there wasn't any real threat. How his subconscious knew the difference was anyone's best guess.

"Anyway," Sasha said, whispering again, "Singing gets the bills paid once in a while."

Bills paid? "What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Those little creases in Sasha's forehead that appeared whenever he was confused about something, creases Dean had seen up close and personal plenty of times now, came back for another encore, "You gotta have some way you guys make quick cash, besides credit card scams," he said.

"Sure," Dean admitted, "We'll play some cards or hussle a little pool now and again."

Sasha nodded as if that sounded exactly like what he had been thinking. "Well," he said, "I hate poker and black jack, and I pretty much suck at pool. If I pass a bar or some place needing a night's entertainment though, I'll play and sing a little. Usually, I'd have one of those guitars with me. But…one of the acoustics' got smashed a few hunts back. Haven't had the heart to pick up one of the other ones."

Hmm. Dean supposed that all made sense. There was certainly something of a showman in Sasha's charm, if he thought about it. "Your aunt keep all your stuff?" he asked. Everything Sam and Dean needed or owned was kept in the Impala's trunk, but Sasha only had his bags.

"Not anymore," came the reply, "I keep a few storage places for extra ammo and weapons. There's one in Illinois where I keep most of Dad's old non-hunter stuff. Easier to travel light."

"When you don't have a sweet ride," Dean added.

He never missed a chance to talk up his baby, and Sasha had already expressed numerous times how much he enjoyed the car too. It was one of the final things Dean needed to know about Sasha to prove to himself that even as an incubus, the guy couldn't be all bad if he had good taste in cars.

A yawn broke free from Dean before he could say anything else. He glanced down at his watch and saw that he still had a few minutes before Sasha was supposed to take over his shift.

Dean shook his head to ignore the yawn, but the skin of Sasha's forearm brushed his own as the incubus said, "I got ya covered."

"I got some time yet," Dean dismissed.

"Don't sweat it. I'm up anyway."

That was certainly true. Dean gave a shrug then and stood up, stretching his arms above his head before offering a smile down to his companion. "Not gonna argue then," he said, and he took off towards the open cot, all the while praying he could actually find something close to sleep amongst his thoughts.

Dean was curled up, his shirt tossed somewhere into the mess of the room's floor, when he stole one last glance at Sasha sitting now in the chair Dean had vacated. Sasha was doing his job, staring out at the night, and looking still and solid as anything, as if nothing could move him. It was a kind of easy strength that Dean admired, and it had nothing to do with the real physical strength Sasha had. It was the kind of quiet strength that always made Dean think of his dad. The kind he never thought he had enough of himself.

Somehow, it made Dean feel safe, seeing Sasha like that. He knew now that they could do this. They could be friends. And it was that thought that followed Dean into dreaming, content with what he had even when so much of everything in his life was always so messed up.

tbc...

A/N: I hope you like how 3:1 is changing, which as you can see means mostly leaving all those annoying people OUT. You will see no sign of Ruby either. She was the biggest kill-joy of the episode in my opinion. But here it begins in my version. Tell me what you think. I'm really excited for giving you guys a very different fight than the episode did. Thanks for sticking with me.

Crim


	11. Part 3: Never How You Planned

Part 3: Never How You Planned

-----

Sleeping was not something Dean usually had trouble with. He was a hunter. He was used to grabbing whatever meager hours of rest were allotted him, and making those hours count. But tonight was a different story. Tonight his dreams were filled with seven faceless demons banging on the walls of the motel room, closing in on them, and leaving them nowhere to run but right into the demons' clutches. If the real life demons really did come for them in a rush, Dean doubted they would make it. Sure they had salted the entrances, the windows, and thrown up a few devil's traps to catch the demons off guard, but there was always a chance, and that chance kept Dean half awake the entire night.

He distinctly remembered Sasha passing by his cot at one point, probably when Sasha switched out for Sam as lookout, and grabbing onto the incubus' pant leg. Groggily, he had asked just what the hell _were_ Manolos anyway. It had been bothering him since that afternoon.

With his usual smirk, Sasha had leaned in close to Dean and whispered beside his ear, "Shoes worth more than your car, Dean."

Now, Dean wasn't entirely sure if any of that had been real, or if his half-conscious mind had made him imagine it all. Judging by Sasha's answer, Dean hoped to God it had been a dream. No pair of heels were worth more than his baby.

A few hours of being right on the edge of real sleep passed, and just when Dean thought he was finally going to drift into the sweet reaches of REM, a knock sounded at their motel door. It was the kind of motel that had its rooms completely separate, so the door led straight outside, not into a hallway.

Dean was immediately up, taking stock of Bobby being the lookout again, which meant it couldn't be much after six AM. The knock was way too early to be a wake up call.

By the time Bobby had peered outside to check out the person at the door and deemed whoever it was safe enough to open it, Sam and Sasha were up too. All three sleepyheads were busy grabbing for clean shirts when the woman at the door started poking her head in.

"I'm sorry, but it is not allowed for more than three guests to stay in one of these rooms. Two beds and a cot, if all the beds are single. I would have been in here right away last night if it had been my shift. I'm just glad Steven mentioned something to me when I replaced him this morning. It really is against motel policy…"

Recognizing that this was no more a demon attack than a social call, Dean started to tune the conversation out. The sun was just starting to come up outside, and if this woman was the reason Dean was going to miss out on the last few precious hours of sleep he might have gotten, then he was not going to give her the benefit of having him pay her much attention.

Bobby argued with her for a little bit and finally explained their arrangement as being a byproduct of their research.

"Research?" the woman pressed. She was tall and thin, and couldn't have been older than early-thirties. She had dark hair tied up in a ponytail and bangs that wisped around her face. Dean thought she would actually be kind of cute if she wasn't yelling at them.

"Yeah…" Bobby said, thinking fast, "We've been following the cicada migrations. Right. There happens to be quite a few of them around these parts, if you hadn't noticed."

Points to Bobby, Dean thought. Once in a while the truth really did make the best lie.

The woman stared at Bobby blankly for a minute before responding. She glanced in past him again and took note of the three young men sitting on various beds with disarrayed hair and crumpled T-shirts.

"You're entomologists?" She said.

Dean felt a swell of pride that he actually knew entomologist meant bug scientist.

"And…you sleep in one room," the woman finished. There was no doubt a large amount of misunderstanding was going through her head right now, and Dean was not about to let her think like that.

"Hey," he said, rising from his cot to move closer to the door, "It's not what you think."

"It's just…easier for our research if we're all together," Bobby finished.

Personally, Dean didn't think either of them sounded at all convincing, and that thought was mirrored quite openly in Sam and Sasha since they were both giving Bobby and Dean incredulous looks.

Which is why Dean found it surprising that the woman took them at their word so readily after that.

"Oh," she said, accepting Bobby and Dean's jumbled and defensive explanations, "Well, if you're really interested in the cicada migrations, I heard that there are swarms of them right now in the Chicago area. You know…" Her eyes turned to stare more fully at Bobby again, and she reached out a hand to gently touch his arm, "If you want them so badly…you must want _all_ of them."

Bobby's posture straightened so quickly, Dean almost thought for a second that the older hunter had jumped out of his skin.

Dean was the only one who could really see Bobby and the woman clearly, since Sam and Sasha were still sitting on their respective beds, and from Dean's point of view he was almost positive that something was very, very wrong.

"Yeah…" came Bobby's reply, softer of voice and sounding suddenly very determined. "I need to track them all down. _All of them_."

"Better get going then," the woman said, and her hand slipped from Bobby's arm as she moved out of the way to give him space to leave the room.

Bobby was already dressed, his vest on, his hat on his head, and a gun tucked into the back of his pants where he had been trying to keep it hidden from the woman at the door. Until now, that is. Now, he grabbed the gun and brought it fearlessly into the open, cocking it as if he already had sights on something to shoot, and walked right past the woman out of the motel room.

"Bobby!" Dean called, rushing for the door. In his periphery, he saw Sam and Sasha rise from their beds to follow suit, but before even Dean could exit the room after Bobby, the woman took her place again in front of it to block him.

Dean gave a sharp gasp and almost started back-peddling immediately, soon finding himself flush with the tall form of his brother behind him.

Black eyes stared back at them from the face of the woman at the door. They had been tricked. And it had been only too easy.

"I think he wants to find those cicadas so badly…he won't want to share," she grinned. Laughter fell from her lips like acrid smoke and in the next moment she had slammed the door shut in Dean's face.

All three of them made an instinctive rush for the door, but none of them reached for the knob. Running out there was exactly what the demons wanted. The demons…

Damn it. Dean felt like such an idiot. They were all idiots. It shouldn't have been that easy. And yet the sound of Bobby starting his car and driving off in a mad rush was only too audible.

"Greed," Sam said in an angry hiss, one of his large hands turning into a fist as it came down heavily on the door, "She knew Bobby would do anything to track down as many demons as possible. And cicadas equal demons. Damn it!" he slammed his fist on the door again, "All she did was_touch_ him!"

"I can't believe we're this stupid," Dean voiced aloud, since it was the most prominent thought on his mind right now, "We should have gone after them last night."

"We were dead on our feet," Sasha reminded him, peering out through the curtains to check the parking lot for signs of their she-demon, "A lot of good it would have done us."

"Maybe, but we're still dead on our feet," said Sam, "And now we're one less."

"But I don't get it," Dean started, turning back to the room to begin gathering up whatever supplies he could think to grab, "Why get Bobby to just drive off like that? What good does that do?"

Sasha's voice filtered over to Dean from where he was still leaning by the window, "Divide and conquer. Just like we were thinking."

"We're wasting time. We can't afford to get boxed in here," Sam said anxiously, taking Dean's cue and starting to gather up as many things as he thought he would need and could most easily carry. Sasha did the same, and after they were armed and their pockets were filled with charms and various items, they started to look around the motel room for the best way out.

Again, it was Sam who made the suggestion, peering inside the bathroom and indicating the inevitably tiny bathroom window.

"Come on," he said.

They didn't have much choice. The front door was too risky. All seven demons could be out there somewhere waiting for them. Their chances weren't much better with the bathroom window if the demons had any sense, but it was the best plan they had right now.

They had stopped expecting an ambush somewhere around three AM, when they were too drowsy to imagine any kind of battle. And that was their mistake.

Dean was the first one out the window, being the smallest, then Sasha, and finally Sam, whose shoulders almost got stuck halfway through though he managed to maneuver around his broader frame eventually. Once all three of them were on the ground, and sights were clear, they made a sprint for the nearest cover: behind the main office of the motel. From there they had a clear view of their own building and of the Impala, which for now looked completely untouched. Dean thanked whatever gods existed for that small miracle.

A few minutes of watching produced several people who at first could be harmless enough, just people innocently mulling about. But when the hunters spotted Envy who they knew on sight more easily than the others, they knew the group of people they watched were demons. All seven of them were indeed there, appearing from different places around the grounds, even to the point where the boys had to duck and cover when a man with curly hair and a well-tailored suit almost stumbled upon their hiding place.

The seven demons gathered, discussed, and eventually dispersed. It seemed too easy. They had snuck around the Impala a bit, but called it quits after only a few minutes, taking off in two separate groups in two separate cars that ended up going in opposite directions.

Sam, Dean, and Sasha stared at each other, waited an appropriate amount of time, and then made a break for the Impala. Sam had his cell phone out, which he had been fiddling with since they first left their motel room. He was trying to get a hold of Bobby, but when Dean and Sasha looked to him for some sort of report, he just shook his head. No answer.

They reached the Impala and Dean unlocked the doors for them to all get inside, Sasha in back again behind Dean. Dean was already shifting into gear and heading after the car carrying the fewer amount of demons—three instead of four—when Sasha's dissenting voice drifted up from the backseat.

"They're setting us up. Have to be."

"Yeah, no shit," Dean said through clenched teeth, "But we have no idea which direction Bobby went, and catching up to at least one group of those bastards is the best bet we got. We can't afford to lose them only to have them track us down again later."

Sam was still trying Bobby's cell and still getting nothing for his troubles. Bobby's phone was working, he just wasn't picking up. "At least he's safe," Sam said after the tenth or more try.

"Safer than us," Dean grumbled. He didn't like the idea of going after the demons either, but they couldn't risk hanging around the motel when the demons knew they were staying there. "Look, I say we just keep tracking this one car, and if we're lucky we'll figure out some way of getting rid of a few. After that, then we can worry about the rest of the demons and how to get Bobby back to his senses."

"We'll be on their turf," Sasha said, as much of a voice of reason and discouragement as Sam was most of the time, "I don't like it. I don't like any of this."

Dean clenched the wheel a little tighter. He could see the smaller group of demons' car ahead of them now, but was careful not to get too close. Much as he loved his baby, she wasn't exactly inconspicuous. "Who knows," Dean said, trying to find some kind of bright side if Sam and Sasha weren't going to offer any, "They're trying to divide us, right? Maybe they'll think we sent some of us after each car."

"I don't know," said Sam, his tone sounding so much in synch with Sasha on this matter that it made Dean sick, "Sounds too easy."

Dean clutched the wheel even tighter. "Well, I'm sorry Mr. Negative and Even _More_ Negative in the backseat, but this is the best plan we've got right now. If either of _you_ have any suggestions…" Dean trailed off to give his companions the chance to voice any. None came. "Then shut your cakeholes," he spat out, "You're not helping. We're all tired and edgy, and Bobby's off headed to Chicago or some shit, and we have no idea what we're doing. Things are bad enough without you two yapping at my ideas. So unless you're going to come up with some of your own, _shut up_ and let me drive."

Needless to say, everything was much quieter after that, and Dean, being Dean, had to admit that he felt pretty damn good about things from that point on.

-----

Dean could have sworn he had declared his eternal hatred for stakeouts last night, but apparently that wasn't enough to free him from the burden of sitting through one again today.

They had followed the car to a house in the suburbs of Lincoln, where all three demons had gone inside and since then hadn't come back out. Dean had maintained an almost laughable distance while tailing the car, since the demons had spotted them so easily the night before, but still managed not to lose them. When he finally had the Impala parked within spying distance of the demons' house, he was pretty sure they hadn't been seen this time.

Unless of course the two negative people in the car with him were right about this all being an elaborate setup. But Dean didn't want to think about that right now. Now they had to come up with a plan to take care of these three seven deadly sins, hopefully sending all of them back to Hell where they belonged, and then figure out some way to get Bobby back on their side before they headed after the rest of the sins. Sam still wasn't having any luck getting Bobby to answer his phone.

The better part of an hour passed before they agreed it was safe to try and make a move on the house. The question was, what move should they make, and how to execute it.

"Hey," came Sasha's voice from between the seats, since he was leaning forward to better get Sam and Dean's attention. He pointed an outstretched hand not at the house with the demons, but at the house next door with the prominent FOR SALE sign. Sasha grinned. "I have an idea."

-----

Dean was grinning like mad by the time he went over and gave the doorbell a ring. "Hey there," he said, aiming his grin at Envy who had answered the door, "I was wondering if I might interest you in a set of encyclopedias."

Envy grinned back at him, his eyes shimmering into their true black pitch as Greed and the other demon appeared behind him in the doorway.

"No?" Dean said, holding his ground, "I just figured you'd need one later when you wanted to look up the term sucker-punched." To which Dean accompanied his words with a sharp, hard punch to Envy's nose just before turning on his heels and sprinting across the lawn back towards the house with the FOR SALE sign.

Dean Winchester had done many stupid things in his life, but as far as he was concerned punching a demon wasn't one of them.

It was no surprise that the demons gave chase, and they moved fast, faster than any normal human should be able to. But these weren't humans, not at the moment, and they didn't care if they pushed the bodies they had stolen to the very brink of human capability. Their demon power made them stronger and more resilient, but it didn't make them invincible. And that was one of the things Dean and the others were counting on.

Dean flew through the already open kitchen door of the neighboring empty house, bypassing Sasha and Sam as he skidded to a halt on the other side of the room. His breaths came heavy but he was smiling as he looked back and saw that Sasha and his brother had him book-ended, weapons ready even if they wouldn't do much good against demons.

A moment later their guests arrived.

Unlike Dean, the three demons slowed down before even reaching the house, having clear sights on the three hunters that were waiting for them. They were walking calmly by the time they entered the kitchen, staying just inside its doorway.

The unidentified deadly sin stood in between Envy and Greed, taking on what appeared to be an instinctive leadership role. His smile was smug as he nodded at the floor in the middle of the kitchen and said, "Just how stupid do you think we are?"

A devil's trap was prominent on the kitchen linoleum, acting as temporary barrier between the three demons and the three hunters. The demon in the suit took another step forward, the others following, and came to a stop with the toes of his expensive shoes just barely touching the edge of the trap.

Dean couldn't help but grin. He had caught his breath by now, and came forward to stand more even with Sasha and his brother. With an expression surely as smug as the demon's, Dean gave a little nod to the ceiling above the demons' heads where a second devil's trap had been drawn closer to the door.

"Pretty damn stupid," Dean said. There was really no other way to say it.

The three demons all looked up, seeing that they had been caught anyway, and turned back to the hunters with black eyes blazing and howls on their lips.

The hunters were all smiling now, but Dean's smirk took the cake. He pat his brother on the back and said, "Let her rip, Sammy," to which Sam nodded, handed Dean his shotgun, and took out their dad's journal with the page already marked and ready for an exorcism.

Steady Latin began to fall from Sam's lips, but the demons did not react with words of compromise or threats. All they did was stare back at the hunters and start to laugh.

The sound got on Dean's nerves quicker than Sammy with a hangover.

"Something funny?" Dean sneered.

"Or did you fail to notice you've been beaten?" Sasha added, his gun having never once wavered as he kept his watch on the demons.

The demon in the middle laughed loudest of all and when he spoke again the boys started wondering if maybe they did know which of the seven deadly sins he was supposed to be after all. "You?" he said, "You think an aged and experienced demon like me could fall to someone like _you_?" He laughed again. "Please. I've cleaned my teeth on the bones of better, braver men than the likes of you."

Pride. It clicked in all of their heads in rancorous unison, Dean was sure of it. If his words didn't give him away then that holier-than-thou tone of voice sure as hell did.

But what Dean didn't like about this was that it didn't seem to be just Pride's _pride_ that was making him so sure of himself. Envy and Greed looked just as confident, even as Sam's voice continued to ring out loudly in the kitchen in Latin.

And then the ambush struck.

First, it was a rumble as the floor began to shake and a crack appeared in the devil's trap in the ceiling and in the one on the floor. So much for having a backup. Then, before the three sins they had so recently held captive could begin to move forward, the other four sins appeared, two from the side staircase and two from behind them, blocking their escape.

Shit.

"Slick trick, salting all those ways in and out of here," said the silken voice of a busty blonde that just screamed Lust.

A guy that looked very much like a biker, bald with piercings and a leather vest, came from that side staircase, his fists already clenched in hopes for a brawl. "That wouldn't make much of a fair fight, now would it?"

The hunters had already started huddling together, Sasha and Dean each armed with a shotgun they knew wouldn't help all that much, and Sam holding a book that wouldn't be much help anymore either. Generally speaking, demons didn't just sit back and let you exorcize them, even if you did ask nicely.

Dean thought about what the biker, whom he had to assume was Wrath, had said, and gave a loud snort.

"Fair? Since when is seven on three fair, cue ball?"

An instant snarl took over Wrath's face at being challenged, but another demon, balding by fate not by choice and wearing a flannel shirt, held him back. Apparently, the sins had a greater plan for their cornered hunters and Dean decided that was a good thing. It meant they still had a chance to get out of this.

One thing didn't add up though, and Sam, being the logical one, had to ask.

"But we _did_ salt all the ways in and out of here. So then…how did the rest of you get in?"

"Maybe you should have checked the attic, big boy," Lust said, leering openly and practically licking her lips at Sammy in a way that made Dean's stomach turn. His brother had safe, normal, boring sex, damn it. Lust looked like she wanted to get nasty.

In another circumstance, Dean might have enjoyed that thought.

"Attic?" Sasha questioned. They hadn't found any attic.

The one demon they had not yet heard speak or been properly introduced to, gave a half-hearted gesture with his hand like grabbing something out of the air. "Pull down. Kinda hidden," he said, and it was not a hard guess to deem him Sloth, overweight and tired looking.

A pull down attic door. They hadn't thought of that. Damn it.

The demons started moving in closer to their captive prey then, all grins and black eyes. The hunters had walked right into this trap, even thinking they had found a way to get one step ahead only to be proven very, very wrong.

They had to get out of the kitchen. They were too closed in and there were too many demons for them to take on their own. But they had thought of this too, just in case everything went to Hell—literally.

Since Sasha and Dean had their guns, it had to be Sam, and so the others watched for him to make his move. His hands became free as he slipped John's journal back into his jacket, but the demons, to their discredit, didn't seem to notice that he also pulled something out. It was already clear to Sasha and Dean which direction they had to go. There were three demons in one direction: not that way. There were two in a direction that led up stairs where they would become even more trapped than they already were: not that way. And then there were two blocking the way out of the kitchen and into the rest of the house: bingo.

Before the demons could close in any tighter, Sam gave a shout of, "Now!", and with a flick of his wrist sent a spray of holy water from his canteen to descend on Lust and Sloth. The demons each gave a scream, and Sam, Sasha, and Dean pushed past them out of the kitchen into the narrow hallway beyond.

Sam was in the lead and they followed him down the hallway at a mad run. There were too many enemies and no time. They had to get out of the house. Taking a sharp turn at the next doorway, knowing it would be the quickest route to the front door, Sam led them into the living room.

Wrath, knuckles cracking as he flexed his fingers in and out of fists, stood at the front entryway to meet them, as if having just come in from outside. So much for that idea.

They turned back on their heels into the hallway and continued down it. Dean was at the end of the line, and just as they came to an opening with the main staircase in front of them and several doors into various rooms on all sides, Dean heard the too close sound of running footsteps behind him. He turned, prepared to fire if he had to even if there was an innocent person buried somewhere inside the bodies chasing them, but…there wasn't anyone there. Worst of all, when Dean swung back around Sasha and Sam were gone.

Shit. Don't get split up, they had said. The last thing we can afford to do is to get split up. It made Dean want to scream. Whatever he thought he heard a moment ago must have just been one of the demons messing with him.

"Dean!"

Senses alerted, Dean turned towards the sound of Sam's voice. He couldn't see him but there was only one door that direction. Dean ran for it immediately. Once inside he could see that another door on the other side of the room led directly out again. That door was swinging slightly as it stood open, but no one was in the room. Had Sam and Sasha ran on?

Dean looked to his left. He could see the can of paint they had found in the garage and used to make all of the devil's traps. He looked right…and saw the black eyes of the balding man in the flannel shirt.

Dean flinched back but the demon was too close. It grabbed Dean's wrist, not forcefully but enough to touch him, and began to speak, "Aren't you tired, Dean?" he said, "Aren't you hungry? You must be hungry after working so hard. You must be _starving_. And would you look at that," the demon said, nodding down to the can of paint on the floor, "There's a tasty treat for you right…there."

There was no way to describe it. The feeling that rushed into Dean's body when the demon touched him, it was just…need. Dean turned to look down at the can of paint, and what he saw wasn't something that looked like paint at all really, just like something he…had to have. He needed it. He needed it now. He was so…damn…_hungry_.

Everything started to slow. The demon's hand left Dean's wrist and Dean turned, crouching down beside the can of paint and dropping his gun so he could grab the can on either side with both hands. Something in the back of his head was trying to tell him something, something was screaming at him, and then Dean realized…it was Sam.

"Dean!"

Sam appeared from the other doorway and Sasha was right behind him. While Sam ran at the demon Dean knew now had to be Gluttony even as he was bringing the can of paint up to his mouth, Sasha came straight for him. Sam splashed Gluttony with his flask of holy water and Sasha, his incubus grip grabbing hold of Dean's hand almost painfully to get Dean to drop the can of paint—which he immediately did—started pulling Dean towards the way he and Sam had come from. The spell or whatever it was immediately broke once Dean started moving, the influence flooding out of his body and leaving him with a sense of just how stupid it would have been to guzzle paint.

He thanked his lucky stars for Sammy and Sasha. Much as half of him wished they had just run and gotten out of the house, the other half didn't want to leave them.

Ever.

They made a break from the room, leaving Gluttony to howl in agony behind them. Sam came forward eventually to lead them again, waving them on towards the downstairs bedrooms where they had left one of the windows open despite being salted just in case something like this happened.

At every curve and turn they expected to see another sin waiting for them, but the way remained clear as they made their way into that bedroom and ran for the window. The window that was no longer open.

"Shit!" Sasha yelled, dropping his gun and releasing the grip he had maintained on Dean's wrist so he could grab onto the bottom of the window with both hands. He pulled, and Dean could tell by looking at the strain on Sasha's face that he was using every bit of incubus strength he could summon.

The window didn't budge.

Dean and Sam both came closer to the window to study it. Something had melted the plastic, fusing the window to the sill. Sasha might be able to move it given time, but time was something they didn't have.

"Why is it humans always underestimate us?"

The three hunters turned back to the door, knowing already what they would find. They had trapped themselves after all, having planned and double planned to avoid it, and yet they were still _trapped_. Sasha couldn't even think to reach down and retrieve his gun before five of the seven demons were already in the room, with the other two close behind.

While Dean and Sam stood frozen at first, not sure what to do, Sasha gave a growl-like cry and rushed forward into the nearest demon. Dean instinctively called out, thinking in terms of human versus demon for a moment and forgetting that Sasha didn't exactly fit into that. He should have known better, because a single punch from Sasha sent Wrath flying back into one of the walls.

Greed and Lust were on Sasha a second later though, so Dean had no problem with reaching down to retrieve Sasha's gun and then using it to smack Greed upside the head. After all, she had been the beginning of all this mess. If not for her, Bobby might still be with them.

Instead of knocking the demon down as Sasha had managed to do with his blow at Wrath, Greed's head simply gave a sharp turn as it was struck and then she rebounded, turning back slowly to look at Dean with a grin. By then Sam had made his try against Pride and had come up equally defeated, caught now in Pride and Gluttony's hold, each having an arm. Dean soon found himself in the same way, caught by Greed and Sloth, while Wrath stepped in to fill Greed's lost place holding Sasha. Wrath was soon joined by Lust, but it also took the last sin, Envy, before they could take control of Sasha completely. Those three sins had to force Sasha down onto his knees before the incubus stopped thrashing, putting up much more of a fight than either Winchester could hope to give. Still, in the end all three hunters came up the same.

Royally screwed.

"Now, now, enough of that," Envy hissed, seeming to enjoy his hold on Sasha as one hand held Sasha's arm and the other pressed hard on his shoulder to keep him down, "Impressive though, I gotta say. Wish I knew how to put up a fight like that."

Dean was doing his best to keep his head clear and his pulse steady. They had been in tight situations before, after all. Maybe not _this_ tight…

Looking to his right, Dean saw the still smug smile on Pride's face as he held onto Sam with the help of Gluttony, who Dean now also hated on a personal level for that damn paint incident. The sinful influence, or whatever it was, left a shuddery feeling inside of Dean that he did not like.

"So, we actually have our hands on the Winchesters," Gluttony grinned.

"Including dear Sammy, the dark savior himself," echoed Pride.

"Shut up," Dean spat before he could help himself; he didn't like anyone giving any mention to his brother being dark. There was no part of Sam that was evil, Dean had to believe that, so much so that he even turned to Sam and added, "Break out that super strength any time, Sammy. I am perfectly fine with you ripping off every last one of these assholes' heads."

For a moment it almost looked as if Sam was indeed trying to do that, at least to summon the great strength that should reside in him as it resided in Jake, but nothing happened.

Pride and the other demons laughed.

"What's wrong, Sam," Pride taunted, "Having trouble summoning those powers without Azazel around to favor you?"

Sam's head jerked at the sound of that name. Dean recognized it, though he didn't know from what, but he assumed the demon must be talking about old yellow-eyes.

Dean was feeling pretty low seeing as how he was being overpowered by a chick and a fat guy, but he didn't suppose he would want to change positions with either of the others, especially since Wrath looked about ready to start taking shots at Sasha's face.

"What's with this one?" Wrath said in frustration as he glowered down at Sasha, "I can't get any read on him."

"Yeah, who is your friend over there?" Greed joined in, "It really isn't nice of you not to _share_."

Sasha's teeth were clenched tight, and it looked as if he was still struggling despite the firm hold the three demons had on him. Envy was staring as hard at Sasha as Wrath was now, as if he too was trying to read Sasha's mind the way they seemed to be able to read humans, but with Sasha they couldn't get through.

Then, Lust, who stood directly behind Sasha's back to add a little extra pressure in holding him down, started to get the most pleased look on her face. She suddenly grabbed Sasha by the hair and yanked his head back.

"Well, well. Would you look at that," she said, crouching so she could pull herself up close against Sasha from behind. Her eyes batted playfully up at her fellow demons. "We got ourselves an incubus."

It actually made a lot of sense to Dean that Lust understood the truth when none of the others could, but it didn't make him feel any better. He didn't like how pleased all of the demons started to look after discovering Sasha's secret, Lust especially.

"A real live incubus," Lust cooed, one hand tangled in his hair and pulling tight while the other slipped around his waist from behind, "Me and you, we're practically cousins. And you are just too _hot_ for words."

Dean had never seen Sasha looks so angry. When they were fighting his aunt sure the guy looked a little vicious and into the fight, but there was all that remorse and sympathy mixed in too that Dean couldn't really say Sasha looked angry. Now, however, he looked absolutely livid.

Then Dean remembered; the last thing Sasha ever wanted was to be likened to a demon.

"I have an idea," said Pride, his grin widening as he looked from Sasha…to Dean, "A brilliant one too, if I do say so myself."

"And you always do," Envy added.

Pride gave a shrug, unable to deny that. "How about," he began then, his black eyes almost glittering, "We take Sammy here outside for a little chat…and leave the incubus to handle Dean."

_Handle_ Dean? That didn't sound good.

Dean looked back at Lust who was pressing her face close to Sasha's now and still looking pleased as all Hell. Dean wasn't an idiot. All Envy did was _touch_ that girl in the clothing store. Gluttony had simply _touched_ Dean to make feel starved for a fucking can of paint. Greed _touched_ Bobby. Their greatest power was just at the end of their fingertips.

And Lust was all over Sasha.

"You'd like that…wouldn't you?" Lust whispered, her lips so close they touched the skin of Sasha's ear, while her eyes locked right on Dean, "Sasha," she said, the only demon to know his name, "Wouldn't you like that?" The hand that had been holding Sasha's hair slowly let go and came down to rest gently on Sasha's shoulder.

Something shimmered in Sasha's eyes then, not changing them to their true red, but making the blue almost glow. Sasha wasn't struggling against his captors anymore, he was just staring. Staring at Dean. While his breathing came in short, heavy gasps.

"Sasha…" Lust whispered again.

Dean swallowed. Oh_Hell_ no.

And then Sasha pulled his eyes away, forcing himself to stare down at the hard wood floors. His breathing was even more labored, as if his struggling had continued after all, just in a different way.

"That…won't work on me…" the incubus gasped. He risked a glance up at Dean and said it again, "Your powers…won't work on me."

Now it was Lust who looked angry. "Oh really?" she said, grabbing a handful of Sasha's hair again to snap his head back as she stood up straight, "Maybe they will. Maybe all you need is…motivation." Her grin returned. She passed a glance to her companions, licked her lips, and said, "Maybe what you need…is to be starving."

Lust's free hand rose into the air for a moment, forming a loose first, and then suddenly she was holding a syringe that appeared from nothing. Viciously, she stabbed the needle into the back of Sasha's neck, released his hair, and began to extract what looked very much like the green liquid Sasha kept in his vials as an antidote.

Concentrated sexual energy, that's what Sasha had called it. Mystical and very powerful. It was the very makeup of an incubus. Without it...they frenzied, needed sex so bad they would do anything to get it. Whatever power Lust was using to extract that from Sasha like a nurse taking a blood sample, it was not helping their odds right now.

From the moment the needle struck, Sasha had begun to howl, drowning out every other sound in the room. His angered face was anguished now and he stared out imploring at Dean, always at Dean. Why the hell did he have to look to _Dean_? Dean couldn't do anything, not even run if that's what Sasha was hoping for—and the damn martyr could be so much like Sam sometimes that Dean believed Sasha _was_ hoping for that, at least more than he was hoping for help.

When Lust pulled the syringe away, filled to the brim finally, Wrath and Envy let go of Sasha's shoulders. Dean prayed the incubus would get up then and run, attack, something. But he just fell forward onto his hands and knees, shaking, as the sound died from his throat.

"Come on," Greed said to the others, "I want that heart to heart with baby Winchester."

"Our leader," Wrath added with a laugh.

The others laughed with him, and since they were in agreement, Pride and Gluttony started to pull Sam towards the door.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, panicked again as he started to thrash.

But Dean barely had the chance to yell in kind. Greed and Sloth had a strong hold on him and with a great heave they threw him into the wall on the opposite side of the room, effectively silencing anything he might have said.

Dean felt the hard impact, felt the pain, but he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it. The demons had Sam, and there were fucking seven of them. Who knows what they were planning on doing to his brother. So Dean recovered as quickly as he could, scrambling to his feet and rushing for the door just as Sloth, the last of the demons to leave, closed that door behind them.

"Sammy!" Dean called through the door, trying the knob but finding it useless, as if the demons had fused the door closed the way they had fused the window before. "Sammy!" Dean yelled again. He could hear the demons laughing, hear Sammy calling for him. Damn this was bad.

And then Dean remembered why it was much, much worse.

At first he just sensed it, movement out of the corner of his eye. Then he heard it, the heavy, harsh breathing. And when he turned…he saw it. Sasha. Sasha the _incubus_ rather—large and monstrous and growling with desire…towards Dean.

Oh, _fuck_.

tbc...

A/N: For those of you who do not know me well, my nickname over the years has become The Queen of Cliffhangers. Now you see why. :-) I am thrilled at the response I have been getting, especially since I am new to this particular fandom. I just fell in love with those Winchesters so quickly, what can I say. Yay for a new ep tomorrow night! Thanks all for your reviews, and please, I always love to hear what you thought so feel free to give more.

Crim


	12. Part 4: Hell on Earth

Part 4: Hell on Earth

-----

The air rushed out of Dean's lungs on impact, his head striking the far wall for the second time today as Sasha, in all his incubus glory, rammed into him to send them both flying. At first Dean thought Sasha had rushed him on pure instinct, but despite the incubus' lack of sentient thought processes right now, every one of his movements seemed to have a purpose.

Dean found himself completely immobile once his head cleared enough for him to recognize what was happening. His arms were pinned to his sides from the sheer force of Sasha's larger body against his, and one of those taloned hands was holding onto his throat tight enough to make him choke.

Saying the situation was _bad_ did not do it justice.

"Sa…Sasha…" Dean tried, staring back into the snarling face of someone he liked to consider a very good friend, regardless of the fangs, the horns, and the blazing red eyes, "St…stop…you…don't…wanna do this. It's _me_." Dean tried to raise one of his hands, and was pleasantly surprised to discover he could, meaning Sasha was giving him a little more breathing room. The sound of Dean's voice seemed to make the beast pause. "Yeah," Dean said, forcing a smile and taking short gasps of air when the hand on his throat started to loosen, "It's me. Dean," he emphasized, using that free arm to point up at his face, "See…you don't…wanna do this. Do you?"

Sasha's fangs were bared, his eyes wide and vibrant, and in the next moment Dean found himself flat on his back on the floor with incubus Sasha planting a knee on either side of his hips.

"Okay, maybe you _do_ wanna do this…" Dean managed, not at all oblivious to the perils of his situation. Half of his mind was still on Sam and whatever the demons were doing to him on the other side of the door. He realized, however, that his own position would require some very quick thinking if he wanted to do anything to help his brother. And of course if he wanted to avoid full on molestation and possible death by a horny incubus.

Before Dean's cognitive abilities could fully resurface, Sasha had his wrists pinned together above his head with one hand while the other began to paw at his clothes. The quick thinking part could begin any time now, Dean thought. Any time. But all Dean could think to do was struggle with all his strength to get away.

Since Sasha's attention was focused on removing Dean of his clothing, Dean did manage to free one of his arms and start twisting away before unavoidably being caught again and pinned more firmly. That at least did the job of prolonging the inevitable. Maybe if Dean could continue managing that for an undefined amount of time, the demons would eventually come back in and kill him properly.

One could only hope.

"Sasha, stop!" Dean tried, his stomach doing all sorts of nasty flips as Sasha's hips pressed down into his. As before Dean's voice made the incubus pause, but Dean no longer assumed he could reason with Sasha just because there was some recognition. "Look," he said, staring up into crimson unflinchingly, "Just look, okay? I know I'm damn sexy, and I can appreciate that you're really crazed for a fix right now, but my brother is outside that door with seven demons ready to do God knows what to him. Now, maybe we can help each other out. You want me?" Dean prompted, feeling quite disturbed by the hungry look that responded. Still, he could swindle with the best of them and grinned as he said, "Okay. You can have me. But first you help me get my brother away from the demons. How's that?" After all, Sasha didn't have to know that Dean had no intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain.

And then Dean felt really stupid—something that kept happening lately—because he should have remembered that an incubus can read a person's emotions. As good of a liar as Dean had learned to be over the years, some people just know when you're not telling the truth. And Sasha looked pissed.

"Maybe that wasn't the best way to go," Dean said, grinning sheepishly.

The look on Sasha's face was almost enough to make Dean shake. The incubus didn't care about deals. Even if Dean hadn't been lying about handing himself over after a miraculous recovery of Sam, things probably would have turned out the same way. The incubus would not wait. He knew what he wanted and he would have it now. And he wanted Dean.

It would almost be flattering to be wanted so badly if Dean didn't know that the only reason the incubus wanted him was because he was the only person in the room right now. In another situation, he doubted a frenzied Sasha would be very picky.

Maybe it was better that Sam was on the other side of the door.

Sasha had returned his attention to Dean's layered shirts, effectively slicing a claw down the front of Dean's button down, popping the buttons off in a single swipe. Dean was thankful he and Sasha had both left their leathers in the Impala when they started using that paint for the devil's traps, but at least it would have given him another layer. Right now Dean was down to his T-shirt and out of options.

Thrashing seemed the only choice available, because there was no way Dean was just going to lie there and let this happen. "Get off me!" Dean yelled, struggling as much as he could to make things more difficult for his captor, "God damn it, Sasha, we have to help Sam! Snap out of it already!"

A snarl replied, menacing with warning. Suddenly, Dean's wrists were free, but he didn't have time to celebrate or utilize this turn of events before he felt the effects of why. Using both taloned hands, Sasha tore into Dean's T-shirt, ripping it apart like a rag and taking half of Dean's skin with the pieces of fabric. Dean cried out, the deep gashes made on his chest stinging in pain.

The fighting instincts Dean's father had instilled in him since he was barely five years old told him to act now. "I said get off!" Dean yelled again, rebounding with a swinging fist that connected squarely with Sasha's jaw, thankfully missing any grazing of those curling horns. But punching Sasha was like punching a concrete wall, and Dean was almost certain he broke at least a few bones in that hit.

Sasha rebounded much faster than Dean had though, his growl no longer warning but filled with promise. He lunged for Dean's neck, digging his fanged eyeteeth into the flesh beneath Dean's left ear and biting hard.

This wasn't a vampire bite, but it stung, and Dean felt the small trickle of blood that started to seep from the wound. He hadn't called out this time though because to be honest it didn't hurt in quite the same way. Dean's head felt heavy, clouded. As if the sharp bite had been more like a pleasurable nibble at his neck, Dean's body gave a deep shiver. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

Whoa. Dean shook his head, trying to shake Sasha off with it. What the hell was that? Dean's whole body felt heavier now. He knew Sasha hadn't hit an artery or anything; it was a firm bite but still small. Was it a pressure point or something?

Dean still felt a little fuzzy when Sasha began to pull away, bending down then to lick at the wounds he had created on Dean's chest. Dean's stomach lurched at the feeling and shuddered down to his toes. This was wrong on so many levels.

Sasha's hips were still pressing down on Dean's, pinning Dean's legs between his knees. Dean remembered that normally Sasha had that convenient covering below the waist when he was in his incubus form. But if Dean's senses told him anything right now, the covering wasn't there anymore.

Gotta think. Gotta_think_. There had to be a way out of this. Sam needed him! And God damn it, Sasha would never forgive himself if this went as far as it seemed to be headed. Dean couldn't allow that. He was supposed to protect them.

Dean gave a sudden hiss as Sasha's tongue swiped languidly at one of his deeper cuts. The sensation was right on that borderline between pain and nauseating pleasure. It felt…kind of good.

No! Again Dean had to shake his head. What the hell was wrong with him? Sasha was demoned out and trying to mount him for crying out loud. He was not enjoying this! He was bleeding and pinned to the fucking floor! What could possibly be wrong with Dean in the head to…make…him…

Shit. It dawned on Dean so suddenly his eyes sprang wide, and not just because Sasha's tongue had started to travel below his navel. Pheromones. Why else would the incubus be allowing foreplay? He needed it. He needed to elicit some kind of response from Dean's body, even if it wasn't entirely consensual, and what better way then to trick Dean's brain into thinking he was having a good time.

This was good. Dean tried to tell himself this was good. He could beat pheromones. Sasha said they were just suggestion, not mind control. Dean just had to stay focused. Not that that would stop Sasha from eventually laying claim to him anyway, but it was a start. Even frenzied and out of his mind, Sasha still wanted Dean willing, and there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

Apparently Sasha thought he had made his point and that he now had a resigned victim, leaving Dean's entire upper body free. Dean flinched when Sasha began to tug down his jeans, but at least Sasha had shifted enough to un-align their hips. Dean's legs were still mostly pinned, but he could do this. He waited until the right moment and then slammed his hips up into Sasha's face.

There wasn't enough time. Dean twisted his body away and turned onto his stomach, starting a desperate crawl. His bare, wounded chest rubbed painfully on the floor as he went, but he didn't care. Sasha's shotgun wasn't far away, right where Dean himself had dropped it after unsuccessfully smacking Greed. If he could just get to it. A shot wouldn't kill Sasha, thank goodness, since the bullets were lead, but it might slow him down.

Dean couldn't believe he had made it as far as he did when at last the shotgun was only inches out of reach. He could hear Sasha growling behind him, but he couldn't risk a look back. He lunged that last inch forward, grabbed the gun and rolled onto his back again, ready to fire. He understood now why Sasha hadn't simply dragged him back. The incubus was standing, which left no more illusions as or whether or not that below the waist covering was gone. Without the covering, it was just the tattoos again, and the tattoos went _everywhere_.

Sasha's large talon-like hands flexed into fists. His powerful, gargoyle feet left cracks in the floorboards as he walked forward. A great roar left him and his wings shot out behind him, extending to their full and glorious breadth.

Dean couldn't move. He didn't know if it was some affect of the pheromones or if it was just that Sasha looked about ready to storm over there and rip his head off. Neither would surprise him.

As Sasha stomped closer, Dean steadied the gun again. He had to fire. He had to. Sasha roared once more and Dean pulled the trigger, aimed right at Sasha's midsection. But he was too late, because at the same moment Sasha's arm shot out, grabbing the gun and causing the shot to blow a hole in the ceiling above them. Sasha ripped the gun from Dean's hands and threw it aside.

This was going to hurt.

Sasha was on Dean in the next second, and he wasn't wasting time anymore. As his claws had so easily turned Dean's T-shirt into shreds, now they ripped at his jeans, destroying the button and zipper and revealing the light grey of Dean's boxer briefs beneath.

With one more play to make Dean submissive before he took him, Sasha straddled him, aligning their hips again and pressing firmly so that Dean's breath hitched against his will. Then, with one clawed hand grabbing painfully at Dean's hair, Sasha pulled Dean up into an angry, hungry kiss—all fangs and possession.

At first, Dean tried to struggle out of it. This was not like their kiss in the alley or the nice part of that dream. This was the nightmare. All that needed to be added was Sam's taunting laughter and constrictive hands.

No. This wasn't happening. Dean had to stop this. He had to stop Sasha and…and…and what was he doing? Sam? Was there something about Sam? Dean couldn't...remember. He was with Sasha. Sasha was…kissing him. Slow. Deep. Dean felt a sting in his chest but even that started to fade. He liked kissing Sasha. He normally wouldn't admit it, but he did. He had known that in the dream, and seen it realized in the alleyway. So he started to kiss back, feeling the slight prick of fangs on his lips. He liked that too.

Dean's hips bucked up into Sasha involuntarily, and he felt the assurance of just how much Sasha wanted him. Dean wanted it too. He hadn't had sex in so long, it seemed. He wanted it now. He wanted Sasha. He wanted…

"Dean!"

…he…wanted…

"Dean, are you okay!"

…he…

"Dean, answer me!"

…Sammy?

"Dean!"

Sam!

Fuck.

Dean's eyes sprang back open as his senses returned. Sam. Sam was calling for him. And this was _not_ happening.

With every bit of strength left in him Dean pushed Sasha away, forcing a low grumble from the incubus at being denied yet again. "Sam!" Dean yelled.

"Dean!" Sam called back, 'Thank god. What's happening in there?"

Sasha was having none of this, that's what.

The incubus was tired of waiting for his prey to acquiesce. With a clawed hand gripping either side of Dean's jeans he pulled them down in an angry tug to Dean's ankles, almost taking his shorts down with it.

"I'm gonna be fucked and filleted is what, and probably not in that order!" Dean called back, "Get the hell in here!"

"I'm trying! The door's stuck!"

Jesus, Dean thought, as Sasha pulled Dean's body against him tight. If this actually happened while Sam was on the other side of only a couple inches of a fucking door…no.

Just _no_.

"Sam!"

"Just…just stall him somehow!"

Sasha growled and reached between their bodies for Dean's shorts. "We're a little beyond that right now!"

"I'm thinking!"

"Think faster!"

A few breathless moments passed. Dean's head was in a complete haze. Half his brain was focused entirely on Sam and getting out of this mess, but the other still reeled from the pheromones. When the heel of Sasha's palm pressed into Dean through his shorts, he moaned. But when those claws started reaching inside his shorts, he screamed.

"Sam!"

SLAM. If Dean didn't know any better he would swear the door just exploded.

Sam rushed in so fast, Sasha hadn't even turned around before the younger Winchester jabbed something into the back of his neck. Sasha howled, rising up off of Dean and falling back onto his side. Sam had hold of Dean the next second, carefully pulling him out from under Sasha to a safe distance where he could rest against the wall.

Dean stared back at Sasha at first as the incubus started to shake, tremors wracking his body as he morphed slowly into his human guise.

"What did you do to him?" Dean asked, amazed as much as he was grateful.

With a humble smile, Sam held up that same syringe Lust had used to cause all of this, only now it was empty again. "Figured it would work the same way in reverse."

That's Sammy. Smart as a whip. "Nice. But didn't she sorta…summon that out of…" And before Dean could actually say the word "nothing" the syringe returned to just that, vanishing from Sam's fingers.

It was times like these they knew not to ask questions.

A few feet away, Sasha had all but turned entirely back to normal, but he was shaking harder than ever and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His clothing had all rematerialized, which Dean was grateful for, but the guy looked pretty well wrecked.

Sam went over to check on him and placed his usual caring hand on the incubus' back. "Sasha…are you okay?" he asked.

Sasha's breathing was still heavy, and he gasped a few times before managing to look up, blinking at Sam as if he wasn't sure he recognized him. "Sam…?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled, "It's okay. Everything's okay now."

Sasha nodded vacantly, but suddenly sat up, his eyes wild with panic. "Dean!" he called, looking imploringly to Sam at first before noticing the real thing, slouched against the wall and still bleeding and half clothed. Like a shot, he scrambled over to Dean's side, forgetting Sam completely. "Dean!" he cried again, "Oh God…what did I do? I…I never would have—"

"Save it," Dean broke in, holding up a weary hand and managing to grin despite the pain, "I've been through shit like this so many times with Sam and others, I don't wanna hear it. When the supernatural's to blame, the real you's exempt. Okay? I choose to blame demons."

"But, Dean—"

"Hey," Dean said more firmly, "Do you want to ravage me against my will and leave me in dire need of stitches?"

Sasha looked affronted. "Of course not. I would never—"

"Exactly. I know that. You know that. Sammy knows that. So shut up. You don't owe me any explanations. Might accept a new outfit though," he added with a smirk.

Dean's current outfit was beyond trashed. He also realized then that his pants were still at his ankles and the encounter had left him at least half hard. He doubted there was enough embarrassment in the world.

"Uhh…ya mind?" he said, holding an arm out to Sasha so the guy could help him stand. Sasha complied right away of course, and as soon as Dean was on his feet, he reached down to pull his pants back up, favoring the hand that might not have any broken bones but still hurt like hell after punching Sasha. Of course, Dean could no longer zip or button his pants, but it still made him feel better to have them completely on again. He was just happy he never lost his shorts.

"Dean, please, " Sasha said, turning to Dean with eyes that could more than beat Sam out for the kicked puppy award, "I just feel like…like there's nothing I could ever say to—"

"So don't. What have _I_ been saying, huh? I don't need to hear any apologies." Dean got right in Sasha's face on those words, because he had used up all of his patience on Sam a long time ago; there was none to spare for Sasha. Besides, he really didn't need an apology. It wasn't Sasha's fault. Dean liked Sasha. A lot. And…and…Dean realized he was leaning in closer and closer to Sasha, and that he…kind of liked it. "God, you smell good," he said, breathing in that familiar scent as his face leaned up into Sasha's neck.

Sasha's body went visibly rigid. "Uhh…Dean? I'm thinking I must have really gotten you with the pheromones, didn't I?"

That snapped Dean back to himself. He pulled away from Sasha like he'd been burned. "Fuck. Please tell me that's going to wear off."

A nervous laugh fell from Sasha's lips and he scratched the back of his head. He was still a little shaky but already looked a lot better. "Sure," he said, "In about…twenty-four hours."

"What!"

"Actually…they're a little more potent when we're frenzied, so…maybe longer."

Oh that was great. Just great.

Could this day get any worse? It wasn't even ten in the morning!

"Look, the important thing is that everyone's okay. Right?" Sam said.

Dean turned to his brother with a ready comeback but stopped short. There he went feeling like an idiot again, because he must be one to be this stupid. "Dude, _how_ are we all okay?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"How?" Dean said again, glancing towards the remains of the door, that he now realized Sam must have gone super strength Sam SMASH on to get it to explode open like that. "There were seven demons on you. What happened?"

"Oh," Sam said, looking somewhere between sheepish and terrified of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "It's…it's fine now. They're gone."

"Gone?" Sure, Dean was kind of out of it and had all these crazy thoughts about Sasha running through his head, but he was himself enough to know that Sam was hiding something big. "Dude, seven demons and you. How are they just gone?" Dean headed straight for the door. Despite the sting in his chest as air and the remains of his shirts struck against his skin, he was fine. His ego was bruised more than anything. But there was no reason he should be fine. He and Sam had both been up against pretty impossible odds. Something had to change those odds in Sam's favor.

Sasha came up beside Dean as they both reached the door, having to step over some of the debris from Sam's entrance. And there they were. Just outside, mulling about in the hallway and the neighboring bedroom was the demons. All seven of them. But they weren't demons anymore. They were just scared, trembling, and in some cases sobbing human beings.

The demons really were gone, leaving all of their hosts intact.

Dean looked back at Sam, who still had that sheepish, scared look on his face. "You…exorcised all of them?" Dean said. He couldn't believe it. Sam had their Dad's journal, sure, but—

"No," Sam shook his head, "I didn't." He took a few steps closer to Sasha and Dean at the door. Dean knew that look. That was Sam's 'I don't know what I am' look, his 'please help me, please promise you'll kill me if something goes wrong' look.

Dean tried to maintain a brave face. He shrugged. "You super strength decked them all and knocked the demons right out of them, or what?"

But Sam didn't see the humor. He shook his head again. "You won't believe it…"

-----

The three hunters had done all they could for the hosts left behind in the wake of the seven deadly sins. There wasn't much to be done about the damage to the house, but they didn't really think it was their problem anymore. They'd done their job. Later, they had gathered their things from the motel, deciding that regardless of having won, they didn't feel safe staying there anymore. They had also finally managed to get through to Bobby. He was disoriented but no worse for the wear, and they were currently waiting for him to get back in town so they could explain what happened and maybe grab a late breakfast.

The menus hadn't even been perused yet though, despite the drinks section ending in them all getting coffee—all taken very differently. They were too busy listening to Sam's side of the story. And he was right, Dean didn't believe it.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head and leaned over the table. "That's…it?"

"Yes, Dean, that's it. That's all," Sam said exasperatingly. He was alone on his side of their booth while Sasha shared with Dean. "I don't know what did it. Maybe it was because I was panicked. Maybe because I was so worried about what was happening with you two, I don't know. It just happened. Poof, they were gone, as good as an exorcism, but not."

Now it was Sasha who leaned over the table. "And all you said was…go to Hell?"

Sam nodded, but Dean still didn't believe it. "And they took that literally?"

Apparently Sam was getting pretty annoyed with Dean because he shot his brother a frustrated glare and clutched at his coffee cup a little tighter. "Come on, Dean, I told you about Ava being able to control demons. I guess…it was just like what happened on Nicollet with the TK, only…this time it was something new. I didn't even realize what was happening at first. They just started leaving the bodies, shooting out of them. Then they were gone and those people were left, having to remember all the horrible things those demons had done over the past few weeks. It was so…horrible." Sam glanced down into his mug, his hazel eyes looking very green with a glimmer of wetness in them. "I don't know why I couldn't get my powers to work when we were still in the room, but once I knew you were left in there alone, I guess…I guess I was just so…scared of…of…"

"What I might do?" Sasha's voice came soft and self-deprecating. He started to lean back in the booth again, and his eyes shimmered just as Sam's were.

"I didn't say that," Sam said, looking up from his coffee with a severe expression, "I was scared of what the demons were going to _make_ you do, and of what Dean might have had to do to you to stop it." Sam's voice grew smaller and his eyes disappeared again into the depths of his overly creamed and sugared coffee. "I don't want to lose either of you. Not because of me."

That was it. Dean was downright sick of this. He may not be able to wipe that self-pitying look off his brother's face, or Sasha's, but he did not have to sit here and listen to them brood. "Will you two knock it off," he growled, slamming his own black coffee down hard on the table. It tasted bitter just the way he liked it, and brought his mind a little closer to its comfortable sharpness. "I refuse to listen to you two bitch all day. You," he said, pointing at his brother, "Are a freak. I know this. I accept this. I encourage the practice of honing this if it means those power will come when we want them to instead of when we're two seconds from death or worse. But you are not a bad guy. You are not evil. And you are not some sissy girl who feels sorry for himself after saving peoples' lives. Coz that's what you did back there, Sammy. You saved those seven people and rescued us. So stuff it."

Dean whipped around so quickly on Sasha that he actually made the incubus flinch.

"And you," he said, "Are also a freak. Maybe an even bigger freak, since you're a sex vampire who had a hard-on for me for maybe two minutes back there and left a few nice reminders." Dean touched a hand gingerly to his chest, which was now cleaned and bandaged and under a brand new shirt, but still ached. "But you're not a bad guy either. You wouldn't have done anything to me if Lust hadn't drained you and sent you on the rampage. You weren't in control of your actions, so I don't consider you responsible. I'm looking on the bright side here. I remain unmolested, both of you are fine, and all of those people got out of there alive and back in control of their bodies. Where's the downside here?"

Both Sam and Sasha had the hindsight to look a little ashamed of their scowling faces. Sam gave a shrug, not saying anything, but Sasha turned to Dean and said, "You're probably right, Dean. It's just…" he glanced down at his lap, "…you might want to move your hand."

Dean took a moment to process that, looked down to notice how high up on Sasha's thigh his hand happened to be right now, and couldn't remove it fast enough. Okay, maybe there was a downside.

Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him, half in horror while the other half of him probably felt like laughing. He could feel Sasha's eyes on him too, but he didn't meet gazes with either of them. He just picked up his menu and pretended to look at it.

"Twenty-four hours?" he said, buried in the waffles section.

"At least," came Sasha's reply.

"Wonderful," Dean flipped to the next page, "You think Bobby will want pancakes?"

tbc...

A/N: Short, but I knew you'd want this chapter quickly. Thanks so much for that great response on the last chapter. I figured you could use a good cliffy like that. There will be one more part to this arc, and then on to the Gordon arc! Thanks again.

Crim


	13. Part 5: Want & Desire

Part 5: Want and Desire

-----

Dean splashed another wave of cold water onto his face. He felt feverish. Hot. It was driving him crazy. His hands were shaking, and the longer he stayed close to Sasha the worse it seemed to get. Dean decided his body had declared some kind of mutiny against him because it was not listening to him at all.

He did not want Sasha. He did _not_ want Sasha. He did not. Want. Sasha.

If only the pheromones would agree with him.

Looking up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Dean had to grimace. Chances are he would look just as bad even without the toll the pheromones were taking on him, considering he had had no sleep the night before, fought off seven demons earlier, and then had a large as life incubus attack him. Still, Dean could do without the bags under his eyes. He pulled his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and put them on. If Sam or Sasha wanted to comment then he knew just where to tell them to stuff it.

Dean left the bathroom feeling at least a little better. The water had helped clear his head and he felt fairly certain he could handle the pheromones until tomorrow when they would hopefully wear off.

And then their table came back into view.

Sasha and Sam were talking casually over the countertop. There was a crooked half-smile on Sasha's face that made Dean's knees lock and his breath catch somewhere at the back of his throat. _Sasha_. God, he was so fucking beautiful.

Arg! Dean almost screamed aloud he was so frustrated with himself. So much for clearing his head. It wasn't that he didn't believe in Sasha's genuine attractiveness. Dean could admit Sasha was attractive. Straight men recognized the attractiveness of other guys all the time, if for nothing else than to size up their competition.

So sure, Dean would only too happily admit Sasha's face was kind of pretty, and that he really did like the red hair. And yeah, Sasha had a significantly nicer body than the average guy, that was obvious enough, but that didn't…have to…mean…

Okay. This really wasn't helping.

Once Dean reached the table he decided it would be better to keep as much space between him and Sasha as possible, so he sat down next to Sam instead. This awarded him a couple curious glances. Their food hadn't arrived yet, nor had Bobby, so Dean chose to take his solace in another cup of coffee.

"What?" he said, when Sasha and Sam seemed unable to stop staring, "I'm looking out for both of our benefits here," he said then, glancing across the table at Sasha, who looked so heartbroken Dean almost switched seats immediately. Sasha attempted a smile though, dismissive, so that Dean was reminded that the real reason Sasha looked so down was because everything Dean did as a result of the pheromones reminded the incubus of what he had done. "Damn it," Dean growled, hating that the expression on Sasha's face was mostly because of him, "Did you two brood behind my back while I was gone, because I _will_ kick both your asses if I have to."

"Dean…" Sam said in that exasperated tone of his, the one that wasn't really upset but had to sound that way so he didn't have to admit how much he enjoyed the attention.

Then Sasha broke in, his voice as soft and pitiable as it had been when Dean chewed them out earlier. "We're sorry, Dean, okay, but a lot happened this morning and we can't just…brush it off."

"I know a lot happened," Dean countered, "I'm the one most of that _lot_ happened to. And look. I'm fine. Pheromone poisoning not withstanding," he had to add, since the haze the pheromones created in his brain had become familiar now, not that recognizing them did anything to stop what they did to him.

There was the slightest chuckle from Sam, and Dean had to restrain himself from reaching over and smacking his brother upside the head.

Wait. Dean didn't need to restrain himself with Sam, only Sasha, so he reached over anyway and smacked the back of his brother's head with the flat of his hand.

"Hey!"

"You started it."

But Sasha wasn't finding any of this funny, and he spoke again before either brother could retaliate further. "Look, I know you're right, Dean," he said, his tone turning sharp and serious, "I just…I don't think there's anything you can say right now to make me feel better about this."

Dean turned back to look at Sasha. Nothing he could say, huh. Of course there was. "Kitties," he said. How's that for something.

Immediately, a crack began to form in that perfect, stoic mask Sasha had created, and a moment later he was laughing before he could stop himself. "What?" he said, probably thinking Dean had completely lost his mind. Sam was chuckling a little too, but then he was used to this.

With an affirming nod Dean responded by offering a grin of his own. "Got you to smile," he said. Worked every time too.

Of course Sasha had no choice but to laugh harder, though he was still shaking his head at Dean as if the elder Winchester had assuredly crossed that line from quirky into crazy-land. Sasha didn't understand, but he had to admit that it did make him smile.

By way of explanation—since Dean wasn't offering any—Sam stilled his own chuckling long enough to lean over the table.

"Randomness. It's the heart of Dean's logic," Sam said, "He used to pull that on me all the time when we were kids."

"What kids?" Dean shot back, "I pulled that on you last month. Best idea I ever had."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a barked laugh, "There's a shocker."

It was really quite amazing how often fratricide presented itself as an option for Dean Winchester. He would have to remember to hide Sam's conditioner later. That would drive the overgrown oak tree crazy. And hey, it might even help Dean distract himself from—

Okay, looking at Sasha had become the antichrist, because it was the very last thing Dean should have anything to do with. All the guy was doing was sitting there, leaning back, arms crossed, his face still lit up from laughing, and it just undid Dean completely. The incubus looked like perfectly normal Sasha. But today that was more than enough to make Dean entertain thoughts of pulling the redhead up onto the tabletop and taking him right there in the restaurant.

Carefully, Dean slid his fork from its rolled napkin prison and brought it down to his lap beneath the table. He wrapped his right hand around the tongs and squeezed. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it did the trick.

Just as the waitress was bringing their food over, Bobby came through the door with a clang of the bell. They waved at him and he soon joined them at the table, taking the seat Dean had vacated next to Sasha that soon had the plate of pancakes and eggs they had ordered in preparation for his arrival.

Finally, some real distraction. Food. Bobby. The whole explaining part where they filled Bobby in on what he had missed, conveniently leaving out the whole Sasha going rogue incubus on them thing, of course. Bobby still didn't know Sasha was an incubus and they were not about to let that slip.

They had decided earlier that they would tell Bobby a very close version of the truth. Wrath was designated as the demon that had used his power on Sasha. That would help explain Dean's wounds if Bobby ever saw them. As for what Sam had done, they told Bobby all about it. He knew Sam had powers anyway so they trusted Bobby with the truth. He was as about as freaked as the rest of them by it, that was certain, but he also agreed that the best thing to do would be to hone those powers so they continued to be a help instead of a hindrance. He admitted that opinion reluctantly though—hunters always had a hard time accepting anything with abilities of the paranormal—but it was smarter than letting those powers go unchecked.

"I'm still clearing my head from what that girl did to me," Bobby grumbled into a forkful of eggs, "Under that spell, or whatever you wanna call it, I was so certain of what I was doing. I think about how easily they dooped me into leaving you boys and it just makes me sick. Also makes me glad you're around to keep on eye on those two," Bobby added, nudging Sasha beside him.

Sasha looked a little tense, like he always did around Bobby, but it was loosening significantly the more time they spent together. Dean always knew it would only be a matter of time, and he had to feel a little pleased when a mischievous smile played about Sasha's lips. "You sure you don't mean you're glad they're around to keep on eye on me, Bobby?"

Bobby took another bite of his pancakes and shrugged. "It's a start. Now if only I could get you to do something about that hair…" he said, shaking his head.

Now that was just too damn funny, ensuring both Winchesters almost bust a gut at the comment. Of course Bobby had to assume Sasha went to the trouble of dying his hair—normal people weren't born with crayola colored locks. The fact that it really was Sasha's natural color only made it funnier.

Bobby shook his head at Sam and Dean then, saying that they were just encouraging him and that being so conspicuous could get them in trouble. Besides, hair like that made it difficult to use a high ranking alias. The laughter continued regardless, and more importantly, Sasha was smiling real again.

After a few minutes the laughter died down and the group of tired and hungry hunters engrossed themselves in finishing breakfast. This also dulled Dean's distraction enough for him to focus his attention on Sasha again. He didn't mean for it to happen. All he had to do was look up and he got lost somewhere between the too blue eyes, that oh so impossible red hair, and the crack of a real smile that made Dean's whole world feel a bit better. The only thing about Sasha Dean didn't like was that the guy had such a strong crush on him. What with the pheromones, Dean didn't mind that so much anymore, which left absolutely nothing in Sasha but things to love.

Dean wondered what it would be like to nibble on one of those slightly pointy ears Sasha had when he was in his incubus form. A moment later he was stabbing his fork into his thigh, but it wasn't helping as much anymore.

"What's with you?" Bobby asked suddenly, giving Dean his scrutinizing stare, "You're kinda…twitchy. You okay?"

"Sure," Dean lied, avoiding all eye contact with Sasha, though he could feel those perfect blues all over him, "Just tired. Demon attack. Near death experience. Usual stuff, ya know. I'm just…antsy. Too much coffee." Dean accompanied that last part with another swig of his now third cup. He hoped it was helping keep his mind alert. At least a little.

Bobby continued to eye Dean for awhile and finally said, "Well will you stop kicking me? You keep stretching your legs out."

It was only then that Dean realized what he had been doing, much like that moment when he had looked down to find his hand on Sasha's upper thigh. Completely unconsciously, Dean had been trying to find Sasha's legs with his own. "Sorry," he managed, grabbing his coffee to down the rest of it. Maybe a fourth cup would finally do the trick, he thought, as he reached for the pot.

All Dean had to do was get through the day. He wasn't brainwashed. It was just pheromones. As long as he kept telling himself that, he believed he could beat them. They couldn't be that strong anyway; they were only suggestion. They probably wouldn't work at all if they didn't have a basis to grow from.

Wait…

There was a sudden clatter that made Bobby, Sam, and Sasha all turn to stare at Dean. The coffee pot had almost dropped from Dean's hand as realization struck him, and if he thought he was making an effort to avoid Sasha's eyes before, he doubled that effort now.

The rest of the day Dean did everything he could to keep Sasha off his mind. He refrained from looking in the rearview mirror while they drove, despite the fact that he knew Sasha's face would be only too visible if he glanced up. He stuck close to Sam the entire time they planned what they would do next—which really ended up being that they would stay in a new hotel and rest after their day of Hell. They got a single room for Bobby, a single for Sasha, and a double for Sam and himself. Dean didn't trust himself to be alone, and he definitely didn't trust himself to sleep anywhere near Sasha. If Bobby thought something was going on, he didn't say.

Once they were settled in and had decided to just keep to their rooms, despite Sasha hanging out in theirs and talking with Sam the whole time, Dean kept himself busy cleaning guns. It was a job that needed to be done and it gave Dean something to do with his hands. Something that wouldn't make him sick with embarrassment later. It also helped distract him from thinking too hard on that latent realization he had had in the restaurant. He only hoped Sasha and Sam hadn't thought that deeply into it. The last thing he wanted was for one of them to bring up the possibility that Dean had actual feelings for Sasha, especially since it…might be true. Dean doubted he could maintain control if that happened.

Every once in a while one of them would look over and ask if Dean was okay. Dean always replied the same. Eyes glued to whichever gun he was cleaning at the time, he would say, "I'm fine. Quit nagging," and whoever had asked would leave it at that. At one point Sasha mentioned that he would understand if Dean was having a tough time, since he didn't know much about how strong the pheromones were when he was frenzied, and maybe Dean was being much more heavily influenced. Dean was almost certain that was the case, regardless of any other possible truths behind the pheromones' effectiveness. Still, he simply shook his head. Talking about it would not make him feel better.

Naturally, that didn't stop Sam from forcing him to talk when Sasha finally left. "Dean, talk to me."

Oh how Dean hated that phrase. "I'm fine."

"Dean…"

"It's not a big deal, Sam."

"Dean, you always say it's not a big deal, especially when it is. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, what's going on?" Dean growled, throwing one of their pistols onto the bed since he was sick of looking at gunmetal and rags. He knew he was glaring but he didn't care. He looked right back at Sam, because at least with Sam he could meet gazes and not feel like jumping the person on the other end. "Pheromones, dude. Case closed. And I'm handling them."

Sam looked somehow skeptical, and Dean wasn't really sure what Sam didn't get about the situation until his brother spoke again. "I know, Dean, but…is it really…just the pheromones?"

Dean should have known Sam would come to the logical conclusion eventually. But "What do you mean?" was all he managed to say.

Slowly, Sam rose from the chair he had been sitting in and came over to sit next to Dean on the bed, sliding the remaining guns over to give him room. "It's just…it feels like maybe there's something going on here that you're not filling me in on. Something with Sasha."

Oh shit.

"Dean, you know you can tell me anything. If something's happened, if…you've realized anything."

Dear God, Sam was _not_ saying this.

"If…well…anything. Because…I'm pretty sure I know what's going on, but I'd rather you actually told me yourself."

Oh sweet Jesus. Dean would have reached over and strangled Sam if he could get himself to move.

After a few moments, puppy eyes blinking over at Dean innocently, Sam realized Dean was nowhere near responding and gave a reluctant sigh. "I'm sorry, Dean. I feel horrible I didn't notice sooner. I should have known from the beginning and been more understanding about this."

Dean was in Hell. The year was somehow up and he was already there. He could feel the inevitable punch line coming. Sam was about to destroy every last drop of sanity Dean had managed to maintain during this mess with a single phrase.

And then he said it, "Sasha really likes you, doesn't he?"

Wait. What?

"God, and you've known all this time. You let me sit there laughing about the pheromones and you knew how hard it must be on him. Dean."

Dean looked stunned and ashamed without even meaning to play into Sam's hands. He was certain that was the moment Sam was going to accuse _Dean_ of being the one with feelings. After all, if Dean had recognized that being affected by the pheromones meant he had at least some actual feelings for Sasha, surely Sam had realized that too.

"I mean, I guess at first I was a little freaked," Sam was saying. Dean had almost forgotten Sam was still speaking. "You'd have to like Sasha yourself for the pheromones to work."

Dean looked up. Maybe Sam wasn't an idiot.

"But then I realized it had to be because they were so concentrated with the whole frenzy thing. Hell," Sam chuckled, "They probably would have worked on me just as well with that kind of power behind them. I still wish you would have told me that Sasha had feelings for you though. I feel like such an ass."

No, Sammy, Dean thought, you're not an ass. You're an idiot, but not an ass.

But then maybe Dean was the idiot. Concentrated? Maybe that was all it was. The pheromones were so concentrated they were working despite Dean's lack of actual feelings. It was possible. Only Dean couldn't recognize that right now because the pheromones were still wreaking havoc on his brain cells. He might not be doomed after all.

"Dean?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry, Sam. I've known for a while. I guess I just…didn't think to tell you."

Sam rattled on then about how he wished Dean had told him so he could have been more sensitive about the whole thing, not that Dean thought Sasha really cared. Sam knew now. Good for him. Yeah, Sasha has a crush on your older brother, Sammy. What a shocker. Now you have another reason to be your sensitive, girly self. Woot.

Dean probably only spent brain cells on Sam's dilemma for maybe two seconds. The rest of the time he was thinking about pheromones.

He needed to think more about this. Alone.

Explaining to Sam that he was just going to pack the guns up and put them away in the Impala, Dean used that truth as his excuse to get out of the room. He had successfully stored the guns a few minutes later and leaned back on the hood of his baby to think.

Right now he could honestly admit that a part of him really wanted Sasha, in every romantic and sexual way there was to want someone. But now Dean also knew that that didn't have to be an extended reach of his actual feelings. Sam had come to the natural conclusion that his straight as a rod brother had been affected because the pheromones were suped-up. Who's to say that wasn't true?

Heading back into the hotel, Dean felt amazingly better. He was renewed with a feeling that yes, he could beat this, and tomorrow when the pheromones wore off everything would go back to normal. Dean liked that normal, a normal where he and Sasha were becoming really good friends. _Just_ friends. It was so much easier that way.

Dean decided that after he got back in the room he would finish off a few bites of his second hamburger left over from dinner, and go to bed early. When he woke up, all of this would be behind him and he wouldn't have done anything stupid. Well, too stupid.

Reaching the door to his and Sam's room, Dean scavenged his pockets for the key. He had three to choose from, since they had all gotten keys to all three rooms, just in case. Sam had told Dean to keep their room key separate from the rest so he didn't have to try all of them every time he got back from a trip outside, but Dean hadn't listened. What did he care about a few wasted seconds? Eventually, the key he tried did the trick, and he opened the door. No problem.

The shower was running as Dean went inside with no Sam in sight. That was no surprise. Dean would have wanted a shower too if he could handle one. He had sort of wiped himself down while cleaning his wound that morning, but a shower would have been too painful with gashes like his. Just imagining the water striking them with even the mildest pressure made Dean grimace and he touched a hand to where the deepest of them lay beneath his shirt.

The worst part was how much they itched as they healed. Scratching them, however, would be the stupidest idea in the world. Dean knew better than that. But every so often he still had the urge to run his nails over every inch of his chest.

Sitting down on the bed, Dean thought it would probably be a good idea to change his bandages and clean the wounds again before going to sleep. He was pleased when he heard the shower turn off. Sam was actually being fast in the bathroom for a change. Good. It meant Dean could get in there, do what he needed to do, and get to bed that much faster.

"You better not have used up all the hot water!" Dean called as the bathroom door started to open. It was one of the stored phrases he had for whenever Sam managed to get into the bathroom before him.

The usual reply also came from a store of expected responses, only this time a usual reply was not what Dean heard. There was only a confused "Dean?" that came as the door opened fully, and then Dean was staring at a naked Sasha in nothing but a towel. A naked incubus Sasha, Dean noted, his longer hair still damp against his skin, and his eyes glowing red into the otherwise dark room.

Dean's subconscious hated him. There was no other explanation. Somehow, when he thought he was returning to his and Sam's room, he had gone straight for Sasha's instead. Since he had a key to this room as well, he didn't think anything of it when he got the door to open. Looking around, Dean realized he should have noticed the lack of a second bed, but therein lay the genius behind his mind's mutiny. He hadn't noticed. And now he was alone with a naked incubus.

Crap.

"Sorry!" Dean stood up quickly, trying to tear his eyes away but completely unable. Sasha was in is incubus form. The form that had tried molesting him earlier that day. Dean should not find it hot. "I thought…Sam…and I went out for air, but…the key worked…didn't think…I…sorry. Really sorry." Dean made a break for the door. If he just got out of the room, everything would be okay, his rambling not withstanding.

He was two seconds from grabbing the door knob when Sasha's rougher incubus voice called after him. "Dean, wait! You don't…you don't have to go. I'd actually prefer you _never_ felt the need to run away from me, if it's all the same." There was a touch of sadness, of that same regret in Sasha's voice, and damn it all if Dean didn't _have_ to turn back around.

Sasha had tossed aside his towel but was now clothed in the tattoos and—Dean decided just then—speedo-like covering. Really, Dean should not be so turned on by a gargoyle that fed on sex. Sasha had horns. Sasha had claws. Sasha had…really awesome wings.

Gah! Dean shook his head. He should go. He should definitely leave the room right now and avoid any further embarrassment or regrets. But then Dean started wondering whether or not the feel of Sasha's skin would change if he ran a hand from that pure white to the gradual fade into black on his hands, feet, and wings. Dean had a sudden urge to do just that and was walking back towards Sasha before he could stop himself.

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Dean," Sasha was saying, just standing there and seemingly oblivious to how much Dean's eyes were devouring him, "I'm the one who messed everything up, even if you don't want me to say that. After this morning…" Sasha glanced down at himself and his eyes went wide, as if he hadn't realized until just then that he was in his true form. "God. Like what you need right now is to see me like this. Just let me grab something to wear so I can change back." With that Sasha made to move across the room for his bag, walking right past Dean as he went.

There was no force on Earth that could have stopped Dean from reaching out. When he touched Sasha's bicep, right where the white started to fade darker towards his hand, it took all of Dean's strength to keep his grip simple. "Don't," Dean said at first, and then knew he had to elaborate when Sasha turned worried red eyes on him, "I mean…you don't need to change. I don't…mind when you're like this. I'd be a pretty poor friend if I did, _especially_ after this morning. Okay?"

At first Sasha looked surprised, but then the most brilliant smile took hold of his face and he nodded happily. Dean had never seen his friend's eyes look so beautiful.

Was that what the pheromones did, Dean wondered, make him find Sasha attractive no matter what form he took? Dean didn't want to believe the only reason he felt comfortable around Sasha as an incubus was because of the pheromones. If he liked Sasha as a friend or anything then he shouldn't need the pheromones for that. He tried to think of how he could explain that to Sasha, if only to keep that smile there a little longer.

Instead he asked, "You always take a shower like that?" Dean forced his hand to release Sasha's arm, but it wasn't easy.

Sasha's smile went a little crooked but it remained as he said, "No. Sometimes I just…like to feel the water on my wings. It doesn't matter either way though. Both forms are the real me. Both get clean if I shower."

"Meaning this time you're…actually naked right now instead of hiding clothes?" Dean didn't know why he was asking that. He knew the answer.

Sasha looked a little confused by the question too. "Technically. It depends on the glamour."

"Glamour?" Dean repeated.

"Not fashion glamour," Sasha explained, "_A_ glamour. It's how fae weave illusions. Illusions so real you can touch. I wouldn't really need clothes if I didn't want to bother. I could just make you think I was wearing them and you wouldn't know the difference. But I like actually wearing clothes. Touchable or not, I would still feel naked." Sasha glanced down at his body again. He had his covering but that didn't cover much. "Uhh…maybe I should get something on."

"No!" Dean knew he had said it too desperately the moment the word left him. He forced a casual smile when Sasha's expression turned skeptical. "Just…stay like this. I never get to see you like this. Not unless bad things are happening around or to us anyway. It's nice to be able to…see you."

Sasha's expression softened again and Dean realized there was more to what he was saying than the pheromones' desperation. A part of him that remained untouched by the pheromones was looking at Sasha now, looking at every detail that would make most people afraid. Dean knew not to be afraid, knew he could trust the supposed monster in front of him, and he wasn't lying when he said he liked what he saw.

"My whole life I've been taught that anything not human is evil," Dean said. Normally he would drop his eyes saying something so personal, but one thing the pheromones did have tight control over was how much he wanted to look at Sasha directly. "Other kids got to go to monster movies and think, how cool, while I had to learn how to kill them. You're one of the good guys. For the first time I can think, how cool, and it's okay. I mean…that sounded wrong. You're not some sideshow attraction to me, I just…" Dean shook his head. He wasn't saying this right.

But since Sasha was still smiling, maybe he was. "It's okay, Dean. I know what you mean. I don't mind being something like that for you. You're kind of the same thing for me. A hunter, a _person_ I can let my guard down around. Something I'm so used to being dangerous, but with you it isn't, so I can just enjoy it. It is…nice."

And then Dean was smiling too. Half of his mind realized they were having a moment, and since Dean fundamentally hated _moments_ he was able to knock himself back down to Earth, pheromones be damned.

Dean gave a little cough and tried to shrug the sentimentality off of him, clearly wearing an expression that indicated Sasha should do the same. Of course this could only result in Sasha full out laughing at him, but it was better than them living a scene from the Lifetime channel.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Dean said, hoping to change the mood by changing the subject.

"Of course."

Dean's eyes were still all over Sasha, something the incubus still failed to notice fully, and Dean let them travel along the contours of his friend's wings as he said, "Do you feel different when you're like that?"

That classic, devilish grin of Sasha's took over his features. "Why don't you touch me and find out," the incubus said. It was obvious he meant the comment only in jest, much like most of Sasha's more playful advances towards Dean. It was just the way Sasha was. So it made sense that he looked rather surprised with how Dean responded.

"Can I?"

Sasha's smile vanished and his face went almost painfully blank.

"I just mean…" Dean spoke quickly but didn't really know how to salvage that. He let his eyes travel to Sasha's wings again. "Your wings. I've been…wondering what they feel like. Unless that's too weird." Of course it was weird, Dean thought. He knew he was acting on pheromones, knew he shouldn't even be in the room anymore, but being so close to Sasha, sharing space and time and emotion with the man, it undid everything.

Something of recognition flashed across Sasha's face, as if he knew—he must know—that Dean was not entirely in control of himself right now. Half of Sasha looked as if he was about to turn Dean away and put a stop to this before things got out of hand, but the other half…

The other half was only human, after all. In a manner of speaking.

"Go ahead," Sasha said, and he extended one of his wings a little closer to Dean for him to touch it more easily.

For a moment Dean had no control at all, not even an ounce of it. There was no little voice at the back of his head to warn him or talk him down, not anymore. In that moment the pheromones had won.

Dean reached out with his left hand first, his fingers grazing the very edge of Sasha's wing. He thought it would feel like a bat's but it didn't. It felt like skin, rougher than the skin on Sasha's chest, which was amazingly soft, Dean noted, as his right hand touched Sasha there. He told himself it was just to compare, maybe even said that exact half-truth to Sasha, and then his hands were moving, one along the skin of his chest and the other over the inside of Sasha's wing, feeling the groves as he moved from one section to the next. It was amazing. He was going to ask Sasha what it felt like to be touched like that, whether or not having his wing touched felt like touching other places on the body, but when Sasha gave a slight moan at Dean's caresses, Dean was pretty sure he had his answer.

Red eyes stared back at him, hazy, clouded now, when Dean looked up. He hadn't even noticed how close they had gotten until he stopped to look. He could smell Sasha all around him, that wonderful, lingering smell he still couldn't identify as anything but Sasha. He wanted to touch Sasha more. He wanted to touch everything. So the first thing he did was reach up to touch horns, black and curling from Sasha's temples.

They felt like bone, smooth as anything. Sasha was still staring at Dean as Dean ran his hands down the horns to the very end. And then Dean was mesmerized by those slightly pointy ears, like an elf or a fairie or…Dean didn't know what, but he had to touch them too. His body moved and he had to let it, couldn't stop it. His chest was flush against Sasha as he brought his hands up to those ears and traced his fingers around the shape and cartilage to their tips. His touch was light. Too light. Teasing. Intimate. Sasha made a strange noise like a deep-throated purr, and Dean smiled.

This was what he wanted. He knew now. He lifted up onto his toes since Sasha was so much taller in this form, moved his hands from those ears to grab Sasha by the back of his neck, and started to pull their heads together, leaning up towards those lips he so loved kissing.

Dean could feel breath on his face, see the intensity behind those red eyes as they looked at him, but before he could find the kiss he so desired Sasha called out. "Dean…" Dean loved the way his name sounded coming from a growl.

"Yeah…?"

Strong hands gripped Dean's shoulders, holding him steady. "I think…it's time you went back to your own room now."

The spell broke. Dean blinked and the pheromones were no longer in control. They still lingered, still made his blood pump a little hotter for how close he was to Sasha, but his mind came back to him and Dean realized what he had been doing. "…yeah," he managed, pulling away, "Sorry. Just…sorry."

Panic filled every part of Dean and he could not move fast enough. Everything he had fought against that day, everything he had tried to avoid, and he still managed to ruin it all. He knew he could blame the pheromones, knew Sasha would let him blame them, but it wouldn't change what had happened. Finally, Dean understood why it was so hard for Sasha to forget what happened that morning. Even if the person you wronged forgives you readily, it doesn't take the pain away from you.

Dean fell back against Sasha's door when it closed behind him. He was breathing so hard and his skin burned hot. He felt something choke in his throat but he would not let it rise. He would not fucking cry over this. He wasn't that weak.

Pushing from the door, Dean went straight for his room, knowing for certain this time that it actually was his and Sam's. He didn't look at Sam when he got inside, didn't respond with more than a grunt when Sam tried to talk to him. He tossed off his shirt, kicked off his pants, and got into bed, facing the wall. He didn't need to say "I'm going to bed." The obvious should be implied.

Sam didn't say anything, or if he did, Dean didn't hear it. Dean longed only for the morning and for all of this to have been a bad dream he could somehow forget. He knew he wouldn't be that lucky, so he hoped at the very least that when he woke up he would be able to look Sasha in the eyes again.

-----

Hangovers didn't know how to be this bad. Dean didn't get hangovers, but he still knew they couldn't be as bad as this. His head throbbed, his sinuses ached. He thought his brain was going to explode and almost wished it would just to make the pain go away. He figured this must be what it was like to come down from a really powerful trip. Needless to say, he was not a fan. He did take note, however, that his pain at least meant the pheromones must have worn off.

Dean groped blindly for his watch on the nightstand. 12:03 stared back at him and he almost didn't believe it. They had let him sleep til noon? Dean supposed he needed it, or maybe the pheromones had put him into a deep slumber they couldn't wake him from. When he went to bed Dean had assumed he would have horribly vivid sex dreams all night, but he couldn't remember dreaming at all. He shifted enough to be sure the sheets weren't sticking to him in any awkward places and decided he was okay.

Crisis averted. He had made it through the night. And then he thought of Sasha.

Mean wasn't a good enough word to describe what Dean had done. Cruel. Vicious. Hell, Dean would almost say Evil. It's how he had felt when he left Sasha's room. Much as Dean wanted to believe it had all been a dream, he knew it wasn't.

"Finally awake, huh?"

Dean jumped. His brain was still a little fuzzy and so was his vision as he blinked towards the sound of that voice. Sam and Sasha were sitting at the table in the middle of the room. It took Dean a moment to realize they were playing cards.

"You feeling okay?" Sasha asked, smiling his usual, friendly smile as if nothing had happened. Dean loved and hated that about the incubus. Sometimes he just wanted Sasha to be angry with him. He would feel a whole lot better.

Dean didn't feel much like lying, and since he also didn't want to ask if one of them would just shoot him in the head already and end his misery, he said, "I thought you hated playing cards."

Sam snorted. Sasha just shrugged. "I make an exception for Go Fish," he smiled, "Besides, your brother owes me so much money by now, I would have been a fool to pass up a few extra hands."

"Yeah right," Sam grinned, slapping his cards down on the table, "Like I'd play for real money." Sam turned back to Dean and started to get up from his chair. "Lunch? Or…breakfast for you, I guess."

Dean still wasn't entirely awake but he managed a nod. "Yeah…food. Sure."

"I'll run grab something to bring back. I'm taking the car," Sam said, dangling Dean's keys in the air like a challenge.

"Whatever," Dean said back.

Sam and Sasha both raised their eyebrows. Sam looked at Sasha and said, "You know he's wrecked if he doesn't at least try to stop me from driving his car. Keep an eye on him, will ya? This could be serious." Sam gave them both a passing wave and headed out the door.

It was as if they hadn't dared leave Dean alone until he woke up, and now that he had arose from his intoxicated sleep, it was safe for them to separate. Dean felt like a child that needed a babysitter. Then again it might just be that Sam thought Dean and Sasha needed to talk alone. After all, Sam had finally figured out the obvious—Sasha liked Dean more than a friend.

What a surprise.

"You really okay?" Sasha asked, rising from his chair and heading for the bed.

Dean tried to sit up, but his world spun and he had to lie back against the headboard. He grimaced at the ache in his temples. "Me?" he said, willing the pain away, "Aren't I the one who's supposed to ask that?"

There was that other smile of Sasha's, the sad, knowing smile that made Dean's heart ache whether there were pheromones in his system or not. Sasha sat down on the edge of the bed, wearing that smile firmly. "The pheromones must have been…pretty strong. Stronger than I realized. Usually, when it's just part of the game, they're not a big deal. It just peaks a person's interest, it doesn't…well…it wouldn't normally make a person do…the things you did. I should have known better. If I'd have realized I…well. I would have let you leave when you first tried. I can feel a person's emotions, damn it, I…I should have noticed sooner. It wasn't you're fault."

Why did Dean know that was what Sasha was going to say? It made him feel twice as guilty, and reminded Dean yet again how much Sasha could be like Sam. "You don't have to do that," Dean said.

"Do what?"

"Take all the blame. You're good at it, but that doesn't mean I want you to do it with me. Why don't we call it even? You tried to molest me, I tried to molest you, we both admit temporary insanity and…try to forget about it. It was only one day."

"And since I plan to have a lot more days with you _and_ Sam…you're right," Sasha said, attempting to smile for real, "Putting this behind us is…for the best. Oh," Sasha said then, his face scrunching a little, "Sam's been acting sort of weird. Asking questions. I think he thinks I'm in love with you or something." Sasha laughed, and since the incubus was laughing Dean figured it was okay if he laughed too.

"Yeah," Dean admitted, "Try to ignore him. If he gets too annoying I give you full permission to hit him. Always works for me."

Sasha laughed a little harder and nodded, though Dean knew Sasha would probably let Sam rattle on and on for eternity with all his understanding and sensitivity rather than just punch the guy.

Wuss.

There was a moment that passed, quiet, not tense at all, and Dean thought that maybe they had somehow found a way to get themselves back to normal despite everything. It was nice. But Dean still had to ask because half of him still didn't believe it.

"Sasha," he said, waiting for those blue eyes to meet his squarely before continuing, "I know I should leave it alone, but…I gotta ask. I was right there, thinking I knew just what I wanted and blind to everything else, and you let me walk away. Why?"

Sasha looked surprised, maybe even a little offended, but after awhile he just smiled, leaned a little closer to Dean and said, "Because. If it ever does happen," his voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned even closer, "I don't want you to have any excuses. I'll be honest with you though," he added, grinning wide and yet somehow so sad again, "it was one of the hardest things I've ever done…watching you leave."

Dean couldn't bring himself to move when Sasha leaned that last bit forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. The kiss seemed to carry with it all of the sadness in Sasha and it made Dean ache a little more.

"I'll let you get dressed," Sasha said, and before Dean had the sense to come back to himself, Sasha was gone.

For the first time in twenty-four hours Dean could think straight again. He laid back down, his head on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling. Either the pheromones worked because he actually felt something for Sasha in return, or they worked because they were just that strong. Dean had no doubts that they were especially powerful since they had made him do things he otherwise wouldn't do no matter what the truth was, but that still left him with a question. A question he still didn't know the answer to. And that…ached more than anything.

THE END...of Arc 2 but tbc...right here again with Arc 3!

A/N: I need some feedback on this one because I kept going back and forth with things, not sure, feeling kind of like Dean, muddled and not knowing what I wanted. So...yes? Good? Horrible? Annoying, I know, with Dean's continued denial, but who wouldn't be confused after pheromone poisoning. Dean just needs a little time to work through his feelings. He is not the kind of guy who could just jump into things after a mess like that. Besides, things to come will...well...lets just say make things much more interesting. See you again soon. And thanks for all the support!

Crim


	14. ARC 3: Gordon, PART 1: In Dreams

Arc 3, Part 1: In Dreams

-----

For two weeks Dean did nothing but clean the wounds on his chest twice a day, drive, listen to the click clack of Sasha and Sam both on their laptops, and breeze through towns with demonic signs that turned out not to have any actual demons. That was Dean's two weeks after the pheromones. That and dreaming.

The first night Dean wasn't even surprised. The pheromones were out of his system, leaving him sober and free for his subconscious to run wild. The dream was of the morning they dealt with the seven deadly sins, and of Sasha looming over Dean menacingly. Nothing happened that didn't happen in reality, so although Dean woke up gasping and sweaty, he was able to shrug it off.

The next time it happened, events did not go quite as smoothly. In the dream Dean had waited for that moment when Sam's voice called to him to save him from his fate at Sasha's hands. But it never came. Sam never came. Dean was left to Sasha's plans for him, and worst of all he was forced to enjoy it from the pheromones' power. Because it was a dream, half of Dean remained omniscient, watching over the scene from above, knowing he could do nothing but unable to look away as Sasha took his body hard and left him numb and bleeding on the floor. That time Dean woke up trembling.

The third time it happened, Dean expected it, knew it was a dream, and tried to fight it. It was his dream, damn it, he could control it if he knew he was dreaming. He tried to will Sasha back to his safe, sane human form. When it worked, Dean was overjoyed, thinking maybe he could have a good time with a lucid dream for a change. But the dream carried onward, just as it had the time before, only now Sasha was taking him as the Sasha Dean saw everyday. He even smiled, whispered in Dean's ear, but it wasn't really Sasha. He was cruel and harsh, forceful in a way the real Sasha never was. When Dean woke up from that dream he ran straight for the bathroom and threw his dinner up into the toilet.

During the day, Dean could act normal around Sasha easily. Sasha wasn't the cause of his dreams, after all. So their friendship didn't waver, though Dean knew it was only because he refused to let it. He refused to let his subconscious ruin one of the few good, peaceful, wonderful things in his life. Reality did a good enough job destroying things anyway.

Dean wasn't usually good at interpreting dreams, but he wasn't a fool either. The two things his dreams had in common were Sasha and fear. They were violent dreams because Dean's life was violent, but what lay at the heart of them was the same. Dean was afraid. Even he could admit that, if only to himself.

So when those two weeks had come and gone, and Dean had managed to avoid several days without another dream, he felt safe. Safe enough that he even went to bed early when Sam said he was going to stay up to do a little more research.

He should have known better.

Sasha's hands were so soft. Dean hadn't forgotten that. He assumed it was some kind of incubus healing factor or something, to make sure their touch was always pleasurable. Well, Dean couldn't deny Sasha's touch was pleasurable. His hands moved gently down Dean's naked thighs and a kiss accompanied those caresses just beneath Dean's navel.

Dean's eyes snapped open as he realized he was dreaming, but it was his dream form's eyes not his real ones. He was lying on a bed, the same bed as the one he had curled up on when he went to sleep. He assumed the room was the same too but it was too dark to see. But Dean could feel. He could feel Sasha's hands sliding up his sides now, the incubus' lips climbing Dean's chest. This was not like Dean's more recent dreams. This felt like the one from long ago when he first imagined the taste of Sasha's lips. And if Dean was in _that_ dream…

Full lips touched Dean's in a tender press, Sasha's hands remaining flat on Dean's chest as he kissed him. When Sasha's lips started moving against his, Dean had to kiss back, couldn't help himself, he wanted that feeling so badly. This was where he felt safe, where he felt blissful. Kissing Sasha here in this dream was where Dean knew the answers. Here his mind was clear.

But in another minute, it would all change.

Dean started to pull away, much as it pained him to leave the safety of those lips before their time was up. He didn't want to wait for the curtain this time; he wanted to wake up before it happened. He couldn't bear to live through _that_ part of the dream again.

"Dean…?" came Sasha's voice, whispered and worried, "What is it?"

Dean clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to see what would come next. "I'm waiting for the scary part," he said.

Although Dean couldn't see it, somehow he knew Sasha smiled down at him. "It doesn't have to be scary, Dean. You just keep making it that way."

There was nothing menacing or threatening in Sasha's voice, only the trust and comfort Dean had come to know so well even when he was awake. Carefully, Dean peeked an eye open, then another, met by the brilliant blues and perfect smile of his friend hovering over him. Sasha really was beautiful.

When Dean turned to look to the side, he knew he would find Sam's bed, because that was where Sam's bed was. His brother was sleeping soundly, the sheets riding low to show that Sam was only wearing his shorts.

"But what about him?" Dean asked.

"Don't worry about Sam. He's asleep."

"He could wake up."

"He will," Sasha said, starting to lean down towards Dean again so that Dean had no choice but to look up at him, "But it's okay. We have time."

All Dean wanted to do when Sasha started to go for his lips again was let Sasha kiss him, let Sasha have him fully and completely. At least here, in this part of the dream, he was safe, and anything they did would feel safe.

But Dean _didn't_ feel safe, not really. At the back of his mind he was haunted by the truth waiting behind the waning months.

"No. I don't have any time. I gave up my time to bring him back." Dean choked on his words as they left him. He had no regrets, he had to save Sammy, but he hated his fate anyway.

"I know you did," Sasha said, smiling serenely above Dean. Then he was nudging Dean's head to the side again so he could look at Sam's sleeping form. Sasha's voice was the barest whisper as he said, "That's why he hates you, Dean..."

Sam's eyes sprang open and their mottled yellow color was so clear, so intense, Dean knew he would be trapped in them forever the moment their gazes met.

When Dean woke this time he couldn't move at all. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. The ceiling was right above him and he almost didn't dare turn his head to find Sam's sleeping form in the bed next to his. Again Dean's dream had something in common with the others. Sasha. And fear.

Eventually, Dean did turn his head, but Sam's bed was empty. As Dean's other senses began to refocus, he understood why. He could still hear the constant clicking of Sam at his computer.

Dean reached for his watch. It was after three-thirty. Sam sure could be a masochist sometimes. "Dude, you gotta be kidding me. Do you know what time it is?" Dean sat up and the covers pooled at his waist.

Sure enough Sam was sitting at the motel room's table, typing away, and staring hard at his computer screen. He didn't even lift his eyes as he responded. "I'm fine, Dean. Go back to bed."

"Well, thanks to you, I'm wide awake," Dean said. At least that wasn't a lie. "What are you doing? And if you say 'trying to save you, Dean,'" Dean said in his most lofty, mock-Sam voice, "I swear to God, I'm kicking your ass right now."

Sam didn't say anything, but his eyes darted momentarily from the screen to meet Dean's. That alone said enough.

Dean was out of bed the next second. "Damn it, Sam."

"Just go to bed, Dean. I can spend my time how I want."

"Yeah, well not if it's gonna get you killed." Dean reached the table, grabbed the top of Sam's laptop and slammed the cover closed, almost nipping Sam's fingers in the process if Sam hadn't flinched away just in time. "I told you. The demon said if I try anything, _anything_ to get out of this deal, you die. That's not gonna happen, Sam."

"Why, because you decided my life was more important than yours?" Sam barked, glaring up at Dean from his chair.

Sometimes it was better to tell the truth. "Why not?" Dean said, "I'm the older brother. It's my job. I protect you. Not the other way around."

"Dean, that's ridiculous. We can protect each other. Don't forget Dad asked you to kill me if you had to. That's to protect you from me."

"No, it's to save you before…before…"

"Before what, Dean?"

"I don't know!" God, Dean wanted to punch something. He'd punch Sam if he thought it would get them anywhere.

The truth was they didn't know anything, not anything substantial enough to help. Sam was special, and maybe that meant there was something evil inside of him, but Dean was the one going to Hell. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe Dean's sacrifice was necessary to save Sam. Maybe…it was the last straw it would take to push Sam over the edge. Dean didn't know. And if he didn't know the answers to those questions then he would stick to what made sense.

Protect Sam. It was the mantra he had learned before he even knew how to read. Protect baby Sammy, Dean. Protect Sam. Don't let anything happen to your baby brother. He's all you have left.

No. Dean had Sam, but he had Sasha too. And Bobby. Even Ellen. And Jo. Dean had a family, it was just fractured. The only part of it he fully understood was the one part that shared his blood. Sam. And that meant something. Dean didn't want to die but he couldn't let Sam take his place.

"Dean, just listen to me, please," Sam was saying, and all the anger that had shown in his eyes gave way to compassion and pleading, "What if…what if there was a way to get rid of the deal and not trade one of us for the other. What if I could save us both?"

It would be a miracle, Dean thought, and he didn't believe in miracles. "Sam…"

"No, Dean. You have to let me try. Let me try. We still have time. I can save you."

There was so much desperation in Sam's words, Dean wanted to believe them. He didn't want to die. He thought he did once, thought he could handle this, that it would all be okay as long as Sam was okay. But damn it, Dean could be selfish too and he didn't want to go. Not when he was finally getting to know his brother again. Not when he had a friend, the first friend he'd had his entire life. He wanted to live for them. He didn't want to leave them.

He didn't want to leave either of them.

"What if…there isn't a way?" he said. Finally, his voice was as soft as Sam's again, and they both sounded close to crying. It made Dean glad the room was so dark.

"There's a way, Dean, and I'm going to find it. All I'm asking is that you let me try. I have a few ideas." Sam reached for his laptop and opened the cover again.

It took a moment to reboot from the sleep-mode Dean had forced upon it, but once it did Dean could see the different windows Sam had up. One, hidden behind the others, looked like a message board about selling your soul to the devil. Dean tried not to snort. Another was about the Colt though, some stuff they knew, some they didn't. But the last caught Dean's eyes the most. It was about using the power of demons to your own advantage.

Dean didn't like it.

"Sam…"

"I think I can help Bobby rebuild the Colt."

Dean's body went rigid. "What are you talking about? Bobby's been trying for weeks, months now, and nothing. It's just a normal gun now, Sam. Even Bobby's ready to call it quits, and he's been back at home working on that thing since we last saw him."

When Dean met Sam's eyes they looked too determined, and the glow from the computer, for the briefest moment, reminded Dean of that awful yellow they had been in the dream. "I can fix it. I don't know how, but…I think once I have it in my hands I'll know."

"You've had the Colt in your hands plenty of times, Sam."

"Now is different. Now…I'm different." Sam looked away as he said that. Neither of them ever wanted to bring it up but it was true. Sam wasn't the same Sam anymore. His powers were stronger, and though he kept them at bay to work on them slowly, they both knew that if he willed it, if he wished it, he could have them all at his disposal in a moment. All he had to do was give in…like the others had done.

No matter how Dean looked at it, that just didn't sound like a good idea. "I thought we agreed. You work on your powers but only at a pace where you are certain you know what you're doing."

"I know, Dean."

"Don't forget that chipmunk you fried last week, coz I sure haven't."

Sam grimaced. He had mentioned feeling the rise of a power like fire. He wasn't sure if it was pyrokinesis or not, but when he tried to use it on a small, dying tree in the woods outside their last town, a chipmunk had fallen from the branches with his insides melted.

Dean could only be thankful he hadn't had any nightmares about that. "Look," he said, because the last thing he wanted was to make Sam feel guilty. The powers were apart of Sam and they had to deal with that. "I trust you, Sammy. You think you can do this, think you can use the Colt somehow to help us, fine. But if there is ever a time when this gets out of your control…"

"I'd tell you, Dean. The chipmunk…I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. But it happened. So…so if you're gonna be a bitch about this and insist on trying to help me, be prepared to get the same treatment, coz I am still your older brother. Protect me all you want but you can't stop me from protecting you. Ya got me?"

The ghost of a smile caught Sam's face, and small as it was Dean knew it was real. "Yeah, Dean, I got ya. So…you think you and Sasha can handle that haunting in Danville alone? Bobby's place is on the way. You can drop me off. I've already been talking to him about this over the phone. He's as freaked as you are, okay, so you can be sure he'll be keeping an eye on me."

Dean wasn't entirely sure if he felt better about things or just plain pissed Sam had gone behind his back. In the end, since Dean was really tired, and he had to admit if there was anyone capable of saving him from the pit, it was his brother, Dean conceded. "Okay. But if you get that Colt working, wait for us before you do anything. Understand? No playing hero."

Sam turned back to his computer, half-smiling. "Go to bed, Dean," he said, "I'll join you in a minute, I promise."

Dean had to smirk. "You damn well better not _join_ me, or you'll find yourself kicked to the curb so fast, I'll still be blowing chunks in the bathroom when you finally fall on your ass. Gross." Dean turned for his bed, pleased to hear the laughter that followed him.

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Night…bitch," Dean said under his breath, but loud enough for Sam to hear, of course. His instincts told him to duck just in time to miss the wad of paper that flew in an arc towards his head.

"Jerk," he heard Sam mumble, but there was a smile in the word. It made Dean feel a lot better. Sammy was still Sammy where it mattered. And even if Dean was scared out of his mind half the time, he believed, somehow, that things would work out as they were meant to.

They had to.

-----

"Witch."

"Which what?"

"No, _witch_, She's a witch," Sasha emphasized, turning his laptop screen towards Dean, "Well, was a witch." He gestured towards the old newspaper clipping he had brought up onto his screen and read, "Marisol Hawking. Died 1891, right after the building was finished. She had been living in room 409 while construction completed—that's the family's apartment—until her death. Says here she didn't want anyone to ever rent the apartment after her, and left that as a request in her will, along with a statement to have a small token of her remains buried in the foundation. Remains," Sasha said again, raising an eyebrow towards Dean, "Something like a finger bone is one of the most powerful final components for a hex bag. Makes a great way to keep an eye on her place too. This is only the second family to have rented the apartment since she died, but you remember what happened to the first."

"Both parents and all four children jumped to their deaths in the late 60s," Dean recounted. He wouldn't be forgetting a detail like that any time soon. "What's this broad have against people staying in her place anyway? Hidden jewels or something. She's dead. What does she care if someone stays there?"

Sasha shrugged, glancing back at the screen as if it might magically give him the answer to that question. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe she's just possessive. Anyway, it sounds like the only way we're going to be able to get rid of her and protect the new family in 409 is to get our hands on that hex bag."

"Typical salt and burn?"

"We'll need more than that. This isn't just remains. If it's really a hex bag, then we're going to need an incantation to counter the magic before we burn it. And there's the other problem."

This hunt just got better and better. "What?" Dean asked.

Sasha turned in his chair again, grinning as he looked up at Dean behind his shoulder. "There are _no_ records telling where the remains were placed in the foundation."

"Great," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I'll grab a sledge hammer, you start punching walls."

Sasha laughed. Dean had to enjoy the fact that Sasha actually appreciated his humor, unlike Sam who usually just shook his head and scowled. "I don't think we'll have to worry about resorting to that," Sasha said. He pulled up another screen on his laptop. "We might be able to summon the bag, but we'll have to do the spell on the roof, to make sure the entire building gets included. And…" Sasha looked a little sheepish as he glanced over his shoulder again, "We need to gather all of the people who've seen the ghost in the past year. That's both of us, the Shaws, and their little girl."

"Dude, she's like five years old."

"I know."

Dean let out a long whistle. "Her folks better be prepared for long years of therapy. If they even agree to this."

"If they want Marisol out of their home…they'll have to."

-----

Dean enjoyed hunting, always had, but Dean really enjoyed hunting with Sasha. In fact, Dean thought he probably enjoyed hunting with Sasha more than he enjoyed hunting with Sam.

While they didn't have the same rhythm and natural flow together yet like Dean had with his brother, Dean knew he could trust Sasha to watch his back. Sasha was also the research type, which left Dean off the hook again, but then Sasha had to be the researcher since before he had always been alone. Sasha laughed when Dean told a joke, even if it was a bad pun or really lewd, and while Sasha would occasionally question Dean's decisions just like Sam did, Dean never got mad about it.

Dean supposed it was just the difference between hunting with your brother and hunting with your friend. If Dean really thought about it though, he liked things best when it was all three of them. Sasha had the same affect on Sam as he did on Dean. Things felt easier when they were all together, like Sasha knew how to balance both of them out so they weren't at each other's throats so often. It was…nice.

Having hunt after hunt was also nice, because it kept Dean thinking about hunting and not about his little problem with Sasha. It wasn't a problem really so much as a…well, a question. Dean was still working on answering that question. He just hoped his dreams left him alone long enough for that to happen.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head and there was Sasha, smiling at him but looking concerned too. They were getting things ready on the roof of the apartment building. The family would be joining them soon, and no, they hadn't been too keen on bringing their daughter along since she had been the one most spooked by their haunting.

"Are you okay?" Sasha pressed further, since Dean had simply stared.

Crooking his mouth up into his usual smirk, Dean made a face he hoped was believable. "You've been asking me that for weeks, Sasha. What do I need to do for you to believe me, burst into song?"

As was expected, Sasha gave a genuine laugh, but still looked worried when it passed. "It's just…sometimes you try a little too hard, Dean."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sasha shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…maybe it feels like you're trying so hard to make sure we're okay, I gotta wonder if we're not." Sasha's eyes disappeared somewhere in the runes they had drawn on the roof. "I…I heard you dreaming last night," he said.

Every muscle in Dean's body tensed in alert. It would have been stupid for Sasha and Dean to get separate rooms, but now Dean wondered if maybe it would have been safer. Dean didn't remember his dream from last night, which he was grateful for, but he did remember that Sasha had been in it, like the shadow of a memory not quite complete. If he had spoken aloud in his sleep, he might have said anything, and every possibility Dean thought of was more incriminating than the next.

"You were…shaking," Sasha went on, his eyes still on the rooftop as he continued to pour salt from the container in his hands, "Breathing hard, sweating. I tried to wake you up, and…you sort of did, halfway, just for a moment. You looked right at me. You don't remember?"

Dean just stared. He didn't remember anything.

A crooked smile caught Sasha's features and he looked sad all over again. Dean had been pleased not to see that expression for awhile, but now it was back, and again it was all for him. "You…you looked so scared. You grabbed my arm real tight. You said my name. Then you just went back to sleep. Dean," Sasha's eyes lifted finally, and their bright blue burned in the darkness of the falling night around them, "Are your nightmares about me?"

The door to the roof opened, admitting Daniel and Teagen Shaw, and their little girl Esther. It had taken of all Dean's tact not to comment on the girl's old lady name when they first met. Apparently, it was a trend these days.

Dean was so pleased to see the family now that he might have kissed any one of them for their perfect timing.

"Almost set here," Dean said, ignoring the lingering stare from Sasha that still sought an answer to his question, "I'd suggest you stay by the door, behind the line of salt. We only need you present. It'll be safer that way."

Daniel Shaw nodded, holding his wife and daughter away from the various paranormal signs Sasha and Dean had drawn and setup on their rooftop. "Are you sure we need Esther here for this?" he asked. His wife had their daughter hoisted up and held firm in her arms.

"I'm really sorry," Sasha said, walking towards the family since he was done spreading salt around the runes, "But we do need her here. You're a brave little girl, aren't you, Esther?" Sasha said then with a broad smile as he turned to the girl. They had taken an instant liking for each other, and at the time Dean thought he should have known Sasha would be one of those guys who genuinely loved kids. "I bet you're not scared at all," Sasha finished.

While Dean wasn't one of those guys—or rather kids just rarely seemed to like him—he had to admit that Esther was probably one of the cutest little girls he had ever seen. Her hair was the same dirty blonde as Dean's actually, just like her mother's, and her eyes were large and amber, an almost golden brown.

Her grin was twice the size of Sasha's as she looked back at him.

"I know you'll get rid of the ghost, Sasha. I'm not scared," she said. Dean couldn't even remember that kind of blind faith anymore, the kind kids seemed to have so much of.

Sasha reached out to ruffle Esther's hair affectionately and gave a reassuring smile to the parents. But when he turned back to Dean he was all business, stoic even. Dean knew they would be having a talk about this later, whether he wanted one or not. Wonderful. For now at least he could focus on finishing this hunt, always a welcome distraction.

They were expecting a counterattack after the summoning started, hence the salt, because although Marisol Hawking seemed to be confined to apartment 409 that would no longer be the case once her hex bag was disturbed.

Sasha stood in the center of the runes, speaking the spell in calm, even tones, while Dean stood ready with his shotgun. If that bitch decided to attack, he had a load of rock salt with her name on it.

The first thing Dean noticed as Sasha got deeper into the spell was how much the wind began to pick up. Ha. Wind. He could handle wind. The witch was going to have to do better than that.

Dean continued a slow pace around the circle of salt that encased Sasha and the runes. The family stood by the door as they were told, safe within another circle. Only Dean remained outside that safety, holding his gun, eyes ever watchful as he moved along the outer rim of Sasha's circle. He passed the family, nodding towards them in acknowledgement, but as his head turned to continue his pace, he almost walked right into the figure he had been waiting to see.

The shotgun was up and Dean fired, no hesitation. But Marisol was good. She vanished before the shot went off, grinning smugly. Her form was that of a middle aged woman, the kind that still retained most of their beauty but looked tired and angry for having aged at all. She kept no color, unlike some ghosts, but flickered in and out in faint shades of grey.

Dean stepped back to better survey the entirety of the roof. The family had seen Marisol too if their close-knit huddle was any indication. Sasha, however, remained unaffected, reading through the incantation steadily. Just a little longer and they'd have her.

"Leave me be…"

Dean couldn't swing around fast enough, but wherever the voice had come from, carried on the wind, there was no sign of Marisol. "Hurry it up, Sasha…" Dean mumbled beneath his breath. Dean hated ghosts, but he hated witches even more. They were supposed to be human but rarely acted like it. A ghost that had been a witch in life was about as bad as you could get. Dean had already dealt with that once at the Grand Canyon a year ago. Zombie forest animals occasionally taking the form of real dead people was not Dean's idea of fun. Those things had protected the last remains of their mistress til the very end.

Dean couldn't wait to burn this bitch the same way.

The wind picked up more and more as Sasha's voice continued, and after a while Dean could barely hear Sasha over the roar. It was only when the wind suddenly stopped, that Dean heard the silence telling him Sasha had finished.

Looking back at his friend, Dean shared a relieved, pleased smile with Sasha as the incubus lifted the small bound bag that had materialized in his hand. "We did it," he said, clutching the bag tightly. But when Sasha started to bend down to place the bag on the pile of salt at his feet, the wind came back with newfound power, three times as strong as it had been at its worst.

Dean knew instinctually to get low to the roof, walking with heavy feet, but he saw the surprise on Sasha's face as the incubus was knocked onto his back and successfully outside the circle of salt. Dean tried to run forward, tried to call out, but the wind made everything harder. He blinked heavily and saw the family pushed up against the door. At least they had a bearing. Sasha and Dean were out in the open.

"Sasha!" Dean called, his voice lost in the wind's roar. Sasha was still on his back, but although he seemed more capable of fighting the wind as he tried to stand again, his incubus strength didn't mean he had eyes in the back of his head.

Marisol appeared just behind him, reaching what looked like gnarled branches for fingers to grab Sasha's shoulders. She had him a moment later and was pulling him further out of the circle of salt. She made a lunge for the bag in Sasha's hand then, but Sasha had clear sights on Dean, who was only a few feet away.

At first, Dean thought Sasha was going to try and throw the bag to save it from Marisol's clutches. That would have been really stupid, considering the strength of the wind right now. But Sasha was on the ground. It was easy for him to slap the bag onto the rooftop and roll it towards Dean with a great incubus-backed push.

Marisol screamed, her voice alone seeming capable of piercing above the high wind. The bag rolled close to Dean, but the wind was still strong, and before Dean could bend to grab it, the bag started rolling past him. Movement of any kind was hard, so Dean decided on another tactic. He fell. Limbs limp, he let himself collapse straight to the ground, which ended up being the fastest way to catch the bag. It was just under the crook of his arm.

Dean needed to get the bag to some of the salt. It didn't have to be the salt in the center of the runes, but it had to at least be from that broken circle. The runes were necessary to destroy the bag's power, while the salt would cleanse the bone inside. A match was all they needed after that, and as long as Dean stayed close to the ground, he could keep a match lit long enough to set the bag ablaze.

Starting to crawl the few feet to Sasha's broken circle, Dean had the bag in his left hand and his shotgun in his right. He saw Marisol coming, and this time, since she was so concerned with retrieving her bag, she was caught in the blast of rock salt Dean fired at her, exploding into fragments. That would only buy Dean a little time, but hopefully that was all he would need.

The wind died a little after Marisol's momentary banishing, but her power was still strong. Dean reached the outer edge of the circle, held the bag just inside, even if the lines were broken, and dusted it with some of the salt. Now for a match.

Dean's eyes lifted and met Sasha's across the few feet of roof separating them. Sasha had the matches.

Understanding dawned on Sasha's face immediately and he pulled the matches out of his jacket pocket, slapping them onto the rooftop just like the bag. They were so close to each other that it should have been easy to pass the matches, but the wind was picking up again, and as soon as Sasha pushed the matches in Dean's direction, the wind caught them, lifting them into the air to fly towards the family by the roof's door.

No! There wasn't time. Marisol would be back any minute and the wind was still too strong. There was no way either of them could get over to the matches in time. Dean watched them roll away, right to the edge of the second circle of salt that was keeping the family safe. Tegen Shaw had set her daughter down and was holding onto her on her knees as Daniel kept his arms around them both. But Esther was so small. It didn't take much at all for her to slip out of her mother's grasp to reach down and pick up the matches herself.

Faintly over the wind, Dean heard Sasha yell for Esther to stop. It was too dangerous. But Esther was small enough, light enough that she could move through the wind more easily than the adults with her. Her parents couldn't even move from where they were being held by the wind against the door, their mouths wide and screaming soundlessly.

Esther was braver than Dean gave her credit for. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no fear. She believed in them so strongly, there was no room to be afraid. And it wasn't just because of Sasha. Esther was smart enough to understand that Dean needed the matches because Dean had the bag, so she went straight for him, crouching as she moved inside the wind. Dean couldn't believe it.

In another minute she reached him, and her small hand passed the matches over the roof, much closer than Sasha could have managed. And then Dean had the matches, but the wind was so strong, being light was no longer an asset for Esther. She moved so quickly across the roof as the wind lifted her, there was no way Dean or Sasha could have caught her.

"No!" Dean heard faintly in Sasha's voice. He almost thought he heard the mother's scream too, or maybe it was just Marisol, screaming in anger. Dean didn't have time to think about consequences, not even as he watched Sasha allow himself to lift and be carried off the roof as well, diving off the apartment building in pursuit of Esther's small form.

Dean had the matches. Dean had the bag. This had to stop.

Marisol appeared, whole and ready just off to Dean's right. There was no time. Dean lit one match only to have it blow out. He lit another. Same thing. Damn it! Marisol would be on him any second. He lit a third and willed that it would stay lit. The sparks flickered, teased him, taunted, but when they touched the edge of the salt covered bag, it erupted more beautifully than anything.

Marisol screamed. The wind instantly died. And Daniel and Tegan Shaw howled over the loss of their daughter, a sound no longer muffled, though surely it had been ringing true for some time.

Dean knew better though. He stood slowly, his muscles aching from working against that unholy wind, but he knew not to panic. Sasha diving off buildings could never worry him. Not when he knew his friend had wings.

The first thing Dean noticed was the sound, the great flapping that preceded Sasha's reappearance. Dean turned with a smile then to the edge of the roof where Sasha and Esther had vanished. Like some morbid painting, glorious and frightening, Sasha the incubus, wings spread, flew up from over the edge carrying Esther in his arms. She was completely unharmed, of course, but that didn't stop her parents from screaming.

This was where things got complicated. The parents didn't rush Sasha, too afraid Dean imagined, but soon their horror turned to even more horrified recognition as they realized they knew who the creature was. Sasha's face was the same in either form, sometimes it was just hard to notice that when the first thing you saw was wings and horns.

Sasha landed on the roof with a crunch, the concrete cracking and breaking under his strength. But despite how imposing he might look to anyone else, Dean only saw the compassion, the gentle nature that showed so easily when Sasha set Esther down on her feet and knelt in front of her with a fanged smile.

"Sasha…?" Esther said, blinking at him unafraid but curious.

"Yes," Sasha replied, "It's me." And as he said that his form began to change, morphing seamlessly into a human man with jeans and a leather jacket. "See. I'm still Sasha."

Children were unpredictable, but Dean had no doubts that Esther would be okay. Her face lit up and she launched herself back into Sasha's arms. "You're so cool! Like an angel!" she said, "Are you an angel?"

Dean tried not to snort. Maybe if angels had wanton sex with every prospect they met.

Sasha didn't get the opportunity to answer though, because Daniel and Tegen Shaw were closing in and the mother grabbed for Esther as if she were pulling her daughter out of a burning building.

"What are you…?" Tegen said, staring fearfully at Sasha as she clutched her daughter to her chest. Daniel's expression was much the same.

Sasha looked heartbroken, standing slowly, but he had no words to give. Something in his face told Dean that this was not the first time something like this had happened. Sasha had abilities and he used them when he hunted. That meant accidents happened, people found out the truth, and people, _humans_ were not forgiving.

Dean couldn't allow this. He couldn't allow these people who they had just saved, whose daughter Sasha dove off the roof of a fucking building for, to look down on Sasha like a monster.

"He's one of the good guys, that's what," Dean said, walking over to Sasha and the family with his shotgun up on one shoulder. They turned to him with varied expressions—the Shaws in frightened surprise while Sasha looked something between tears and gratitude. "Let me tell you, it is rare, no, damn near impossible to have one of the supernatural on our side. So you better be thankful Sasha is. He just saved your daughter's life." Dean didn't care if his tone was harsh; he just didn't understand how people could be so ungrateful just because of a little thing like their savior not being human.

The irony of thinking that way wasn't lost on Dean, but he decided not to dwell on it.

Though such speeches hardly worked to change a person's mind when they saw something like Sasha for the first time, Daniel and Tegan both turned back to look at Sasha after what Dean had said. The fear in them remained, that was clear, but there was something else too.

And then came the miracle. "Thank you…for saving Esther," Tegen said, still holding Esther close, but no longer in a way that seemed guarded against Sasha's close proximity.

Then came the other. "Thank you," repeated Daniel, who went so far as to reach his hand out for Sasha to shake, and just as readily moved that hand to shake Dean's. "For everything," he finished.

Sasha turned to Dean with such brilliance in his expression, even Dean understood why Esther questioned his holiness. There was something so beautiful in Sasha that demonic just wasn't the word. Dean supposed it was the man's fae side, but he preferred to just chalk it up to Sasha's own personal nature. It's just the way the guy was. You sort of…had to like him.

Later, Dean talked with the parents inside their apartment, explaining tricks and talismans they could use to prevent further hauntings, though Dean was fairly certain they would be safe from then on out.

Daniel and Tegen had left Esther with Sasha, after the girl's extreme insistence, since they were going to have 'grown-up' talk anyway. Sasha was more than happy to stay with Esther in her room and play until her bedtime, and although the parents were wary, they eventually gave the okay.

It was only after it had been a good half hour, and after Dean had pretty much given these folks a crash coarse in Ghosts 101, that Daniel Shaw turned to Dean and asked, "Your friend…he's not human, is he?"

What was your first clue, Dean thought. "He's more human than most of the real thing I've met," Dean decided on saying. It was certainly true.

"But what…is he?" Tegen pressed. Dean must have been wearing a pretty nasty look because she immediately amended her question with, "It's not that I don't believe he's good. I wouldn't leave Esther alone with him otherwise, but…well…he looked so…dangerous when he was like that. You're…hunters, right? You hunt things like these ghosts and witches and whatever else?"

Dean nodded.

"Well…how did you know not to hunt him?"

At that Dean had to smirk, because after all, "I didn't. Learned my mistake pretty fast though, and he's saved my ass plenty since. He may not be human, but he's a good hunter, a good man, and a good friend. He'd risk his life for a stranger faster than I would, I can tell you that. No offence, but…I don't think anything could have gotten me to jump of that rooftop after your daughter. No wings," Dean added, even turning his back to them a little as if he needed to prove it.

He talked a little longer with the Shaws and though they weren't the type of people Dean could be friends with, going out for a drink and whatnot, he had to admit he kind of liked them. They couldn't be all that bad if they could understand the good in Sasha.

Understanding that good was not Dean's problem. He could defend Sasha til the cows came home and it still wouldn't help him with his problem. The only thing Dean could be sure of was that he was afraid of something. His dreams proved that much. Whether that meant he was secretly afraid of Sasha the incubus trying to molest him again, afraid Sam and Sasha would team up to do the same, or just…that Dean was terrified to figure out if he really did have feeling for his best friend…Dean didn't know. As the weeks kept going by though, he knew he was making things that much harder on Sasha for leaving that question unanswered.

Dean figured it had been about an hour since they left Sasha and Esther alone when Tegen finally got up, saying that it was long overdue for Esther to get into bed.

Then they heard it.

"_Hush now baby don't you cry…"_ The song came softly, but since the apartment was quiet and it was fairly late, they heard Sasha's voice all too clearly. _"Rest your wings my butterfly…"_

Dean lifted his head to listen. Sasha was…singing. Dean had never heard Sasha sing, aside from humming alongside his own voice in the Impala to the occasional ballad Dean allowed over his baby's speakers. Dean knew Sasha liked to sing and assumed the only reason he didn't in the car was because of the company. Dean still remembered what Sasha had said when he asked if the incubus played the guitar.

"I don't suck. Better at singing."

If Sasha played even half as good as he sang then it was a damn shame he wasn't on the radio somewhere. Dean perked his ears to hear more, standing from the couch to follow Tegen to Esther's room.

"_Know though I must leave, my child…but I would stay here by your side…"_

Dean knew this song. He didn't know from where at first, but he knew he knew it. Hearing it on Sasha's lips, in Sasha's voice, made it seem like a haunted memory traveling on that wind they had so recently beaten back.

"_And if you wake before I'm gone…remember this sweet lullaby…"_

Dean's feet were still moving, on the heels of Tegen as they approached Esther's door, but Dean wasn't in the apartment anymore. He was home. He was in Kansas, four years old, and baby Sammy had just come home from the hospital. His mother was singing that lullaby. Her voice was so beautiful, sweet and soft. She was holding baby Sammy and Dean was snuggled up on his Dad's lap, listening.

"_And all love…through darkness…don't you ever stop believing…"_

But Dean _was_ in the apartment, and it was Sasha singing, and Sasha was sitting on the edge of Esther's bed, who was already tucked in and half asleep.

"_With love…forlorn…with love you'll find your way…my love,"_ Sasha sang, noticing just then that he was no longer alone with Esther. His eyes lifted to the door, and he smiled past Tegen right at Dean, _"The world has turned the day to dark…"_ He continued, even as he nodded to Tegen then and started to get up, reaching over to turn off the lamp though a little star-shaped nightlight still burned brightly, _"I leave this night with heavy heart…"_

Dean felt tears welling up in his eyes and didn't know how to stop them. He had so few memories of his mother, but this one was strong, so strong now as he heard Sasha sing the same lullaby his mother sang to him and to Sam those short months they were all together.

Sasha was heading for the door, his voice dropping lower and lower, but still he sang. _"When I return to dry your eyes…I will sing this lullaby…"_

Tegen and Sasha passed each other, both smiling, as Tegen went to tuck in her daughter and Sasha came towards Dean. There was nothing on Earth that could turn Tegen or her husband against Sasha now. He was an angel in their eyes forever.

A hand came up to wipe at Dean's eyes before he could stop himself. He hated that he had done that as soon as it happened, because now Sasha knew, Sasha knew how close he had been to crying over a fucking lullaby.

"Dean…?" Sasha whispered.

"We should go."

"Yeah…" Sasha agreed, but it was clear he wanted to talk more about this, about whatever it was that had Dean's face looking so distraught.

Dean was thankful Sasha didn't press him as soon as they were in the car. He just couldn't deal with this right now, with the feelings Sasha had stirred in him, half tied up with his mother and half because it was Sasha and Sasha just made Dean come undone. Dean needed more time, he needed to think, he needed to know why he felt so damn confused about everything and decided with some finality that it was all because of the ticking time bomb that was his life. Dean had only so much time, and time was all he craved right now. Time to mourn, time to fight, time to figure out why Sasha made him feel warm inside like nothing else could.

He knew Sasha would be waiting to talk once they reached the motel, but as soon as they pulled in Dean excused himself and flipped his cell phone open to call Sam. Suddenly, he wanted to hear his brother's voice so badly, he would have driven straight to Bobby's place that second if Sam hadn't pick up.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?"

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"God…" Dean choked into the phone, "I wish I knew…"

tbc...

A/N: Damn, I wish these boys would stop writing the story for me, because just when I know where it's going, they pull shit like this. I plan to start right there on the phone for the next part, and I'm pretty sure I can get them back on track without losing this marvelous angst Dean's feeling. You guys are great! Really, the support here has been so wonderful, I hope you know how much I love writing for such thoughtful readers and reviewers.

Okay, so that chipmunk thing for those who remember the kids with powers is supposed to be like the guy Gordon killed who fried his neighbor's cat, and he's telling his srhink about it...you remember? I always thought it was a shame that power got so little air time. The Grand Canyon comment is from the second Supernatural book (both rock). The song is just "Lullaby" sung by Josh Groban and gorgeous if you can find it out there. I can just imagine Sasha singing it, and Mary for that matter.

Feedback? Love you! And yes, this is still the Gordon arc, but that doesn't mean he's going to show up right away. There are issues to cover!

Crim


	15. Part 2: Coming to Terms with Chaos

Part 2: Coming to Terms with Chaos

-----

There was silence over the phone for a long time, too long as Dean tried to think of what to say. Why had he called his brother anyway? He didn't really know. He just had to hear Sammy's voice, had to talk to him, even if he couldn't focus his thoughts enough right now to remember what he wanted to say.

There was so much that had happened in so short a time. The past few weeks, that night, those couple minutes he heard Sasha singing.

That was it. The lullaby. Their mother. Sasha. God, _Sasha_. The devil deal. All the fear Dean had been feeling from his dreams. Sam's problems with the powers too. It was all of it. Dean knew he shouldn't be surprised that a song was what triggered his mini breakdown, since music had always been such a strong part of his life, and the fact that it had been _that_ song, and that Sasha had been singing it…

Dean didn't even know where to begin. He hated how much he felt like a girl for feeling the need to get all of this out of him somehow, but if anyone would understand, if anyone would listen and not judge his manhood over it, that person was Sam.

The silence had gone on too long and Dean knew he needed to say something. But usually a long silence from Dean meant he was waiting for Sam to come clean about something first and that was exactly how Sam took the silence this time. Before Dean could even open his mouth to begin speaking again, Sam's voice came first, filled with inklings of shame.

"Bobby called you, didn't he?"

Dean's world stilled. Something had happened, but no, Bobby hadn't called him about it. The only way to learn what had happened then was to play along, meaning Dean had to squelch his own needs for the time being and say, "Yeah, Bobby called me. You think he'd keep me in the dark about something like that?" Dean was a pro at this, after all.

There was a deep sigh over the line. "I didn't mean for it to happen, Dean," Sam said, a line that could only make Dean's heart beat faster with worry, "I just got…carried away."

There was a pause. Dean still had no idea what Sam could mean, whether it was using his powers too freely or what, so the only thing Dean could do was prompt for more. "I swear, Sammy, I don't know what's going through your head these days," Dean said. That should do it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Sam barked back, riled up to defend himself just as Dean wanted. If he was defending himself he would surely give the details away. "After getting the Colt to work I just…I had to see her. I was only going to talk to her, see if I could threaten her into letting you out of the deal, something. She just made me so angry…"

Dean tried to wrap his mind around all that as quickly as he could. When realization struck him, the game was officially over. "You fixed the Colt and shot the crossroads demon?!" Dean shouted into the phone. How stupid could his brother be?

Sam sounded completely flabbergasted as he responded. "You said Bobby called you!"

"I was lying!"

"Dean!"

"Damn it, Sam, what were you thinking?" Dean pressed on, starting a steady pace around the Impala. Thankfully, Sasha had gone inside when Dean excused himself to call Sam, leaving Dean plenty of room to raise his voice and stomp around. "I tell you to wait for us, and the first thing you do is…" Dean stopped abruptly in his tracks and in his speech. He had to ask. "Does this mean I'm out of the deal?"

Sam just huffed. "You think I would have waited for you to call me if it did?"

"Right," Dean replied, feeling stupid all over again for daring to hope like that. He started pacing again, leaving angry footprints in the dirt of the parking lot. It was California but still northern California, and in winter it got cold in Danville. Dean tried not to shiver. "Well this is just great, Sammy. What _does_ it mean then?"

When Sam responded this time he had calmed down somewhat, but his tone still sounded like ice. "She said someone else holds the contract."

"Who?"

"She wouldn't tell me."

Wonderful. "Well it's a good thing you shot her then," Dean grumbled.

"I was trying to help you!" Sam shouted back.

Dean hated to admit it, but that was what bothered him the most about all this. "Why do you think I want you to stop!" he said, bringing a hand up to rub at his face and tired eyes. "God. You're killing me here, Sammy."

Dean stopped short again. He hadn't just said that. He hadn't just said the worst possible figure of speech to his brother, the brother out there trying to save him who worried even when things _were_ okay. Damn it.

"Sam…hey…I didn't…"

"I'll save you, Dean," came Sam's voice, soft as a whisper now and desperate, "I'll find a way. I won't let them have you. They've taken Mom and they've taken Dad, they've taken Jess from me too, but they can't have you." Sam's voice cracked as he said the last of that and it just killed Dean to hear it.

They were both screw ups. They were both hopeless. One mess after another they couldn't control, it just kept coming. Last year Dean was desperate to save Sam from becoming the antichrist or whatever crazy thing it might have been, and now Sam was just as desperate to save Dean's soul, all so they could be together and still be the brothers they were when they started. But they weren't the same anymore, neither of them was.

The silence over the phone this time might not have lasted quite as long, but it hurt twice as much. This wasn't the kind of chick flick moment Dean always tried to steer them away from, this went further than that because it was real and it hurt and there was no happy ending. How much Sam believed there could be only made it worse.

"Hey…Dean?" Sam said after the silence had become too much.

"Yeah?"

"If you weren't calling about all that, then…why were you calling? Did something happen?"

Damn. Dean had almost forgotten. He always forgot about himself when he was worrying over Sammy. "It's…not a big deal," Dean said. His problems seemed so much lesser now. He had to look out for Sam. That was more important.

Of course, he couldn't stop Sam from feeling the same way. "But Dean—"

"I said its nothing," Dean said more firmly. He couldn't deal with more of this. Not now. "Get some sleep," he said, "We'll pick you up the day after tomorrow."

Sam was silent for a moment and Dean was almost certain that his brother was going to press further for answers. If they had been together in person he knew Sam would have, and maybe when they got back together Sam would for sure, but for now he simply said, "Okay, Dean," and left it at that.

"And no more heroics, ya got me," Dean added. The last thing he needed was to worry about Sam going all Clint Eastwood with the Colt.

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice so soft and young sounding, Dean would have teased him for sounding twelve if he had it in him to lighten the mood, "Yeah. I got you."

After they hung up Dean stood out there by the Impala for a long time, letting the minutes tick by. It just kept piling on, the pain, the weight. Dean needed sleep. He wanted a drink more but he doubted he could have driven safely to find a bar right now. So instead, when he thought he had calmed himself down enough, he went into the motel.

Sasha was waiting for him, sitting on the second bed with his arms resting on his thighs and staring right at the door as Dean came through it. Dean had almost forgotten he had another conversation waiting for him in the room.

"How's Sam?" Sasha asked. Dean hated how much Sasha sounded like Sam then, all soft tones but broken.

Dean decided he could use this. "Out of his fucking mind, that's how," he said, taking off his leather and tossing it hard onto a chair. This awarded him a curious glance, proving Sasha had taken the bait and maybe Dean could keep their conversation right here and call it a night that much sooner. "He fixed the Colt," Dean explained.

Sasha's brow furrowed. "That's good, isn't it?"

Good. Ha. A bitter laugh fell from Dean's lips. "And he's already tested it," he said.

Again Sasha didn't respond with words, but his expression showed recognition, and Dean knew Sasha got the real point now.

As Dean sat down on his bed facing the space between the both of them, Sasha moved to sit across from him parallel. "I told him to wait for us," Dean said, staring at his hands and twisting the silver ring around his finger, "Killing every demon we come across isn't going to help us figure things out."

Damn. Dean hadn't meant to say it quite like that, and when he looked up he could tell Sasha was curious about what Dean really meant. Now was definitely not the time to tell Sasha about the deal. Dean doubted there ever would be a time that he would consider right. Maybe the Heavens would open up some day and be merciful so it would never matter.

Right. Dean tried not to snort at the thought. The only good side that existed was hunters. Mom was wrong. There were no angels looking out for him.

"Sorry," Dean said, though he wasn't really sure what he was apologizing for. He wanted to sleep, but he knew Sasha wouldn't let him off the hook quite yet. "Look…about earlier," Dean tried, staring at his hands again and twisting his ring that much harder, "I'm not…mad at you or anything. That lullaby…the one you were singing? It's the same one my mom used to sing to me and Sammy when she was alive."

Out of the corner of Dean's eye he saw Sasha flinch and sit up straighter. "Oh. Geez, Dean, I'm…I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," Dean said, shaking his head with half a smile that was at least half real, "You couldn't have known. I didn't even remember that song til I heard you singing it. I guess it just…shook me up a little," and Dean was pleased that at least everything he had just said was the complete truth. He figured he would end with another truth then, and looked up to catch those too blue eyes, "Nice vocals, by the way."

And since Sasha smiled maybe things were going to be okay after all. "Thanks."

Sleep called to Dean like a siren, dreams be damned, and he slapped his hands on the mattress as he said, "Ready to call it a night?"

"Sure," Sasha replied, but then his smile vanished and his eyes stared into Dean like a ghost, like he was looking right through him and knew there was more to say, "Soon as you answer my other question," he added.

Crap. Damn Dean for dreaming loudly.

"Come on, Dean, you didn't really think I'd forget, did you?"

No, but Dean had still hoped. Really, he should know better than that by now. Dean forced a smile but he couldn't look at Sasha directly anymore, forcing his gaze to the side where he focused on the bathroom door. "They're just nightmares," he said.

"About me."

"I never said that."

"You said my name, Dean."

"You said I looked right at you," Dean countered, remembering the way Sasha had described things on the rooftop, "Ever think that was the reason I said your name?"

"Dean." Sasha sounded firm and unimpressed with Dean's lying. Again it reminded Dean so much of Sam he felt like he was having the same conversation all over again, only this time he was the one defending himself.

"Crazy shit happens to us all the time," Dean said, only meeting Sasha's eyes every few seconds before having to look away again, "We're hunters. Nightmares are practically in the job description."

Sasha's voice was so calm it made Dean shiver. "Nightmares about me," the incubus said again.

"God damn it," Dean ran a hand through his hair, one of the many mannerisms that increased whenever he was dealing with Sasha and failing miserably at making sense of things. He tried with extra effort to stay focused on Sasha's eyes as he spoke. They were just so blue, so understanding, so caring, it almost hurt to look at them for too long. "Look. Not every dream I have with you in it is bad, ya know," Dean said. That was far from a lie, even if Dean wasn't about to elaborate.

But of course Sasha had to smirk, his serious expression breaking into his flirtatious one, where Dean felt surprisingly safer. "Oh really?" Sasha said, his voice already dripping with innuendo, "What are the other ones like?"

This was Dean's chance to counter Sasha with a snarky comment of his own so they could laugh about it, call things good, be easy friends again, the end. But instead Dean felt a different answer rise up within him, and he was smirking too as he said, "Wouldn't you like to know."

It wasn't like Dean, not with someone of the same gender anyway, and certainly not with Sasha. Dean blushed and stammered and got all teenage boy embarrassed when Sasha flirted with him. Dean did not blatantly flirt back.

Sasha's smirk fell, but his eyes stayed so intensely trained on Dean that even if Dean had wanted to look away, he wouldn't have been able to. There was so much heat in that look, so much want. Dean physically felt hotter under that stare.

Two weeks, more now since the 'incident' as Dean thought of it, and nothing. Dean had his dreams, Sasha occasionally said something flirty but still harmless, and they became closer as friends without the confusion. Well, there was confusion, but not openly, not the way it had been when Dean was high on pheromones and Sasha kissed Dean so tenderly on the cheek.

Dean was bringing it all back now, more than talking about his nightmares ever could. Even playfully saying something like Dean had just said was plain cruel to Sasha if Dean didn't mean it. Sasha liked Dean as more than a friend, and much more than a meal. And Dean. Well.

Dean didn't feel like taking what he had said back. Not a word of it.

He quirked his mouth up into even more of a smirk and said, "Now can we call it a night?"

Sasha's eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he was trying to read Dean's emotions, or maybe his thoughts, and wasn't quite sure about his findings. Well that was fine with Dean, because he wasn't sure of anything either. What he did know was that he didn't want to be afraid anymore of trying to figure things out.

Fear of any kind was for the weak. And Dean Winchester was not weak.

"Yeah," Sasha said finally, looking fairly tired himself, "We should sleep."

They didn't say much more as they started getting ready for bed. Dean tossed away his pants and over shirt, keeping to his T-shirt and shorts. He was ready before Sasha was, and looked over, seeing his friend had lost most of his clothing and was taking off his own T-shirt now, leaving a bare back with those wing-like tattoos and long bare legs. Sasha turned to put his dirty clothing in a neat pile, much neater than Dean's haphazard tossing, and Dean saw the other tattoo, the one that tied up his stomach in knots whenever he caught a glimpse of it. Sasha was wearing black boxer briefs this time too. They looked so stark against the incubus' pale skin with the red hair and blue eyes.

Dean let himself stare, let himself wonder, because that was the first step in facing this fear. Wondering.

If Sasha had noticed Dean's peeping eyes he didn't say anything about it, he just got into bed, smiled over at Dean more easily than he had in a long time and said, "Goodnight, Dean."

Dean got under his covers then too. "Night."

It was crazy. Dean knew it was crazy. But it had taken him over two weeks to get this far. Maybe Sam had gone through this when he was in college, the time so many other guys ask themselves _that_ question. Dean hadn't gotten that chance, never let himself wonder. But Sasha was…_Sasha_. Dreams be damned, Dean wanted to wonder now. He owed Sasha at least that much. And he owed himself even more. Especially if he really only had a few months left.

As Dean fell into sleep, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. That night he dreamt of his mother, and the lullaby played faintly the entire time in the background in Sasha's smooth baritone voice. Dean wasn't sure he understood what it meant, but he felt safe there, and that was definitely better than crazed incubuses or brothers with yellow eyes. Definitely.

-----

It was a day's drive from Danville to Bobby's place in South Dakota, and since Dean was anxious to get to his brother, they had already decided to take turns driving and sleeping so they could get there by the next morning. It would be the first time Dean allowed Sasha to drive the Impala, which Dean impressed upon his friend was a very big deal.

Sasha assured Dean that he had driven everything from a '65 mustang to a minivan and a Harley Davidson. He just preferred not owning a vehicle himself. This Dean couldn't understand, but he trusted Sasha enough to handle his baby for a few hours. If anything went wrong, however, there would be hell to pay, he had been quite clear about that.

Twenty-four hours in a car was very different with family than with a friend. There was still all this stuff Dean wanted to know about Sasha, but being a guy he couldn't just come out and ask. It had to come more naturally, so it didn't feel like bonding even though it was.

A competition of what movie is this quote from informed Dean that "Fight Club" actually was one of Sasha's favorite films, which of course left Dean to full teasing rights over how Sasha chose to wear his pants. Dean also discovered something about Sasha that he never thought would be true of a hunter. It was Dean's inability to guess the origins of an apparently famous quote that started the discussion.

"I have no idea."

"Come on, we're talking classic here."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Sorry, man, I'm drawing a blank. I've never seen any flick with the phrase, 'They're coming to get you Barbara.' What's it from?"

A glance at Sasha showed that the incubus was highly scandalized by Dean's lack of pop culture reference on this one, but Dean really had no idea where the line could be from. "Dean," Sasha said with a touch of patronizing in his voice, "Night of the Living Dead. George A. Romero. Most famous zombie movie or horror movie line ever. How do you not know that?"

Dean was full out laughing before Sasha even finished the film's title. Sasha had to be kidding. "Dude, a zombie movie? You can't honestly be telling me you watch those cheesy horror films."

Again, Sasha looked scandalized if not downright offended. "You mean you don't? We're hunters, it's like…our lives on camera. Why wouldn't I want to watch?"

For a minute there Dean had almost forgotten Sasha never worked with other hunters before attaching himself to the Winchester duo. "Okay, I'll give you the Evil Dead movies, but only coz I caught them on cable while hold up with Sam waiting for Dad way back when. Watching them on purpose though? Dude, hunters never watch that crap. It's fiction. They get everything wrong. I watch slasher films, sure, for the hot chicks and shower scenes, but zombies? I just don't see the point in watching something about stuff I know the truth about. People watch horror to get scared, right? Sorry, but movie zombies don't scare me."

Although Sasha no longer looked affronted, he eyed Dean with a scrutinizing gaze for a long time before finally speaking again. "Okay, I see what you mean. I think you're wrong, but I get it. I'm not saying movie zombies scare me or anything. I mean, I am an incubus."

Dean snorted.

"But come on, Dean, what about watching them for fun?"

At that, Dean turned to stare at Sasha with a raised eyebrow. Horror movies for fun?

"Give me one chance," Sasha said, smiling half like he was up to something and half just plain amused, "One movie. If Slither isn't right up your alley, I'll admit defeat. It's newer so you won't have to make fun of the horrible effects. And it's not even really zombies. Technically it's an alien."

Dean had to laugh at that. Sasha was sincerely preaching the merits of zombie movies to a born hunter. Since he had to give the guy credit for even trying, he figured he pretty much had to give in. "All right, all right. One movie. Slither?" he repeated. That title just spoke volumes of cheese.

"Trust me," Sasha said.

They hadn't had much opportunity to hang out like friends since Minnesota, what with searching for demons and that ghost in Danville. Dean kind of liked the idea of getting some junk food, a few beers, and watching a flick. He smirked to himself about it being kind of like a date, but didn't dare ask if Sasha meant it that way.

A thought occurred to Dean that he was giving in a little too easily, so he decided he needed to even the playing field a little.

"I'll watch your film, but there's gotta be a trade off here."

"Sure," Sasha said easily, "What do you want?"

That was a dangerous question. Sam would never have been foolish enough to say something like that. It made the mischievous side of Dean cheer. "Let's say you owe me one. Something comes up and I ask you to do something, you gotta do it. No questions asked."

Now Sasha was grinning, and Dean sensed the inevitable coming long before it did. "Is that sexual harassment?" Sasha teased.

Ha. "Only if you're working for me now," Dean threw right back. They shared friendly smiles, eyes lingering on each other until Dean had to look away. Still, it wasn't as scary as it used to be. "Besides, I think I have something in mind already," Dean said, not trying to hide the deviousness to his smirk at all, "Trust me."

-----

Dean woke up with an hour left in their drive. It was nine in the morning he noticed with some surprise, since Sasha started driving at about eleven the night before and said he would wake Dean up in a few hours. Dean's initial instincts were to smack Sasha one for being such a damn martyr—again. But when Dean looked over he saw that Sasha hadn't noticed he was awake yet, and was quietly singing along to the song on the radio. Sasha had Dean's Screaming Trees tape playing, singing soft but clear to one of Dean's favorite ballads, 'Look at You'. Dean lost all urge to hit the man. He was starting to like hearing Sasha sing.

It was halfway into the second verse that Sasha glanced over, laughing a little at being caught. "Sorry," he said, "Did I wake you?"

Typical. "I think the main problem here is that you didn't, jackass." Dean said, though of course he was smiling, "You know what time it is?"

"I can read time, yes," Sasha smirked back, "You just…sounded like you were having a good dream this time. I didn't have the heart to ruin it for you."

A good dream? Dean didn't remember dreaming at all. He had the same feeling as the first time Sasha heard him dreaming, and wondered if he had said something incriminating. He decided not to ask. Good dreams were good. Even if he didn't remember them.

"Sit back," Sasha smiled, "We're not far now. I can finish the drive."

"Must be my baby," Dean said, deciding he _would_ sit back and enjoy the rest of the trip if Sasha insisted so much, "Nothing rides as smooth as she does."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd say that," countered Sasha.

Dean looked over and caught Sasha's eyes, seeing that same heat in Sasha's expression he had seen last night. It almost made Dean shiver, but somehow he managed to turn it into a laugh that continued well into the rest of their drive.

Bobby and Sam had coffee waiting for them when they arrived, along with doughnuts and good company. It took Dean awhile to get Sam alone, but when he did he didn't waste any time.

"Any more bright ideas floating around in that head of yours?" Dean asked. Bobby was so pleased to have Sasha at his place for the first time in so many years, he insisted on showing him a few more things he had of his father's, which Sasha was more than willing to investigate.

"I'm working on it," Sam replied, sitting down on Bobby's couch as Dean came over to join him, "At least we have the Colt."

"Yeah. Try not to be so trigger happy next time though." Dean did and didn't mean his barb to be so harsh. He hated when Sam beat himself up over things, but damn the kid needed some sense knocked into him once in a while.

"Dean, listen, I've been thinking."

Oh great, Dean thought. Sam thinking either saved his ass or pissed him off, and since the deal still stood he doubted Sam had any way of saving him right now. "What?"

"Maybe we need to tell Sasha about the deal," Sam said, "It's going to start getting harder to keep it from him."

Dean was right. It did piss him off. "No," he said with finality. That was the last thing Dean wanted to do right now.

Sam looked surprised and gave Dean his 'you're kidding me, right?' look. "No?" he repeated, clearly unable to see the bigger picture here.

"Why make him worry over nothing," Dean said. Then he elbowed Sam a little and cast his most flashy grin, "You're gonna save me, right?"

"Dean." Apparently Sam wasn't in the mood to crack jokes.

Dean grimaced. Sam was so much easier to con when he was younger. "He doesn't need to know, okay?"

"But maybe he could—"

"Just drop it, Sammy." If the look on Sam's face was any indication, Dean's tone had been a little too harsh just then. He couldn't help it. He was finally starting to figure things out with Sasha, if only a little. The last thing he wanted to do was mess everything up by saying, oh by the way, I'm going to Hell. "If we have to tell him one day, fine. But not before then," Dean said more calmly. He didn't care if there were more selfish reasons than logical ones. He wasn't ready for Sasha to know.

Sam didn't like this decision, that was certain, but he conceded anyway. At least for now. "Okay. So where are we going to go from here?"

Much better. Hunting Dean understood. "Sasha and I caught wind of a case on the way here. Texas. Could be demons. We'll fill you in over a couple of beers later. Right now all I wanna do is relax. You wanna research and all that, be my guest. I've been in a car for twenty-four hours."

"Whatever," Sam said, finally smiling, "You know love every second you're in that car."

Dean shrugged. "Can't deny that. Still feel like staying the day though. And night. If that's okay with you, Bobby?" Dean added, noticing that Bobby and Sasha had come around the corner and were making their way towards them.

Bobby had a small box in his hands, Dean noticed. He nodded amiably enough in reply to Dean's query. "Can't argue with company," Bobby said. He sat down in one of the chairs, Sasha took the one next to him, and Bobby gestured Sam and Dean to come closer. "See this?" Bobby said, opening the top of the box that looked suspiciously like a snuff box. Sam got up to move closer, but Dean's seat was near enough to Bobby and he could see easily that the box contained old pictures. "Don't go making fun now, but this one here was the first time I met Deklin Kelly."

Dean's ears perked at that. Sasha in the other chair was beaming. He loved hearing stories about his dad, it seemed, while Dean and Sam usually got pissed as hell with what they heard. Mainly because it drove them crazy to learn all the things John had kept from them. Sasha never got to know his dad. For him this was like Christmas.

Bobby plucked out the photo in question, holding it out for the boys to see. It was candid, not posed, something another hunter friend at the time had taken. Deklin Dean recognized, looking a few years younger than he had in the photo Sasha once showed them, but about the same otherwise. It was Bobby who was surprising and Dean understood why the man had told them not to make fun. Bobby was Dean's age and it was the late 70s. His hair was past his shoulders, his face wearing a longer beard than he wore now, and he was wearing a muscle shirt.

The most amazing thing, Dean supposed, was how good Bobby looked in that muscle shirt. The man was pretty fit back then.

"Shit, Bobby, you're almost attractive," Dean said, couldn't help himself really, "Well, for a member of ZZ Top," he added.

The others laughed but Bobby gave Dean a look that could have wilted a flower if there had been any in the vicinity. "Laugh it up, pretty boy. I have pictures of you in here too, so I'd be careful."

"What pictures?" Sasha asked before Dean or Sam could look worried about possible blackmail material Bobby had just admitted having of them. Sasha looked way too devious. "Are these baby naked in the bath pictures or more middle school geek with glasses pictures?"

"Hey," Dean resented that. He wasn't a geek in middle school. He couldn't deny the glasses though. "I didn't sign on to be ridiculed. Get back to the Kelly photos."

Bobby looked downright evil by now, looking through his little stash of various photographs, many of hunters Dean didn't know or at least didn't recognize, but quite a few of Deklin and many of little Sammy and Dean. They were some of the few hunter children after all, so on the rare occasion someone had actually taken a photo, Bobby had a copy. The ones of Sam and Dean were mostly school pictures, each one goofier than the next in Dean's opinion. Dean took small solace in how much more of a geek Sam was than he had been, especially around fourteen when he filled out for a couple years and was actually pretty chubby. By senior year the kid was a beanpole though, having shot up taller than Dean where he would stay.

They flipped through all of the pictures, stopping when one caught their eye. It was almost like reliving memories of a normal life, even though theirs hadn't been anything close to that. Even Sam was laughing when they'd find a picture of them as kids, though, one or both of them usually grinning like an idiot.

"There's one of Dean," Sasha said, near the end of the pile, but when Bobby picked it up Sasha didn't look so sure anymore, "Wait…"

"That's Dad," Sam filled in, much more easily visible now as Bobby held the photo up to the light. John looked younger than Sam, younger than he was when he hunted even. His hair was dark as always, which was one of the first signs it couldn't be Dean, but since his face was shaven and thinner, the mistake was understandable.

"I've never seen this picture," Dean said, reaching over to take it from Bobby, "He looks barely nineteen."

"Senior picture of high school, I think," Bobby explained, "Fell out of his wallet one day and told me to toss it. Well, I'm not one to throw memories away as easily as all that. Figured maybe one day someone would want to remember John was a normal kid once. You go ahead and hang onto that. More your property than mine anyway."

Dean studied the picture for awhile, holding it over for Sam to give it a good look too.

Their dad was smiling so big, those same dimples Sam had in abundance were showing proudly. Dean couldn't remember ever seeing their Dad smile or laugh hard enough to show dimples.

"I used to think you looked the most like him, Sammy," Dean said, indicating the dimples especially, "Scary seeing this picture though. I almost thought it was me for a second there too." Dean didn't have those dimples. He just had one, on his left side, and it only showed if he was laughing so hard he might as well just go ahead and fall over. But the rest of his face, yeah, there was some of Dad alright. Maybe more than Dean liked to admit.

They finished going through the pile. Bobby only gave up two pictures. That one of John to Sam and Dean, and that first one he had showed them of him and Deklin Kelly to Sasha. The rest he tucked away again, though Dean swore he would steal his eighth grade picture some day—pretty damn geeky, big 80s glasses and all, he couldn't deny it—though he was even more afraid Sasha would try and beat him to it.

They were lazy for half the day and diligent in looking into possible cases and telling Sam about the one in Texas the other half. Dean stuck to his word, and said they would finish telling Sam about Texas over dinner and some beers.

"Join us, Bobby?" Sasha asked as he slipped on his jacket. That was a good sign if ever there was one; Sasha actually instigating more contact with Bobby. It made Dean almost proud, like he had to give himself credit for the whole thing.

"You boys go ahead," Bobby said, waving his hand, "Got a few things to work on here. I'll have beds for you when you get back."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Dean half wondered if Bobby let them go out alone because he felt left out, no longer being one of the young bucks or whatever, though Dean knew they would have made him feel just like one of the boys if he had come out. Sam mentioned the same thing in the car, being Sam, but they drove on anyway, to a little bar and grill they had come to know pretty well with all their time spent at Bobby's.

Getting settled, ordering food, sipping his first beer of the night, Dean felt good. Really good. These chances to be normal, or at least pretend they were, came so few and far between that he liked getting a few extras thrown in whenever he could. Sam needed it. Sasha needed it. Damn, he needed it too. It was harder to convince Sam to have fun when it was just the two of them, but Sasha was a good influence.

"Dean, you didn't know 'They're coming to get you, Barbara'?" Sam laughed, only on his second beer while Sasha and Dean enjoyed their third.

"How do you know it?" Dean pressed. Sam wasn't exactly into horror movies when he was a kid. He used to crawl into Dean's bed over that 'Are You Afraid of the Dark' show and the kid was frickin' nine years old. Granted, Sam had only found out those things in the dark were real a year before then.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, already looking more smiley what with the company and a couple beers warming him. "I went to college, remember?"

"And yet I can still drink you under the table. Go figure," Dean smirked back. College boy had nothing on him.

"Slither when we get to Texas?" Sasha asked. He clearly wasn't going to let Dean forget about that. "It can be how we celebrate ending the hunt."

"Slither?" Sam questioned.

"All right, you're on," Dean said, not about to forget that he had something in the works for Sasha too. He had awhile to wait until the incubus' birthday, but when the time came Dean knew exactly how he wanted Sasha to repay him.

"What's Slither?" Sam asked again.

Dean took another swig of his beer and gave Sam a look. "Who said you were invited?"

Sasha chuckled into his Blue Moon then downed the rest of it. "Next round?" he said, getting up from the table.

Sam looked ready to protest but was too busy scowling at Dean. Sasha was gone then and Dean smacked Sam on the shoulder. "Dude, stop being a girl. We're just teasing you."

Sam's voice was very plain and very sober when he replied. "Teasing me…or teasing Sasha?"

What the hell? "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean didn't like that look of Sam's, that holier than thou expression he knew too well.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Dean, you know Sasha likes you. It's not exactly nice the way you're leading him on."

"Who's leading who on?" Dean grumbled, "Mind your own business."

"I'd just hate for him to get the wrong idea and…I don't know…"

"What? For me to break his heart? Come on, Sammy, lighten up." Dean finished the rest of his beer then, and frankly couldn't wait for Sasha to bring round four. Why did Sam have to go and talk about this? Dean didn't need anything pointed out. It was much easier to just let things happen.

Sam trying to play Good Samaritan mediator wasn't helping. "Just…be careful, Dean. He may need to feed regularly from other people, but just because he's an incubus doesn't mean his feelings for you aren't real."

Damn it, Dean knew that. He wasn't trying to lead Sasha on at all. But if he came right out and said that, then Sam would ask questions, and then Dean would have to really think about it, and then everything would go to hell.

Wait. What had Sam said? Feeding? Dean couldn't remember the last time Sasha had actually fed. Hotel runs lately, sure, like back in Minnesota, but Dean remembered well that Sasha said he needed to have actual sex at least once a month or things got scary.

The last Dean remembered was that Ian kid. It had certainly been a month since then.

"There's a relief," Sam said, nodding towards the bar, and apparently having been thinking about the exact same thing as Dean, "I was starting to worry Sasha was pining over you so much he'd forgotten to feed for real. That wouldn't have been good."

Dean glanced up at the bar, finding Sasha easily in the crowd what with the red hair. He was talking to a girl, dark wavy hair, big smile, leaning in towards Sasha like she was very interested in getting out of there, and not alone. Sasha was leaning right back, smiling right back, and there was no denying what the ultimate goal was for both of them.

There was a twinge in Dean's chest that started small but quickly grew the more he watched Sasha chat up the girl. At the back of Dean's mind he knew the right reaction should be relief. Sasha needed sex to survive, for crying out loud, and he had already gone dangerously long without it. It's not as if Dean was about to offer himself, and surely Sasha knew that. It shouldn't bother Dean. It wasn't fair, it made Dean think about this when he didn't want to think at all, he just wanted to let things happened, God damn it, but fair or not, it was necessary.

Sasha was an incubus. Dean didn't care. Dean liked him regardless, liked the incubus part within itself even. But it still came with complications.

Dean almost laughed at that. His whole fucking life was complicated. His brother was the possible antichrist, his best friend and…whatever else Sasha was…was an incubus who moonlighted as a hunter, and Dean himself was only a few months from an eternity in Hell. Dean hated all of it.

He stared at Sasha at the bar and for a moment Sasha looked right back at him. Maybe if Sasha had smiled, waved, anything else, Dean could have just forgotten everything and pretended they could be friends without adding confusion. But Sasha's eyes flashed with that sadness, with regret he could do nothing about, and Dean knew right then how screwed he was.

There was no turning back now.

tbc...

A/N: I guess all I want to know is whether or not Dean's chaotic mind over all this made sense. I wanted to convey that Dean is trying to see where his feelings for Sasha lead him without really addressing those feelings directly but also without being afraid. In the end there then he is recognizing that Sasha being an incubus could ruin everything, but doesn't have to because Sasha clearly would rather be with him. That leaves Dean still confused, liking someone who has to sleep with other people, but unable to leave things alone and let them just be friends now that he knows Sasha regrets what he can't control. Hell, did that even make sense? Sigh. Let me know folks. Dean's head makes mine spin.

Anyway, this is going to be difficult as Dean works on this, but I do know exactly where things are leading. Try to imagine being Dean and how needing to work through this slowly also makes it harder since Sasha has to have sex with other people along the way. I never said anything would be easy.

Crim


	16. Part 3: Unfinished Business

Part 3: Unfinished Business

-----

Dean had three choices that night when Sasha went home with the woman from the bar. He could get angry. He could pretend he didn't care. Or he could let it go, let it _be_ okay because Sasha was Sasha and Dean couldn't change that, wouldn't change that. He would just have to accept the incubus complications if anything were ever going to happen.

Thinking too hard about any of this still made a lump rise up in Dean's throat. So he wouldn't think. He'd just let things be. Dean liked being optimistic, because after all, he was going to Hell in a few months. He needed optimism. And Sasha was worth letting happen…whatever was going to happen.

Shameful blue eyes stared at Dean over the breakfast table the next morning. Dean couldn't say anything, not with Bobby and Sam right there, so he held Sasha's gaze for as long as he dared and grinned, giving the smallest nod possible. If Sasha could read emotions than Dean should be an open book right now, even if he didn't fully understand all of the feelings stirring within him. He just needed Sasha to understand they were okay.

After a moment Sasha nodded back, just as subtly, attempting a smile of his own though it still carried regret. Just like Sammy, Dean thought, kicking himself for things he has no control over. Dean decided it would be his mission to rid both brother and friend of that horrible trait. They really needed to lighten up.

The trio started out for Texas after breakfast, thanking Bobby for the free stay and food, and for their pictures, and agreeing to call—as always—if anything came up. They had the Colt now. It was a whole new ballgame. Dean just prayed this lead in Texas was real demons and not another wild goose chase.

It was weird having Sasha in the back and Sam beside him again. It had only been a few days, but as far as Dean was concerned their crew should always be a trio. Though it was nice to be rid of Sam for a little bit.

Dean smirked to himself at that, passing a glance over at Sam, who was buried in their father's journal. Then Dean realized something. Sam wasn't reading. He was writing in a place near the end of the book where there were added pages for new entries.

"I miss something?" Dean asked, keeping a wandering eye on the road as well as on his brother's face. They were halfway into Nebraska, nine hours from Childress, Texas where they were headed, and with all the open road they could ask for spanning before them.

Sam didn't look up from his writing, but said, "Just making a list so I can keep track."

"Of what?"

"My powers."

That made Dean pause, even if he was generally on the power bandwagon. After all it was better to have control over them if they were going to pop up anyway. Sam just said it so calmly, so off-hand, like it wasn't freaky that he had powers—plural. "Oh. So right now…we're looking at…how many?" Dean asked.

This time Sam did look up. It seemed he had finished jotting things down, so he gave Dean that little unsure smile of his before turning back to the journal. "Well, there's the visions, even though I haven't had one since the Devil's Gate opened. There's telekinesis. Strength. Control over demons. And energy concentration."

"Energy concentration?" Dean didn't know what that meant at first. Then he remembered the chipmunk. Really, he couldn't help smirking. "So you figured that was better than just saying 'my melting power'."

There was a chuckle from the backseat, but Sam turned to Dean with raised eyebrows, all holier than thou again. "It's not melting. I mean…okay, it melted the chipmunk, but it was more than that. It's…heat or electricity, I don't know, but…" Sam trailed off, more than likely because Dean was looking all bemused in his direction. "Fine. Melting power." Sam conceded, crossing the old line out of the journal.

Dean loved getting under Sammy's skin like that, especially when he won.

He was going to ask whether or not Sam had practiced any of those powers at Bobby's, before or after his miraculous resurrection of the true Colt—which Dean still hadn't heard full details on—but Sasha spoke up first.

"What power do you plan to work on next?" the incubus said. He sounded calm as hell too, probably because he also had powers, which, Dean realized, actually made him the freak in the group.

Ironic.

Sam set the notebook between the seats, done for now, and leaned back, hands folded on his lap as if he were thinking very hard about Sasha's question. He even closed his eyes, centering himself, Dean imagined, since his breathing immediately began to even out.

This made Dean fear suddenly for the safety of his car. Sam wasn't seriously about to practice a new power right now, was he?

Then Sam's voice came calm but severe from the other side of the car. "Dean_, turn on the radio_."

Dean had not yet decided which of his tapes he felt like listening to since they had finished off some Queensryche before the last pit stop. He didn't even question Sam's command though, he just reached over and flipped on the knob.

"_Find something Classical_," Sam said then, his eyes still closed and hands still docile on his lap, "I've had enough metal and classic rock for a lifetime let alone this morning."

Again, Dean did as he was told, not even really thinking about it. He just reached over and started searching the airwaves for a Classical station. But Dean hated Classical music. He didn't see the point to any music that didn't include singing, guitar or drum solos exempt, of course.

Once Dean had discovered the somber tones of some unknown Classical song, he pulled his hand away again and continued driving. "Good," Sam said to him, "Now…_why don't you tell Sasha all about your fear of flying_."

"I hate flying," Dean said at once, catching Sasha's eyes in the rearview mirror. They looked very wide right now, though Dean didn't want to wonder why. He had to tell Sasha about flying. "It scares the shit out of me. Every time I'm close to a plane I think it's gonna blow up or crash. How do they stay in the air anyway? It's not natural. The food's not so bad but the flight attendants are fake as hell, everything's small and cramped, and you can't stretch your legs out at all, so I just feel like shooting open one of those God damn windows and—"

"Okay, Dean," Sam broke in, sounding thoroughly amused and proud of himself, "_You can stop_."

Dean cut off right there, mid-sentence. Sasha was gaping at him through the mirror. Sam was trying not to chuckle. And Dean didn't understand any of it. Was something funny? What was going on?

A few moments later, when the haze started to leave Dean's brain, he finally got it. He doubted he had ever turned on Sam so fast.

"Son of a bitch, you just mojoed me!"

Sam was too busy full-out laughing now to respond.

But Dean was not happy and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Not funny. You wanna be Andy and use that mind control stuff, be my guest, but_don't_ use it on me." Dean was rightfully pissed. It's not as if Sam had asked permission or anything, he just went ahead and messed with Dean's mind.

Practically snarling, Dean reached over and flicked the radio off. Stupid Classical music.

Sam's laughter subsided and Sasha's wide eyes returned to normal, although both of them were smiling way too much. It wasn't funny, God damn it!

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, hardly sounding sincere in Dean's opinion, "I couldn't help it. I tried it on Bobby before, but even though I asked him first, I know it freaked him out. I figured you'd just tell me no if I asked you."

"Damn right I would," Dean grumbled, "Doesn't mean you get to do it anyway." It was bad enough when Andy did that, but that Ansem Weems kid made Dean put a sniper rifle to his chin without even having to use words. Dean understood why Bobby would get freaked out; it freaked the hell out of him too.

"Dean, really, I'm sorry," Sam said again, and this time there was something almost desperate in the words, like Sam had finally picked up on Dean's fear and realized his joke hadn't been taken anywhere near well, "I promise I'll never use it on you again. I was just…curious. It didn't work at first when I tried with Bobby. But like the others, once I wake one of these powers up…it's second nature."

That almost sounded like a confession. Dean wondered what else Sam wasn't telling him. Now he had to ask. "You practice the other powers at Bobby's?"

Sam looked away. All humor was gone from him now and Sasha was so quiet in the backseat he might not have even been there. "Yeah," Sam said, "Not the…melting one, but…the others. I picked up one of Bobby's junkers."

"Picked up?" Dean questioned. "With your hands or your mind?"

"Both."

Naturally.

Dean wanted to ask about the crossroads demon, but not with Sasha in the car. He wondered if Sam had tried to use his powers on her. Maybe he did, but since she didn't hold the contract it's not as if Sam could mojo her into releasing Dean from the deal. He might have forced her to say who _did_ hold the contract though, preferably before shooting her.

"Forget it," Dean decided on saying, since there was nowhere to go with this conversation but places Dean didn't like, "Just…prepare me next time okay. And if you ever try and get Classical shit over these speakers again…" Dean's expression was serious and deadly, but also amused. He knew Sam hadn't meant to upset him that much, and he did have to give the guy at least a little credit. If it had been someone else who got mojoed Dean would have found it pretty damn funny too.

Something about Dean's expression, the familiarity of it, Dean figured, made Sam relax. "Sorry," Sam said again, "Driver picks the music."

"Ya got that right."

It was quiet in the car for a while after that, but the tension hadn't completely dissipated. Dean waited for Sam to say or do something that might break it up again, but he wasn't surprised when Sasha did so first.

The incubus leaned forward in his seat and reached for their dad's journal. He didn't pick it up, but merely motioned to show what he wanted. Sasha knew the rules now. With some things you had to ask first.

"Mind if I take a look?" the incubus said, "I've been meaning to get my hands on it for awhile now, if that's okay, maybe compare with what I have in _my_ dad's notes."

"Go ahead," said Sam.

Dean nodded as well. They knew Sasha would be careful with it.

Most people flipped right to the middle—it was haphazard anyway, not alphabetized. But Sasha started right at the beginning. Dean almost said something, and since he saw Sam give a little twitch, he knew Sam was thinking the same thing.

The very beginning of the journal was just that, actual entries John wrote like writing in a diary. There were sixteen separate entries spanning over two months where John just wrote about losing his wife and how crazy he was going trying to figure out what really happened. Dean only knew about that because Sam mentioned it once, very briefly. Dean himself had never looked. Still, neither brother said anything to stop Sasha.

The car was silent again as Sasha read, turning pages slowly as he got caught up in those entries, unable to stop once beginning, even if he had looked up at one point, wondering if he was crossing a line. When he was finished, he closed the journal rather than continue into the hunting aspects.

After a few minutes, he spoke up. "Have you ever read the beginning?" he asked.

"Nope," Dean replied. He didn't feel like elaborating more than that.

"I did once," Sam admitted, "It's a whole other world than the rest of the journal."

"Yeah," Sasha agreed, even though he hadn't actually looked through the rest yet, "There was something particular that struck me. This one part, the first entry in December," Sasha said, opening the journal again.

Dean felt a moment of panic seize him as he realized Sasha was going to read something from that entry aloud. Dean didn't know if he wanted to hear it. He knew Sasha would never intentionally hurt him or Sam, so it couldn't be anything too bad. Still, Dean felt his whole body tense as Sasha read.

"Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night." Sasha stopped there but kept his eyes on the journal. "You were…four years old, Dean? Almost five? It's funny, but…I don't think much has changed with you two since your dad wrote this. He taught you to protect each other and others, to always watch out for each other. That's kind of…beautiful in a way." Sasha looked up and laughed very softly. "But maybe I'm just a sap."

Dean chuckled then too. "Yeah, you're at least a quarter girl by my calculations. Might wanna work on that."

Again Dean met Sasha's eyes in the rearview mirror and they smiled. After all, Dean couldn't admit that the journal entry made him feel like tearing up. He didn't remember much of back then, but it made a lot of sense to him, and it _was_ a sweet image—little not-quite-five him with little not-quite-one Sammy, sleeping in a crib not big enough for both of them.

Since Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him—big brown-green wet eyes that took everything too seriously—Dean just had to turn and say, "Quit looking at me like that, Bambi. Beg all you want, but there is no way I'm crawling in bed with you tonight. Dean cuddles don't come cheap."

While Sam did laugh in response to Dean being, well…_Dean_, Sasha laughed considerably harder. "Dean cuddles?" he managed through chuckles, "So tell me, how much is your going rate these days?"

Real funny. Dean couldn't admit defeat after a comment like that. "You figure that one out on your own maybe I'll give you a discount," he said. He was just continuing the banter after all. It didn't have to _mean_ anything. "Check out the incubus entry," Dean said then, since Sam was looking at him all judgmental again, "Dad only had a little in there. Sam's added some since we met you, but maybe you can think of stuff we've missed." It was almost like a trick, Dean thought, a way to find out more about Sasha without actually asking again. Genius.

Sasha looked almost eager as he flipped through the journal. It took a while to find the entry, but once he did he devoured it just as he had their dad's thoughts. While waiting for Sasha to finish reading, Dean could still feel those judgmental eyes boring into him. He glanced angrily over at Sam and mouthed, "What?"

Sam just shook his head.

Dean replied by rolling his eyes. Sasha was right, things hadn't changed much since they were kids. They had bigger, tougher bodies, and that was about it.

"There's plenty I could add," Sasha said suddenly, having entirely missed the brothers' exchange while he read, "But I wouldn't want to be self-indulgent here. What things do you want to know?"

Was Sasha actually saying that? It made it so easy. Dean could ask anything and it wouldn't matter because he had been invited to ask. Seamless.

Therefore, he decided to blame it on momentary dumbfounded-ness that Sam managed to ask a question first.

"I've…actually been wondering something," Sam said. Judgmental had fallen from his expression thankfully, but left in its wake that hesitant, soft-hearted look Dean also hated. "I wouldn't want to ask anything…inappropriate, but…this kind of is."

"Sam," Sasha said, smiling reassuringly and with a touch of humor, "I doubt there is anything you could ever ask me that I would consider inappropriate. I'm an open guy. I'd happily answer just about anything. Really."

Dean would have to remember that, not that he was surprised. "Okay," Sam said, stealing himself for whatever it was he was about to say. Then it came, and Dean felt the same twinge his brother was probably feeling. "Can you feed off rape?"

The car went so silent Dean had never before longed for his radio as much as he did right then. Why the hell had he turned the damn Classical off? It would at least be better than this. What was Sam thinking asking that?

But as always, Dean should have known better, because despite the dulling of Sasha's smile, it was still there. He wasn't offended, just somber, and his voice was very even when he spoke. "Yes," he said, no hesitation or attempt at glossing things over, "Indirectly like hotel runs and…directly too. But it wouldn't be enjoyable for us in the same way. The human body always gives off sexual energy during sex, whether you're really enjoying it or not, but…well. If an incubus or succubus was doing that, chances are they'd be pumping pheromones into the victim too, so it would be more like…consensual rape? Temporary insanity rape maybe. Like…well…like with me and Dean in Nebraska."

Damn. Just what Dean wanted. Another reminder of _that_.

Sam seemed to realize that his question had gone further than intended, so he spoke up quickly to steer them away from the topic completely.

"Never mind," he said, "I was just wondering. It was stupid."

"No, it was a valid question," Sasha replied. He was leaning back in his seat again and had the journal set down beside him. "There's a reason people fear us. A reason people call us demons. The bad eggs had to go and ruin it for the rest of us," he grinned, an at least half-real expression, "But for me…there's nothing worse,_nothing_ than taking someone who doesn't want it. Most of my kind would agree with that. But not all."

Great, Dean thought, Sasha's aunt wasn't the only rogue succubus or incubus out there. It was a scary thought, though Dean hadn't really let himself think about it until now. Then again, how many psycho humans were there out in the world? That should be scary enough.

Dean decided more action needed to be taken to change the subject.

"Dude, you gotta ask_good_ questions," he said, giving his brother his most incredulous look, "Serious discussion and road trips do not go together. For instance," he began, glancing up at Sasha in the mirror with a grin, "Any illegitimate half-incubus kids running around with that pretty red hair of yours?"

As was the desired reaction, both Sam and Sasha laughed. "No," Sasha managed, "No kids. FYI, what is known about my kind can be split into two camps, the one that thinks our main purpose is to feed from sex, and the one that thinks we feed from sex with the ulterior motive to procreate. The first one is correct, so anything that may seem like it would only work if the second was correct is wrong. No children. It is physically impossible for me to have children with a human. Thank God," he added with wide, mock-horrified eyes, "Imagine how many illegitimate cambions there'd be otherwise. Scary."

"Cambions?" Dean repeated.

"Just the term humans thought up," Sasha said, "Legend says Merlin was one, son of a human woman and an incubus. If he did exist, which would be way cool since I like the Arthur stuff, I'd bank more on Merlin being half-fae. Most pure fae can have children with humans, they just don't usually want to."

See, that was informative and interesting, Dean thought. Sam and his serious questions. Dean almost sighed. Serious questions made things way to heavy for Dean's liking. Real life got heavy enough.

Apparently, Sam thought they were taking turns or something, because he immediately spoke up again.

"Can I ask about that…what did you call it…hearth spell?" Sam said. Dean remembered that was what Sasha said when he poofed his aunt back to the incubus/succubus plane. He hoped it didn't bring up yet more serious discussion.

"It's simple enough," Sasha said. He actually seemed to be enjoying this extra attention. That shouldn't be surprising. This was probably the first time Sasha had ever talked about being an incubus to people who weren't also an incubus or succubus. In fact, when he was on the road before, he never had anyone to talk to about…anything. "Like I said, it's a fae spell, a way to bamf us back to our point of origin or birthplace. Generally that means the place our people gather."

"Wait," Sam broke in, his wide brow crinkling into several fine lines, "What does 'bamf' mean?"

Yeah, Sam was an idiot. "Dude," Dean said, because sometimes he wondered what genes he and his brother actually had in common, "Tell me you at least saw X-2."

"The second X-men movie? Sure."

"Blue guy? Nightcrawler?"

"I know who Nighcrawler is."

"Yeah? Well, when he goes poof, that's bamfing." Dean had the strangest feeling he had described this very thing to someone else once. Probably some annoying kid while they were on a hunt.

Sam looked unconvinced. "Why 'bamfing'?"

"It's how they write the sound effect in the comics," Sasha supplied. Common knowledge if you knew Marvel, or comics at all. Sam grew out of that a long time ago though, which was a damn shame as far as Dean was concerned.

"Okay…" Sam said, deciding not to add anything though he clearly considered Sasha and Dean to be twin geeks now, "Back to what we were walking about."

"Right," Sasha smiled. He caught Dean's eyes in the mirror yet again and they shared another secretive smile. "We use the spell to get home whenever we need to, and we can do it anywhere. Later, when it's time for us to leave again, we return to the same spot we used the hearth spell from."

Sam mulled over that a minute before asked a question Dean actually had to give the guy props for. "So hypothetical," he said, "You 'bamf' from here, right now. When it's time to come back, would you return to your spot in the car, or to a point in the road back there?"

Sasha's mouth opened only to close again. His brow crinkled, much as Sam's had, proving he had absolutely no idea how to answer that. "Huh," he said, "I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it. Shi might know. She's much more…" Sasha trailed, his eyes widening even larger than they had when he stood by and watched Sam unexpectedly mojo Dean, "Shit. I haven't called her since Iowa. She's gonna murder me."

Immediately, Sasha snatched his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Then he stopped, frozen, and looked slowly up again, like he didn't know how to dial.

"What the hell do I say? Sorry I bit your head off when you tried to be supportive of my exile? Sorry I got myself banished for killing your sister? Sorry I haven't called in weeks because I teamed up with other hunters, something you hate more than anything, and I just forgot? She…she must be so angry if she hasn't called first."

"Nah," Dean said, giving his best dismissive expression. The last thing he wanted was for Sasha's eyes to go all sad and Sam-like again. "I bet she just wanted to give you a little breathing time. Let you cool down. It's why she's waiting for you to call, so she knows you're ready." Dean smiled up at the mirror. "Wait any longer though and I'll bet she'll come after us like a harpy, so hurry your ass up back there."

Sasha laughed a little, which was always a good sign, and Sam gave Dean an approving nod. Dean really wished his brother would decide whether he was upset with him or not. The changing faces of Sam Winchester could get really annoying when you were constantly wondering which one you'd see next.

A few moments later Sasha had dialed his aunt's number, and judging by the conversation that followed, Dean had been entirely right. He liked that feeling. He also liked that he hadn't accidentally set Sasha up for disappointment.

It felt a little like an invasion, hearing Sasha's conversation in the backseat. They couldn't exactly step out for a moment in the middle of the highway, and turning on the radio would no doubt award Dean another glare from Sam instead of a smile. Dean tried not to listen too closely then, though of course he really couldn't help it. What caught his attention most was how insistent Sasha's aunt seemed to be about meeting him and Sam.

Sasha's cell phone was turned up enough that Dean heard very clearly when Shiarra said, "I should think I have the right to meet the men who have stolen my boy away from me."

Dean almost reached back and offered to talk with the succubus himself. He thought better of that quickly enough considering the nervous look on Sasha's face. Dean wasn't quite sure who his friend was more worried about, Shiarra and how she'd react around them, or vice versa.

Eventually, Sasha was wrapping things up, after several apologies and promises that one day they would all get together somehow, and that he would never forget to call like that again. Just as Sasha was hanging up though, he pulled the phone from his ear and glanced surprised down at it. Dean could see the screen blinking through the mirror and knew Sasha had someone on call waiting. Then Sasha was off with his aunt and had indeed picked up another call.

"Mr. Shaw?" he said, sounding as shocked as he looked.

That name clicked in Dean's head immediately. Daniel Shaw, the father of the family they had just saved in Danville.

"Calm down," Sasha said after listening for some time, "Everything will be fine. I promise. We're heading your way right now," he added, glancing up at Dean with an expression that was commanding and pleading at the same time.

As if Sam had mojoed him again, Dean didn't even think. He turned his baby around on the spot, looking for the closest way onto I-80 W towards Danville, California.

-----

After a night of driving, which they had at least planned for—though they didn't plan to be heading towards the west coast—the boys arrived in Danville mid-morning. The Shaws had stayed the night with friends, but were going to meet them at their apartment to explain things. Sasha had passed on to Sam and Dean what little information he got out of Daniel Shaw during the drive, but it wasn't much to go on yet.

Their haunt might be over, but the family was certain something else was playing tricks on them in their apartment. At first the tricks seemed harmless, like dirt in the coffee grounds, but something had happened the other morning that was much more serious.

"And that's all he'd tell me," Sasha said, stepping out of the Impala after Sam and Dean. He looked up at the apartment building and shook his head. "It can't be Marisol. She was cremated. The bone in that hex bag was it for her."

"Then what?" asked Sam. He hadn't met the Shaws but Sasha had warned Daniel in advance that there would be one hunter extra.

Sasha shrugged. "We'll have to get more information to know anything. He sounded really scared though. He never sounded that scared when we were dealing with Marisol."

The way Sasha's voice sounded so serious, so worriedly thoughtful made Dean feel that much more worried over the issue too. They had just driven nineteen hours to return to an apartment they had already exorcised of its ghost. Dean had been skeptical at first—sometimes people were more likely to think they were haunted if they had been haunted in the past—but Sasha's insistence was enough for Dean to allow the benefit of the doubt on this one.

They were heading inside, right on time for when they said they would meet with the Shaws. Dean stepped ahead to push the buzzer, Sam close beside him. While waiting for a response, Dean looked back and saw Sasha still standing by the Impala, staring off down the alleyway.

"See something?" Dean called. Sasha's face looked even more pensive.

For a minute Sasha continued to stare, searching for something it seemed, but he soon shook his head and made way for the stoop. "I don't think so. Just shadows or something. Thought I saw someone I knew."

The abrupt noise of Daniel buzzing them in shook Dean back to attention, enough that he forgot Sasha's comment and instead starting thinking of all the ways he could call Daniel stupid for buzzing them in without checking to see who it was first.

Amateurs.

"Like I said, it was silly at first. Harmless," Tegen Shaw was saying as she passed each of the boys a cup of coffee. They were supremely grateful for that, since none of them had been able to sleep too well on the drive there. "We even thought it might be Esther. Her stuffed animals were all lined up on the foot of our bed the first morning. When she said she hadn't done it we just assumed…" Tegen shook her head.

The couple was on the loveseat in the main room while Dean and the others sat on the couch, the coffee table between them. They had been remarkably welcoming of Sam, Dean's little brother, and Esther had taken to him much better than she did to Dean. Of course Sasha was the one she kept trying to get to go play in her room. At present she was sitting on the floor a few feet away, pulling a string around for their cat.

"Things started getting a little more…well…scary before nightfall," Tegen continued, "Furniture would be moved so that one of us tripped over it when it had been fine before, like with the ghost. Dangerous things would go missing and end up somewhere else, things Esther knows not to go near, like Danny's box cutter. I didn't want to think anything was wrong. I told myself it was a coincidence. The ghost was gone. But then…then…yesterday morning…" Tegen couldn't say it, whatever it was, but tears welled in her eyes so quickly that Daniel pulled her in close beside him.

"Look," Daniel said, casting his gaze on all three hunters respectively, "We'll have to show you. I will," he corrected himself, looking down at his wife who nodded appreciatively, "Tegen hasn't been back in the room since. Me either to be honest." He stood up then and motioned the boys to follow him to the main bedroom.

This was getting a little too "Sixth Sense" for Dean. They had freed Marisol's spirit. Nothing should be happening. Unless she had somehow left some unknown curse should her soul ever leave the apartment. Dean didn't like that thought. He was still hoping the Shaws were overreacting.

Then they entered the main bedroom and Dean felt his breath hitch.

Positioned in perfect outlines of where Daniel and Tegen's bodies would have been on the bed were what Dean assumed was every knife in the house. They were stabbed deftly into the mattress and bedding, deep enough to stand up, though half of the knives were butter knives. To make matters even creepier, Esther's stuffed animals were positioned at the foot of the bed just as Tegen said they had been the first morning, only now they had all been ceremoniously beheaded.

"There's just…no way Esther could have done this," Daniel said, holding a hand to his face as if he might retch at any moment, "And Tegen and I were both asleep. I woke up to her screaming. We had trouble enough getting out of bed without cutting ourselves. It just…it's just too much. Nothing like this ever happened with the ghost. It was as if…she was always trying to scare us not hurt us. This is…this is different."

Dean knew the last thing any of them needed to do right now was look freaked, because the Shaws were freaked enough. But damn if Dean didn't want to freak, if just a little. Beheaded stuffed animals? Knives doing some chalk outline thing around the parents while they slept? This was serial killer shit, for crying out loud.

Catching Sasha and Sam's eyes, Dean motioned his head back out of the bedroom. Both of them nodded.

"We're gonna…take a look around," Dean said, putting on his toughest face as he turned to Daniel, "See if we can figure this out, okay?"

Daniel nodded gratefully and took his cue to leave, heading back into the living room to sit with his wife and daughter.

Meanwhile, Dean and the others went into Esther's room to talk more privately.

"Dude, she's totally a changeling, one of those evil fairy kids Sam researched," Dean said, looking around at the stuffed animal devoid kid's room, "Only thing that makes sense."

"Esther?" Sasha stressed, skeptical on the borderline of being offended. He took way too many things personally. "Dean, Esther is not a changeling. You saw her out there. She's fine. No strange behavior, nothing. Besides, I can sense she's human. Some things can fool an incubus, but not a changeling."

Damn. Dean had really liked that theory. "Then what are we dealing with here? We've gotten nothing for EMF. Sammy?" Dean looked over at Sam, who was continuing taking readings of Esther's room as he had with the entire apartment.

Sam shook his head. Not even a blip.

"See?" Dean said, "Marisol is ashes, so we know we're not dealing with a ghost anymore. What does that leave us? Creepy things happening to parents, in parents' room, with kid's stuffed animals looking on to enjoy the show. You put the pieces together."

Sasha bent down and grabbed a bear head that had managed to remain in Esther's room, the stuffing seeping out where its body had been. "Yeah…I'm sure they're really enjoying themselves."

"Just hear me out," Dean said, "Let's go watch her awhile. I'd bet my baby's new paintjob it's the kid."

Sam was putting the EMF meter away as he went to stand next to Sasha. Both of them just had to look all doubtful. What was worse was that they were doubting him together, leaving Dean out in the cold with his theory despite all his better judgment telling him he was right.

"Do either of _you_ have any bright ideas?" Dean was experiencing some major déjà vu here.

And déjà vu continued as Sasha and Sam both shook their heads.

"Then let's go."

On that Dean walked into the hallway and headed for the living room. All he needed for proof that Esther was a changeling was some out of the ordinary behavior. It had only been a couple days. Daniel and Tegen might not have noticed yet. But Dean was a professional.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean said, smiling at the parents as he passed before turning his most charming grin on Esther. Dean could feel Sam and Sasha following behind him. They could look on with those matching judgmental stares all they wanted. Dean knew better than to trust pleasing guises. "So," he said to Esther, sitting cross-legged beside her on the floor, "Mind answering some questions to help us figure things out for you and your folks?"

Esther was smiling to herself as she continued to pull the string along the carpet for her cat. She looked at Dean sideways, giggled, then looked away again. If the kid was twenty years older and had done that Dean might have taken it as a sign of success. Unfortunately this was very different.

The movement of the string, so constant as Esther pulled it around, was distracting. Dean couldn't help looking down at it to watch the little white paws of the cat bat away with every movement.

"Cute cat. Must have been hiding from us those times before, huh? Afraid of the ghost?"

Esther giggled again and shook her head. "Tabby hid from the ghost, not Mr. White," she said, still keeping her eyes on the string as she trailed it.

"We had a cat before. Tabby," Tegen spoke up, "She just…wasn't the same with the ghost around so we gave her to some friends. We didn't think she'd want to come back after everything that happened so we let Esther keep this one. We took it as a good sign how he seemed so at home. But then Esther hasn't noticed anything scary either, and animals and children are supposed to be good about sensing this sort of thing, aren't they?"

"Most of the time," Dean said, not wanting to let the parents know he suspected Esther.

After watching a few moment more, Dean reached over and snatched the cat up. It struggled at first but gave in when he started stroking its back with firm scratches. The cat was small, young still but not as little as a kitten.

"Mind if I barrow this little guy?" Dean asked Esther.

She was smiling at how the cat took so easily to Dean and gave him a shy shake of the head. If the girl really was an evil creature in disguise and not the same girl they had dealt with before, than it was one damn good actor.

Dean smiled at Esther regardless and stood up with the cat to walk over to Sasha and Sam. "Maybe we should take Mr. White around. See if he hisses at any suspicious corners or anything."

"Dean," Sam said chidingly, "We're not using the cat as an EMF meter." Sam smiled apologetically down at the parents.

"Why not?" Dean started to say, but while he was holding the cat out towards his companions, Mr. White suddenly started struggling wildly again and hissing at Sasha. "Okay…" Dean said, pulling Mr. White back into his body to calm the cat down, "Something you wanna tell us?" he smirked at Sasha.

"Very funny," Sasha replied. Of course they had told Sam that the Shaws knew Sasha's little secret so there were no surprises there. "He knows I'm not human. Animals don't like when things look one way but are something else. I think I've managed to befriend a grand total of three pets in my entire life. Guess that's good though," he added, giving Dean a look, "Seems the cat would know if any _people_ around weren't human."

Dean got the reference. So much for his Esther theory.

After looking around a bit more and coming up with absolutely no further ideas, the hunters excused themselves to go back to the car and collect more equipment—mainly Sam and Sasha's laptops for research since they were drawing a complete blank. They powwowed a bit outside the apartment door.

"Let's give it a while longer before we call Bobby," Sam said, since that had been one of the first suggestions Dean gave when they were outside, "There has to be something we're missing. Something obvious."

"Well Esther's human, the parents are freaked, and we're getting zip for readings," Dean said, "No sulfur either, not that I expected to find any. Maybe it really was just pranks. Neighbor kids or something. Sasha?" Dean turned to his friend for corroboration, but Sasha wasn't paying attention. His head was turned, looking down the hallway, and his eyes seemed distant. "Yo!" Dean said more loudly, causing Sasha to jump back to attention, "You with us, pal?"

The blue of Sasha's eyes cleared from their haze and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Thought I heard voices."

"Voices?" Sam repeated. His expression spoke of worried understanding since he had experienced so many waking visions in the past.

Dean, however, doubted this was worth getting worried over. "First you're seeing things outside, now voices?" he teased, "Dude, that's not good no matter how supernatural you are." He shared a smile with his friend and then smacked Sasha good and hard on the back. "You need sleep, man. Or you're thinking too much about this case. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," Sasha nodded, looking just as tired as Dean had pointed out, "I just get the feeling something's—" Sasha stopped with a jolt, his eyes bulging suddenly as he lurched forward, right into Dean's side. Dean tried to keep his friend upright, but Sasha fell too quickly, collapsing right there on the floor.

Letting himself fall with Sasha, Dean tried to keep a hold on him, but it was as if something was attached to Sasha and trying to tug him away. It was lucky there was no one in the hallway, because Sasha started shifting into his full incubus form as soon as he hit the ground. Then, before either Winchester could even begin to understand what was happening, Sasha stared at Dean with wide, pained red eyes before being pulled—impossibly—into the wall where he vanished without a mark left in the plaster.

tbc...

A/N: Hehehe. I would like to thank one of my readers--you know who you are--for commenting on how much more I could do with Marisol than I had. This inspired a great deal just by mulling that over, and has been a great help in helping me solidify how I will be eventually getting to the Gordon aspects. Hee. This should be fun. Any guesses?

Also, that journal entry of John's is real. You can read those first few pages of his journal at the official site, though I recommend going to the 'Winchester Journals' site because you can read them there in easier print. Love you all!

Crim


	17. Part 4: His Wicked Ways

Part 4: His Wicked Ways

-----

"No!" Dean clutched after Sasha's hands but they were already gone. Diving forward as if he could follow Sasha right into the wall, Dean called again and pressed his fingers to the spot his friend had vanished, "Sasha!" But all he found was hard plaster, cold and mocking.

Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. There was no way that actually just happened. One moment Sasha was standing there talking to him, and the next he was gone, having completely disappeared into the wall. Dean might not know everything about Sasha, but he was pretty damn sure that phasing was not one of his friend's incubus powers.

The impossible was something Dean understood well—he saw it everyday—but this still shook him. Slowly, he rose from the ground, his fingers trailing up the wall as he went. He saw in his periphery that Sam reached forward to touch the wall too. It was solid, that was certain. Wherever Sasha had gone, they couldn't follow him the same way. Then Dean glanced towards the nearest door on that side of the hallway. He sprinted right for it.

"Dean!" he heard Sam call after him, but he wasn't listening. Sasha couldn't just be _gone_.

Dean was knocking on that nearby door vigorously the next second. "Uhh…hi there," he said to the elderly gentleman who eventually answered. Dean knew he was fidgeting something fierce, which wasn't exactly behavior that made people trust a stranger, but he had to get a look inside that apartment just to be sure Sasha wasn't magically on the other side of the wall—safe.

Attempting a rather poor excuse for his usual smirk, Dean continued.

"I, uhh…don't suppose anyone's…come through your apartment recently? Maybe? Unexpected…guest of some kind?"

The old man blinked at Dean with a furrowed brow. "Only person to come knocking on this door, son, was my Meals on Wheels this morning. You want something?"

Dean tried to look harmless as he peered inside, staring over the man's head to look to the left where Sasha would be if he had actually gone through the wall. It was more than obvious that that couldn't be the case, and Dean looked back at Sam with panicked, pained eyes and shook his head. "Nevermind," Dean said to the man, barely looking at him since he was anxious now to leave and figure out another way to look for Sasha, "Sorry to bother you."

As soon as the old man shut his door, Dean was back at Sam's side, just as frantic.

"What do we do?!" he cried, a hand running hard through his hair and nails digging painfully into his scalp. He wanted to pace but there was only a few feet from wall to wall unless he wanted to trek down the hallway.

Sam was frantic too, Dean could see it in his brother's eyes, but he still managed to sound calm as he reached forward and grabbed Dean's shoulders to steady him. "I don't know, okay? We just…we just need to…use what we do know and figure this out."

"Well what pulls people into walls?"

"I…uhh…"

"Think, damn it!"

"_Dean_." Sam squeezed Dean's shoulders a little tighter and looked him square in the eyes. "I don't know. Just…calm down. We have to stay calm."

Right. Calm. Easy for Sam. He was always the calm one. At least outwardly. Dean no longer doubted that there was something supernatural going on in this apartment building, but what the hell did it have to do with Sasha? Was he trapped in that wall? Dean couldn't hear anything when he pressed his ear against it. But that left so many other possibilities.

Sam shook his head when Dean asked again—_calmly_—if he knew anything offhand about creatures that sucked victims into walls. Dean couldn't think of anything either. They needed a computer. They needed to sort through the things they knew so far. But somehow it was so much harder to concentrate when it was no longer just the family they were trying to save, but one of their own.

Back inside the Shaws' apartment, Dean explained what happened to Sasha as _calmly_ as he could. He would have preferred Sam do the talking but he preferred even more to have Sam booting up the family's computer. Dean wouldn't let Sam go down to the Impala to get his laptop anymore, not when it felt too much like leaving Sasha behind, even if only for a moment. Sam didn't understand at first, argued even, but eventually he gave in, if only to appease Dean. Frankly, Dean didn't care if his brother gave him a look that spoke promises of discussions later. Sam could speculate all he wanted. Dean just wanted Sasha back.

It felt like hours passed but it had only been twenty minutes. Sam still hadn't found any leads and Dean couldn't stop pacing. Daniel and Tegen were in the kitchen making something for them all to eat, completely understanding of the brothers' desire to figure out what happened to Sasha before they worked on anything else. After all, there was way too likely a chance that the incidents were connected.

Dean didn't mean to hover over Sam's shoulder as his brother worked, but he just felt so useless. He was trying not to think about how worried he was, and he knew that if he kept pacing around the apartment he'd go crazy. He barely noticed at first when Esther started tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Mr. Dean?" she said when he didn't respond.

That managed to force at least a small smile from Dean. He looked down into those large golden brown eyes and said, "My first name's not James, kiddo. It's just Dean."

Esther giggled, but Dean was afraid she'd bring up what had happened to Sasha, and he didn't think he knew how to answer. Ultimately, he was much more shaken by what she did say. "Sasha looks like an angel again."

"What?" Dean dropped to a knee in front of the girl. She didn't look worried like the rest of them. She looked perfectly content.

"He came through my wall," she said, as if it was the most normal thing that had happened to her all day. Considering her life over the past week, it probably was.

The gears in Dean's head clicked and he took off without another thought, not bothering to see if Sam had heard and was following behind him. Esther's room seemed leagues away, but when Dean finally reached it and ran inside, all the worry that had built up inside of him seeped away.

Sasha.

The incubus was indeed in his 'angel' form, as Esther called it, just as he had been when he was pulled into the wall out in the hallway. It looked like he had been thrown into Esther's room only to land in the same position he had been in when he was taken—collapsed on the floor, coughing into the carpet as if he hadn't been able to breathe the entire time he was gone.

Dean tried not to rush as he ran to Sasha's side, tried not to look like the weight of the world had just left his shoulders, but his body barely listened to him these days.

Sasha was winded but not hurt. Sasha was okay. Sasha was there, right in front of him. And when the incubus rolled onto his back, morphing into an exhausted heap of his human form, he looked up at Dean with a strained smile.

"My cousins suck," the incubus said.

Dean was so relieved to have found Sasha alive and well, he barely heard that. "What?" he said as he reached down for Sasha's hand to hoist his friend to his feet.

"You're not delirious, are you?" Sam broke in, having followed Dean after all, leaning against the doorframe and smiling as big as they were.

Sasha was unsteady on his feet and continued taking slow, gulping breaths. Still, he was smiling. He was okay. "Brownies," he managed, "In the walls. Well…kind of."

"So that's a 'yes' to the delirious question?" Dean said. Brownies in the walls?

A choked laugh left Sasha but he shook his head. He was still getting his breath back, so Sam came forward on his behalf, ever the knowledgeable one, and said, "Brownies are household fairies. They do and don't live in the walls because it's more like a dimensional rift, right? They're good though. Usually. They look out for a family. They like humans."

"They do," Sasha nodded, but since staying on his feet was proving to be a very bad idea right now, he finally fell limp and heavy against Dean's side.

Dean caught him with some difficulty given the incubus' larger size, but he managed to guide his breathless friend over to Esther's bed anyway. Sitting himself down next to Sasha, Dean didn't mind at all the way Sasha's body continued to lean into his. It felt solid. Real.

"Thanks," Sasha smiled wearily up at Dean, his body slouched, "Brownies…hobgoblins…whatever you want to call them…they…aren't our bad guy," he explained, "They wanted to…warn me."

"Warn you? Why you?" Dean asked.

He was looking right at Sasha with Sasha looking right at him. They seemed so impossibly close on that little bed. It brought new heat to Dean's face and he suddenly had no choice but to turn away or risk being burned. He wasn't thinking straight, he knew that. Par for the course with Dean when he was worried about someone he cared for.

As he looked away, Dean caught Sam's eyes, having almost forgotten his brother was there, and he was not oblivious to Sam's confused and gauging look. Dean decided to ignore it, looking instead to the door where he saw all three Shaws standing there listening.

Sasha laughed a little before finally answering, "Do you see any other…fae related creatures in our company?" he teased.

True, Dean thought, as he turned back, more collected now at least even as those same blue eyes captured his. So that explained why they took _Sasha_, but not for what purpose.

"What did they tell you?" Sam asked.

Again, Sasha let out a laugh. "That we're idiots."

-----

"Marisol was_protecting_ the family?" Even as Dean said that, disbelief clear in his voice, he felt a pang of inevitability. It was just the sort of thing that would happen to them. Why the hell did they have to keep getting things so wrong?

"I guess she thought she could scare them away," Sasha went on. They were in the living room now, Sasha kicked back in the recliner though he kept swearing up and down that he was fine. Tegen seemed to enjoy extending her mother role to the men who were working so hard to help them, especially with Sasha being the one who dove off a building to save her daughter and all.

Dean had to admit that it did add up, the part about Marisol anyway. Her haunting was scary as Hell, but never the kind that actually hurt the family. They were on the case before things got to the point where they believed the family would be hurt, and then…well. Apparently, the family that dove out of the apartment to their deaths in the 60s was scared a little too much, but not enough for them to just move out of the damn building.

Already Sam was working vigorously on the family computer, looking up everything he could about the real culprit. It wasn't the 'brownies in the walls', but they had warned Sasha of the real threat when they pulled him into their realm—something that would have been painless if Sasha was a full fae instead of only part.

"So this thing's a what now?" Dean pressed. He didn't really care about their screw up or the good fairies watching over them. He wanted to know what needed to be hunted. That's the part of this job he understood; shoot and kill.

The color had completely returned to Sasha's face and he was breathing normally. Only Tegen's continued looks of disapproval when he tried to get up kept him in the chair. "It's a lutin," Sasha said, "Like an imp. It's a French term. They're most common in Quebec and other parts of Canada. I don't know much else about them though," hence Sam's researching even as they spoke, "but it could be really bad. These things are mischievous by nature. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want, whatever it may be. Some of them can even be…well…"

"Evil," Dean supplied, and it wasn't a question.

Sasha didn't nod, probably out of a service to the family, but the focused look he gave Dean said enough.

"Isn't it dangerous to stay here then?" Tegen asked. She was passing out the grilled cheese and tomato soup she and Daniel had made for everyone. It was warm and homemade, so even if they were in the middle of a hunt—which they…were—nothing could have kept Dean from accepting his share of the food.

A slight glare from Sam got Dean to keep his bowl of soup on the coffee table as he ate, not that he would spill anyway. He wasn't nine.

"If this…imp thing wants to hurt us…" Daniel said, looking around like the very walls would attack them.

"It's okay for now," Sasha said, kicking the footrest down despite Tegen's stern expression, "Marisol must have been keeping the lutin enclosed to the apartment even before she died, that's why she had all those things in her will, and why she stayed behind to watch the place. With her gone the lutin is free, but we'd know if it was with us. They can't turn invisible like other fae. It must be hiding on the other side of a portal somewhere, a door between our world and where Marisol was keeping it trapped. It would be in a place Marisol was particularly protective of." Sasha looked at Daniel and Tegen who had taken their places on the loveseat again. "Can you think of anything?"

The couple looked to each other but neither seemed to find an answer in the face of the other. "It's such a small place compared to a house," Tegen said, "It felt like we saw her everywhere. I don't know if I could pinpoint one place."

"Then we'll have to search for it. Now that I know what I'm looking for, there's a spell I know, real simple, that helps reveal fissures to the fairy plane. We'll find it. And the lutin. I promise."

"How do we kill it?" Dean asked. The rest of the information floated over him. It may have been one of the reasons they got so turned around with Marisol, but Dean didn't care about the creature's motivations or any of the details. He just wanted to know what it took to bring the thing down. Now he knew who the bad guy was and that was good enough for him.

Sasha smiled somewhat sourly at Dean when he replied. "It's fae," he said, "So…same way you kill me."

Iron. Good. That they had plenty of.

A few minutes later, after eating their grilled cheese and soup unfairly fast, Dean and Sasha were up searching for hidden portals. It was clear now that Sasha was perfectly fine, having recovered from his dimensional ordeal. Dean wanted to ask more about it, but he got the feeling Sasha wasn't supposed to say any more than he had. Rather than risk the wrath of the creatures that had deemed them worthy to help, Dean kept silent.

Sasha's little spell took all of two seconds, but he assured Dean as they looked around the apartment that it would be enough. If there was a way into the plane the lutin was hiding, they would find it.

The kitchen was first. They left Sam back on the computer, still trying to search out something more helpful then 'find lutin; kill with iron'. The family stayed in the living room too, Daniel and Tegen down on the floor playing with Esther, who still seemed so amazingly calm. Dean chalked it up to the blind faith of youth again and left them to it.

"You don't suppose…" Dean started, eyeing the refrigerator as if it housed the very gateway to Hell itself.

Sasha's response of merely shrugging didn't quell Dean's anxiety. Now he had to check. Reaching for the handle to the fridge, Dean took a breath and pulled, all but expecting to see a tunnel of blood and bone and fire…but finding plain ordinary condiments, leftovers, and juice.

Dean closed the door again, trying to play innocent as Sasha chuckled at him. "One too many nights spent watching Ghostbusters, okay? Sue me."

They continued on. Everywhere they looked they found nothing but a normal apartment. They checked with Sam but he was having trouble finding anything about lutins that was more helpful then 'they're a type of fae, like an imp, disliking iron and salt'. Common knowledge stuff wouldn't help them at the step they were at now. They were still tracking the damn thing.

The parents' bedroom seemed likely since that's where most of the damage had been done, but it came up clean too, finally leaving only Esther's room at the end of the hall.

Before they even stepped inside, the fissure was clear, a vibrant, glowing blue light in jagged lines along the wall above Esther's bed. But it wasn't a portal; it was only a crack, as if it had already sealed itself up.

Sasha touched his hand to the blue light and it at once went out, closing tight like a zipper. "This is bad," he said.

"What's bad?"

"If the portal's sealed then the lutin has to be here in the apartment somewhere," Sasha shook his head, "And we've just covered every inch of the place."

"Can I still guess the kid?" Dean offered, smirking to prove he was only joking, though he still kind of liked that theory.

He was pleased when Sasha smiled back, unlike Sam who would have raised an eyebrow and given Dean that _look_ he had perfected so well. "No, Dean." Sasha said, humor and serious intent both present in his voice, "But you've got a good start. It would have to be in plain sight."

"Esther, come back here!" came Tegen's voice suddenly, followed by the arrival of Esther's little form running into the room at Sasha where she clung to one of the incubus' pant legs.

"What's up, beautiful?" Sasha smiled, hand already smoothing back the girl's blonde hair with open affection. Such things came out of Sasha so easily it made Dean ache. The guy had to have a character flaw somewhere, and having to have sex to survive didn't count—not in Dean Winchester's book anyway.

Tegen ran in after Esther before the girl could say anything, looking very stern again as her hands came up to rest on her hips. "Young lady, how many times have I had to tell you today? Hand them over now. Your grandmother gave us those shakers."

Carefully prying Esther from his jeans, Sasha knelt down beside the girl and took her by the hands. They were empty, but the pockets of her jumper looked surprisingly plump. "Now, what could possibly be hiding in there?" Sasha said, smiling instead of wearing a scowl as Tegen was.

Dean watched, truly amazed, as Sasha's simple act and simple smile brought color to the girl's cheeks, and in the next moment she was pulling salt and pepper shakers out of her pockets.

"Why would you want to take those?" Sasha asked, winking up at Tegen who had lost her frustrated glower by now and was pretty much smiling too.

Esther shrugged, placing the shakers into Sasha's much larger hands. "I wasn't taking the shakers," she said, "I just want to pour the salt out."

"The salt?" Dean questioned. He never took any matters of salt lightly. Not in his line of work, and especially not when they knew this lutin thing hated salt about as much as a ghost did.

Esther nodded up at Dean before turning back to Sasha. "Mr. White doesn't like salt," she said.

Mr…White?

_Shit_. Sasha's head snapped back and his eyes met Dean's with the same look of panicked recognition Dean knew he was wearing too. Being idiots seemed a regular habit with them these days. Sasha was on his feet in a second, but before either of them could exclaim their realization, they heard Sam yelling for them in the living room.

"Dean! Sasha! Get in here now!"

They knew better than to waste any time. "Sam we just realized," Dean started as they both went running up to Sam at the computer, "The lutin, it's—"

"The cat," Sam said at the exact same time the word left Dean. They stopped then and the three of them just looked at each other for a moment before Sam finally went on. "How did you know?"

"How did _you_ know?" Dean pressed, peering around Sam to look at the computer screen.

"I finally got a good lead," Sam explained, "Lutins in France are known to take the form of a horse. Not very helpful. But lutins in Quebec and areas of Canada…" Sam pointed to the place in the webpage where it showed a nice clear drawing of a white animal unmistakable for anything but what it was, "Those lutins take the form of a cat."

Dean heard Sasha's voice before he could even think to turn, sounding more driven and severe than he had ever heard it, "Daniel, get your family out of the apartment. Now."

Daniel Shaw was standing behind them in the living room. His expression was pure blind fear in the face of Sasha's words and he didn't wait to hear any more. He yelled for his wife and daughter, gathered them without explanation and ran for the door.

A shot of white bolted from under the kitchen table, heading straight for the door as the Shaws went through it. Dean saw it clearly, but Sasha was faster. The incubus vaulted the chair in his way and leapt impossibly to the door where he fell against it hard enough to slam it behind the Shaws and keep the cat from escaping with them.

The cat stopped at first, inches from Sasha's foot, and hissed at him as it had before.

"Whatever you want from them, you're not going to get it," Sasha promised. He lunged down at the floor but even a cat was faster than an incubus. It slipped away and shot through the living room to the hallway. "It can't leave unless an opening is made for it!" Sasha yelled after Sam and Dean as they gave chase, "No matter what, we can't let it out!"

Dean heard that, and he had no intention of giving this thing the run of downtown Danville. Marisol had kept the lutin sealed in her apartment for 100 years. They were the reason it had free reign now, but that didn't mean they were going to let it out. At least some of Marisol's magic still made certain that the lutin couldn't leave without an invitation.

This was ridiculous, Dean thought, as he went into the master bedroom with all the knives still stuck into the mattress and headless stuffed animals sitting eerily at the foot of the bed. He was peering under the bed for signs of a little white cat after all. He couldn't believe he had actually pet the damn thing.

"Coward!" Dean shouted. Even if he couldn't see the cat, he knew it could hear him, "You're just gonna hide, is that it?! Stay a helpless little cat instead of fighting us like a man! Not that you even _are_ a man!" Dean taunted, "Fucking fairy," he added under his breath. He never liked hide and seek when he was a kid either.

"I don't think he really cares if you insult him, Dean," came Sasha's voice from behind him, close enough that it made Dean jump. Of course, Sasha simply smiled. "Think like a fairy," he winked, ignoring the prominent eyebrow raise Dean responded with, "Think playful," Sasha clarified, "He's not just a cat. He's Esther's cat. She found him, probably in her own bedroom and Tegen and Daniel just assumed she found it outside. He didn't do anything to Esther, only the parents. He just wanted to _play_."

Dean grinned. Oh Dean could play. Dean invented mischievous play. "Come on out, Mr. White!" Dean called, a completely different tone to his voice than before. He nodded assuredly at his brother when Sam peered inside the room, having gone for Esther's room when Dean went for the main one. "What would you want with Esther anyway when you've got an incubus and hunters to play with, huh?! We've learned games from all sorts of crazy creatures! Ones you've probably never even heard of!"

Sasha nodded. This was a much better tactic, and really, it had to be Dean who called the lutin out. Mr. White didn't like Sasha, and after all, Dean had been the one to pet him.

"You want me to scratch your back again, man, just say so!" Dean continued, "But you gotta show yourself! We can stay like this all day, ya know, but it's going to be _boring_, I promise you that!"

The laughter that echoed over the walls was chilling, like a young boy's, fifteen at most, just before his voice would change. It resounded everywhere so that there was no way to know where it was really coming from. Still, Sasha gestured them back into the hallway, and Dean followed without thought. He figured one fairy would know another better than he would.

They made their way back to the living room, slowly, no longer hurried. There, lounging comfortably on the couch, was what very much looked like a fifteen year old boy, only his hair was shock white and wild. His eyes remained that of a cat's, green with slit pupils. His clothing was simple and white as well. Like Sasha in his incubus form, this boy fairy had a point to his ears and his grin was almost infectious.

"Do you really want to play with me, Dean?" he asked, his voice sing-song sweet as he stretched back on the couch, "I don't think you're up to it."

While Dean knew there was nothing sexual meant in the comment, it still put a squicky feeling in his stomach. "Dude, you're just a kid," he said. Half of him didn't even feel the need to reach for his gun, but he knew better than to trust visible forms. He didn't even try to hide how he reached back to clutch the weapon tucked into the back of his jeans. Thank the heavens he had a gun loaded with iron.

"You're to blame, you know?" the lutin said, at ease now, not even trying to run or protect himself as he had as the cat, "You took Marisol away from me. She promised to stay and play forever and you took her away. How can you blame me for wanting someone new to play with?"

"You want Esther," Sasha growled. It made Dean shudder to hear his friend sound so…unfriendly.

The lutin pouted, actually pouted as he turned to look at Sasha, who had pointedly taken out the iron knife he had been keeping in his jacket. "I don't like you. You're only half my kind. You only play with humans. You'd never play with me." He turned back to Dean then, ignoring Sam who had the Colt of all things as his weapon, having taken it out of the bag they left next to the computer. "But you, Dean, I like you. You'd play with anything as long as it was fun for you. I can make it fun."

Again Dean repressed revulsion at how sexual that sounded. Those were just not words he wanted to hear from a fifteen year old boy, even if it was only a guise. "I don't get you, pal," Dean said. He was keeping his brother and Sasha in his periphery as he moved. They were all in constant motion, trying to surround the lutin who stilled seemed so frustratingly calm. "You want a friend, is that it? Sorry about Marisol, really. Our bad. But you can't have Esther. And you're sure as hell not getting me."

"That's a shame," the lutin sighed, his arm dangling down to the carpet, "You would have been fun." Green eyes darted up at Dean and there was something deadly fierce in them as he said, "I guess I'll have to take your brother instead."

Dean pulled his gun and fired at the couch. No one threatened him or his like that and lived, and they sure as hell didn't get away with threatening to take Sammy.

Of course Dean shouldn't have been surprised at how easily the lutin avoided the shot. Mr. White, or whatever name he really had, was just gone, vanished, leaving a fresh bullet hole in the back of the couch.

Then Dean felt hands crawling up his back to his shoulders, small, gliding hands, and he froze. "I wouldn't be so mean," whispered the boyish voice of the lutin, "I can be mean too."

Pain shot through Dean's shoulders as the lutin dug what felt like knives deep into his skin. Dean cried out, crumbling on the spot to his knees. But when he reached up to feel the wounds he found nothing, not even tears in his jacket.

Sam and Sasha rushed to him but Dean was already getting to his feet again, the pain gone, an illusion that felt only too real. Unfortunately, the lutin was gone again too.

"Fuck," Dean cursed through clenched teeth, "How do we fight this thing?"

"The only illusion I can weave is the one you're looking at," Sasha said, reminding Dean of what Sasha had told him once about glamours—illusions so real you can feel them, "This thing…he's pure fae. It may not be real, not the way a trickster makes reality out of nothing, but it'll feel real enough." Sasha's eyes lit up then and he grabbed Dean's arm. "Rock salt. Do you have your sawed-off?"

Dean blinked, still thinking about how much his shoulders had hurt when the lutin pulled that stunt on him, "Uhh…yeah. In the bag. Loaded even."

Sam was grinning beside them then and things quickly started to click with Dean too.

"Let's bring this brat down," Dean said. If junior wanted to play hide and seek, then he was in for a hell of a surprise when he got found.

Dean took his shotgun from the bag, Sam had the Colt, and Sasha had his knife and his blessed incubus strength. Dean had to restrain himself from yelling a 'come out, come out, wherever you are,' but he was sorely tempted. It reminded Dean of why he hated kids. Usually. Esther he could handle. She was sweet and small. This teenager wannabe was goddamned annoying.

The apartment was small enough that even if they split up there would be plenty of time to rush to someone if they needed aide, so split they did, each with their weapon of choice. Dean called out to the lutin again as he moved back into Esther's room, leaving the parents' room to Sasha this time.

"I just don't get things like you," Dean said, not even bothering to yell. Sasha said the thing couldn't turn invisible, so it was simply hiding and fast as hell. Dean hoped he found it first. "You want a friend, right? You want someone to play with you? Why not play with Esther then, as a good little kitty or whatever, and leave her parents alone."

"Not good enough!" came the reply, echoing again so that Dean turned sharply in each direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of white, "They'd take her away. They wouldn't let her play whenever I wanted. And she'd grow up. Grow old, like Marisol did. Oh no, not again. I'm not waiting this time. I want someone who will stay _forever_, right now."

Dean got the gist but he still couldn't understand the crazy going through this kid's head. "You wanna kill your playmate so their ghost will stay with you forever? Dude, that is just messed up. Moderation, man. Moderation and we might have let you live through this."

"Oh really?" The voice came soft but clear, as if the lutin were speaking right into Dean's ear.

Then Dean felt breath hit the side of his face and he knew he wasn't imagining it.

Dean turned and fired, and this time he hit his mark. The lutin had tried to run again with his incredible speed, but a shotgun was different than a pistol and it sprayed rock salt at a much larger area than a shell.

The lutin howled as little pellets of salt stuck into his body, sizzling and burning him. A few pieces hit his face and it left angry red welts where his smooth, youthful skin had been. Teeth bared as he clutched at the places where the salt was hurting him, he really did look like a wounded, wild cat. Dean would have felt pity if he hadn't learned firsthand the sinister ideals hiding inside that childish shell.

The kid didn't even get why what he wanted was wrong. He wanted a friend, but not so much that he would give up his cruel, impish ways. It was like a fairytale, Dean thought, like the real ones, not Disney's 'G' version. A lesson had to be learned, and with it came pain and gore and agony. Even then the villain never really understood why it had to die.

Sasha and Sam heard the shot and were in the room before the lutin even started to fall to the floor. It stared up at them, furious. Suddenly, it lunged for Sam with such speed that the Colt flew from his hands as they tumbled to the floor.

"I'll have one of you yet!" the lutin cried, and his voice, although still young, sounded shrill with age and maddened loneliness. He clutched at Sam's throat with those small hands, and despite his size, seemed only too capable of besting the larger man.

Dean couldn't fire more rock salt without hitting Sam, and Sasha didn't dare take the risk with his knife either. Instead, just as Sasha threw his knife away and looked as if he was going to lunge for the lutin and pull him off of Sam with brute strength, the lutin started screaming.

Those little hands left Sam's throat as the lutin reared back, his forearms burnt where Sam's hands had gripped him. Points to the melting power, Dean thought. Even the lutin looked amazed, despite his pain. He looked right at Sam, completely calm for a moment.

"Aren't you interesting…" he said.

But Sam wasn't wasting time, and he kicked out with his legs, forcing the lutin back into the wall where he crumbled. This was their chance, but as all three of them rounded on the lutin to attack again, those green eyes looked up with such remarkable light that Dean found himself sucked in.

Dean blinked, seeing nothing but emerald everywhere for several moments. When he finally shook the light from his eyes, he was still in the room, but Sam and the lutin were gone, leaving only Sasha. Sasha…

Who was bending down to pick up the knife he had dropped and walking calmly over to Dean with the wickedest grin Dean had ever seen.

"Sasha…?" Dean felt fear rise up in him so fast, he thought for certain he had found his way back into one of his dreams again.

Then Dean heard Sasha's voice, faintly, but not coming from the figure of Sasha in front of him at all. "Don't believe it!" Sasha's voice cried, "Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real!"

By then the form of Sasha was upon Dean and Dean couldn't move, not even when Sasha grabbed him viciously and stuck the knife deep into his gut. "Feels real," said the Sasha in front of Dean, still grinning cruelly, "Doesn't it?"

Understatement.

Dean had been shot and stabbed so many times, he lost count years ago. But this was different. This just _hurt_ so much, like the way Dean's shoulders had hurt under the lutin's power before. How cold the knife felt inside him, so cold it burned. How Sasha twisted it and made him cry out against the renewed pain. How Sasha…looked at him.

"Dean! Sam!" called Sasha's other voice, the one without a body, "Don't believe it, please!"

Dean didn't believe it. He knew this wasn't Sasha. He knew it. And yet…he couldn't look away from the blue eyes, the fierce hate hidden in a smile, the pain of the knife, God, it hurt so much. Dean started slipping, started falling to the floor. He knew he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let himself believe it. It wasn't real. It wasn't even Sasha.

It was the damn brat!

And he wasn't taking any of them.

Fighting the pain of the knife and the weariness in his legs, Dean lifted himself back to full height and stood steady. He grabbed the hilt of the knife, its edge right against his skin, and he pulled, fighting Sasha's strength the entire time. But it wasn't _Sasha's_ strength. Not really.

The second the knife was free Dean was back in the real room, Sasha across from him, real and worried, not at all cruel. And Sam was still on the floor, looking flushed and breathing heavy, as if he too had been fighting an illusion. Dean imagined he had been, and he was pretty certain he didn't want to know what Sam had seen.

Beating the illusion looked as if it weakened the lutin even more, for he was still crouched by the wall, marred from the salt and gasping.

It was Sasha who moved. Sasha who reached down not for his knife, but for the Colt Sam had dropped. "Dean was right," he said, staring cold and unflinching at the beaten lutin who had fallen so easily in the end for being too proud, "I just don't get you. I don't understand why the friendship Esther offered and would have continued to offer with as much as she was able, couldn't be enough for you. You expect everything but are willing to give nothing back. No compromise, just your needs met. It doesn't work that way."

It was a shock to Dean's ears to hear the lutin laugh, though it was a poor excuse for how it had sounded when they first heard it. He looked right up at Sasha, green eyes dulled now, as if the salt worked as much like poison as iron would. "You'd know," he said, and there passed a secretive smirk as if the lutin were telling Sasha something only the incubus could understand.

Sasha fired, no warning, just the trigger pulled, the roar of the Colt, and the unnatural burn of the bullet in the lutin's skull. It was dead as anything would be dead from the Colt's shot, the first time Dean had seen it work like that since he fired the last original bullet into the yellow-eyed demon. Sasha's hand was shaking when he lowered the gun. Something had hit too close to home again and Sasha's expression was grim.

Naturally, Dean had no choice but to banish it. "God, I'm starving. You think Tegen will make me another grilled cheese if I ask nicely?" He grinned over at Sasha.

By the time Sam had collected himself from the floor, Sasha was Sasha again, no fierce expression. But Dean would remember that look and maybe one day he'd learn what it really meant.

Looking down at the lutin's body, Dean did a double-take at first before realizing that there was no body anymore, only gathering glittery dust, as if they had just poofed a vampire in one of those old movies. When Dean looked back at Sam and Sasha, they were both just as dumbfounded as he was, which actually made Dean feel a lot better about things.

He moved over to stand next to them and smacked each of his companions on the back. "Think they got a Dirt Devil around here somewhere?" he said.

-----

It was after dinner before the boys left the Shaws' apartment. At first they had stayed to help clean up and put the apartment back to normal—they removed the knives from the main bedroom's mattress, knowing how difficult that would have been for Daniel or Tegen—but Tegen just kept wanting to feed them and thank them in every way possible. Dean certainly wasn't complaining. He got homemade chocolate chip cookies out of the deal, something he hadn't had in…God, maybe ever.

It turned out that Esther had indeed discovered Mr. White in her room, and that Tegen and Daniel had just assumed she found it outside. Dean spent a good half hour explaining all the ways that was stupid. He didn't care if Sam and Sasha both gave him scolding looks for how tactless he was being; he just hoped this made the Shaws smarter and safer.

Esther was sad her new 'cat' had been so naughty. But when Sasha took her aside, whispering something to her that Dean couldn't hear, the girl was suddenly fine. Dean asked Sasha later what he had said to her.

"Just that she'll have a new cat soon. A much better one too."

They were making their way down the stairs of the apartment building, a gifted Tupperware container full of leftover cookies tucked under Sam's arm. Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Sam said, "Uhh…why does that sound like there's more to it than a simple trip to the Humane Society?"

Sasha laughed. "The brownies," he said, opening the door for the others to exit before him, "they consider what the lutin did so horrible, so against their ways—considering they're different species—they're going to do an exchange."

"Exchange?" Dean repeated. He didn't like how much that sounded like how changelings worked. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his car though, as he always did when he left it alone in a strange place for a long time.

"An exchange of one of their own in place of the lutin," Sasha said, smiling brightly.

Sam and Dean both paused again to look back at Sasha.

He shrugged. "I told the Shaws that when—not if but when—a new little cat appears outside their apartment door, it's okay to accept it in. It'll keep an eye on things in case anything ever tries to harm them that way again. It's rare that these types of fae offer a guardian. But good. Purely good, believe me."

At this point Dean didn't even want to think about the possibility of Sasha being wrong, so he gave a shrug of his own and unlocked his baby's driver's side door. "Whatever you say, man. But if we ever get called back to this place for something other than food, you're riding in the trunk from that point on."

It looked as if Sasha was going to laugh again, his smile broad and filled with humor, but his eyes darted down the alley for a moment and the expression immediately dropped from his face.

Sam was already getting in the Impala, but Dean noticed his friend's pause and waited. "Hey, not still seeing things, are you?"

Sasha's brow furrowed, but when he turned away from the alley finally he shook his head. "I think I'm just tired," he said, heading for his door and tossing Dean a smile, "Long day. Sleep sounds good. In a real bed preferably."

They got into the car together, their doors slamming shut in unison so that Dean got a slight chill thinking about how much Sasha had acclimated to the group. Usually that kind of synchronization was something Dean only ever managed with Sam. It was Sam then who said, "If you can even call the beds we usually find _real_."

That was true enough. Dean shifted into drive, pleased to have another hunt behind them and to have both brother and friend along for the ride. "At this point, I'll take whatever I can get," he said.

What they did get wasn't all that bad. A cheap Holiday Inn on the edge of the city, proving they would at least escape the amazing decorating patterns of more generic hotels, at least for a night. Back to Texas the next morning they had decided, though Dean secretly hoped they would get some kind of lead along the way so they didn't have to drive another day and night straight through again.

It was nine o'clock and Sam was already in bed, softly snoring. Dean took it as a blessing. He feared Sam would start right in with _questions_ when they reached the hotel. Thankfully, Sasha had kept them company until about a half hour ago when Sam mentioned how tired he was, and then Sam simply took a shower and crashed.

Dean, on the other hand, couldn't sleep this early, even if it was the only chance he was going to get for a full night's sleep in probably a while. He flipped on the TV, keeping it muted for Sam's sake—something he would only ever do if he knew Sam was actually sleeping—and checked out the movies on Pay-per-View.

One of the titles Dean came across made him grin. He didn't care if he woke Sasha up. They had an arrangement to keep and tonight seemed as good a night as any.

Dean knocked on Sasha's door only a few minutes later, a six-pack in his hands and a prominent smirk on his face. Sasha answered the door in only his jeans, but although he looked tired it was clear by the sound of the TV playing in the background that he hadn't been sleeping.

"Think fast," Dean said, half tossing and half pressing the six-pack of beer into Sasha's bare chest. Sasha hissed at the sudden cold, too stunned to stop Dean from entering, which Dean did and then went straight for the remote. "Guess what I found?" he said, flipping the channels until he found what he was looking for.

Sasha came over, staring at the screen, and laughed when he saw the selection Dean chose from Pay-per-View. "Slither?"

"Since we didn't get to Texas," Dean said, hitting the play button and tossing the remote aside.

The smile on Sasha's face was all the reassurance Dean needed. The incubus pulled one of the beers free and tossed it to Dean. He took his own then and joined Dean on the edge of the bed. "You're gonna love this," he said, "Not coz it's scary, coz it's not, and not for the gore either, even though it is impressive."

"Then why am I watching this?" Dean joked, opening his beer and taking the first of many long drinks for the night.

Sasha grinned, gesturing to the screen as a man with his hat tipped down over his eyes came into view, "Nathan Fillion. Trust me."

Not ten minutes in they had already settled themselves back on Sasha's bed, sitting up against the headboard side by side as they drank their beers and shared laughter over the horror movie that was more like comedy dipped in horror than anything really. Dean didn't even need those ten minutes to know he was going to enjoy himself tonight.

He was starting to get that when Sasha said, "Trust me," he really could.

"_Oh_! He did not just do that!" Dean laughed, nearing the end of the film now as Nathan Fillion's character, Bill Pardy, fired his gun at another character. The six-pack was all but gone and Dean was somewhere between buzzed and blissfully exhausted. He lolled his head to the side and grinned over at Sasha. "Promise you'll shoot me if I ever turn into a zombie. No sentimental crap, just BANG, Bill Pardy style. Got me?"

It would have been a morbid subject if they weren't watching Slither right now. Sasha laughed, and his head lolled in much the same way. "Deal, but you gotta promise the same. Course I don't know if there's such a thing as an incubus zombie."

"Well this movie proves there can be alien zombies, so why not."

"You got me there, my friend."

They laughed so hard at that for a while that they almost missed the start of the final fight. Dean bust a gut when Nathan Fillion went flying out a window with the same perfect comedic timing the whole film had possessed. Sasha had been right. This movie was just Dean's style. It was nice to watch something that made light of the supernatural. When you lived it, things got way to real sometimes. Why else would Dean crack jokes so often, if only to alleviate some of that?

The film came to an end, very walk off into the sunset like, and Dean found the remote to flick the TV off. He was tired and warm from the beer, but he didn't feel like sleeping quite yet.

"I concede," Dean said, laying his head back on the headboard, "That was a winner."

Sasha's grin looked twice as big as usual, though Dean assumed that was also because of the alcohol. "Told ya. You really gotta learn to take my word for it, Mr. Winchester."

That got a laugh out of Dean. "Ha! I'd get in so much more trouble that way though," he said.

They were really close, Dean realized, not that they hadn't been the entire time they were watching the movie, but it seemed much more important now that the TV was off. Sasha's single bed wasn't all that big after all, so with their legs stretched out on the mattress, they practically touched, and so did their shoulders.

Dean turned his eyes away from Sasha's, afraid he would drown in them if he looked too long, and took another drink from his last beer. Blowing through a six-pack wasn't that big a feat—Dean bet they could polish off a case together easily—but the late hour and the proximity of their bodies made Dean feel twice as drunk as he really was.

"That girl in South Dakota was pretty hot, huh?" Dean said as he heard Sasha taking a long drink beside him. He didn't know why he said that, but then he was hearing Sasha choke on his last swallow and he knew he was being an idiot. "Never mind," he said quickly, staring into his now empty can, "I'm an asshole. Forget I said anything."

Sasha coughed for a few moments around the beer that had gone down the wrong pipe, followed by the tensest silence Dean had ever sat through. Then Sasha was speaking, and his voice was very quiet. "You're not an asshole. I am. It was stupid the way I waited so long to feed. I could have put you and your brother in danger if I went any longer like that. So…don't apologize."

For the first time, Dean actually listened. He didn't say anything else. But he lifted his eyes finally and smiled as best he could over at his friend.

Sasha turned to look at him too and Dean didn't miss the touch of sadness in the blue eyes. "Hey, did I ever tell you about my type? What my type is? As an incubus, I mean," he added with a slightly wider smile.

"You mean you have one?" Dean teased back, nudging Sasha with his shoulder, "Coz I know it has nothing to do with gender, coloring, or age. That kid in Minnesota was no more than twenty. And Miss South Dakota had to be in her thirties, pretty as she was."

Sasha couldn't deny any of that. He shook his head. "No, it's nothing physical. See, my aunt, she always told me that the way things are really supposed to work for us is like those, ya know, symbiotic relationships. We give something, we get something in return. I like that idea. So for me, I'm always looking for someone who…" Sasha trailed a little and his eyes lowered to the mostly empty can in his hands, "Someone who needs me," he finished.

"Needs you?"

"Total sentimental crap, right?" Sasha said, still staring down towards his lap, "You know, someone who maybe just came off a bad breakup, or their self-esteem is shot to hell, or maybe they just need a night to feel beautiful or like someone actually gives a shit about them. Those are the people I feed from, and it's not to give them some one night stand they'll regret in the morning, but something…simple that they need…and will never regret taking. At least…that's what I try to do."

Again, Sasha looked so sad, his eyes shimmering but dim somehow, and his mouth smiling without the expression being at all capable of actually being real. Dean wanted to do something, reach forward, say soothing words, something, but that just wasn't Dean.

Sasha looked up after a few minutes of strange, lingering silence, and although the sadness still haunted his eyes, there was that longing again, that heat Dean was growing so used to. "But you know…I've never, not once in my whole life, gone for someone _I_ needed. I've never chosen someone just for me. I always figured I'd save that…for someone I didn't want to leave in the morning." Sasha's voice fell to a whisper as he said the last of that, and Dean realized again just how close they were, sitting on Sasha's bed.

That closeness disappeared as Sasha took Dean's empty can and placed it and his own onto the nightstand. Then it was back, Sasha was back, and Dean knew they were even closer now. Dean wasn't thinking, which was good, he was just staring at Sasha, at Sasha's lips that were just slightly parted as they moved closer and closer to his.

Awareness struck when Sasha was only an inch or so away and Dean gasped, pulling himself just slightly back. Sasha paused, staring hard and heated into Dean's eyes that Dean imagined had to look terrified because that was how he felt. Whatever it was Sasha found in Dean's eyes though, it wasn't enough to deter him. He just kept leaning forward and this time Dean didn't pull back.

Their lips met. Was Dean dreaming? It could be the dream. It could so easily be the dream for how peaceful and perfect it was to feel Sasha's lips just_there_. But not this time. This time Dean was awake, and God, he was letting this happen.

Dean pressed forward first, moving, needing, searching out those lips, that tongue, this kiss happening right now. Dean physically felt his heart pick up speed, heard it up in his eardrums, and he knew his lips were trembling even as they moved. Don't think, he told himself. _Don't think._ It would ruin everything.

But Dean did think, not about how crazy this was or how much he'd be agonizing over it tomorrow, but about how much he loved the feel of Sasha's tongue. Sasha kissed the way men kissed, not the way most women do. Women like to kiss with little flits of their tongue, like licking a damn ice cream cone instead of actually _kissing_. Sasha kissed deep. Deep. Feeling everything there was to feel. Dean didn't think he could ever get enough of just that moment they were in, caught together.

Sasha's hand found a hold on Dean's thigh, the other moving around his waist to the back of his shirt where it pushed up underneath the fabric and found skin, just like in the dream when it was so right. This was right. This had to be right.

Then it was ending. Sasha was pulling back. But his hands stayed where they were and Dean saw how much Sasha was smiling at him. Dean was pretty sure he grinned like an idiot because he couldn't think of anything else to do or anything to say. Even the heat of Sasha's eyes on him made the whole thing feel like it was about to unravel and Dean just wanted to kiss again.

He reached up to grab the side of Sasha's face and started to pull them back together.

"Dean!" shouted Sam's voice suddenly from outside the room, followed by several fierce knocks. "Dean, Sasha, open up!"

Dean all but laughed, his lips so close to Sasha's he felt every exhale his friend released.

But Sasha was still smiling so Dean knew it would be okay. For now it would be okay.

"He really has…remarkable timing, doesn't he?" Sasha grinned.

Dean had to grin back, his hand still holding Sasha's face as he said, "You have no idea."

They pulled apart and Dean started scooting down the bed, having a much harder time of not thinking now that the moment was over. He turned his head to the door then and shouted.

"Dude, what the hell is your—" But that was all he got out before Sam burst through the door hard enough to knock it from its hinges. "Jesus!" Dean exclaimed, "Where's the fire?"

Sam turned panicked eyes on them but moved almost immediately for the window. "Out by our car," he said by way of explanation, parting the drapes and peering out the window from a flat position against the wall.

That made absolutely no sense to Dean right now, so he simply got off the bed and moved to join his brother. "What the hell are you talking about?" Dean reached the window and parted more of the drapes to look outside himself, not bothering to hide as neatly as Sam was.

They had clear sights on the Impala from their room, something Dean liked about smaller hotels. But something Dean didn't expect—for several very sound reasons—was to see the figure of Gordon Walker checking out his paint job.

Just as Dean was looking, Gordon turned towards the window and Dean flattened himself against the wall opposite Sam. "Shit. Okay. This is bad."

tbc...

A/N: So, do you love me or hate me? There's another chapter to break records as far as length. There are a few odes to some of my readers in there, I'm sure those of you who know who you are can find them. Also, one of those being deangirl1, please check out my favorites and read her ficlet "Incubus Redux," an alternate chapter for the pheromones section. It's a fun read.

Gordon has shown up yes, but not arbitrarily. You'll just have to wait and see. Things will certainly not be over quickly. I believe this arc will be 10 parts total, so that should give you some idea. Thanks so much for all your supports, my wonderful readers. You make Sasha happy. Let me know what you thought. ;-)

Crim


	18. Part 5: And Crazy Makes Two

Part 5: And Crazy Makes Two

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"How the hell did Gordon get out of jail?" Dean grumbled, a nervous hand coming up to run through the spikes of his hair. One thing Dean hated more than anything else was being caught unprepared.

"Gordon?" On the other side of the room Sasha sounded just as shocked as the brothers.

_Oh, God. Sasha_.

As if suddenly remembering Sasha was there, Dean looked back to the bed where Sasha was now standing and pulling on a T-shirt. For a moment Dean had almost forgotten what they had been doing before Sam came in.

_Oh, God, oh, God. _ Dean had just made out with Sasha on the guy's own bed. Was he out of his fucking mind? Granted the kiss had been significantly more enjoyable than the one in the alleyway. And the dream. So much better than a dream…

"_Dean_," Sam said in an exasperated voice, the one he used when he had asked Dean a question and then been left waiting way too long to receive an answer.

Now was not the time for Dean to dwell on this. He turned to his brother, noticing easily the sharp glance Sam gave to Sasha and then back to Dean. The gears were spinning in Sam's head finally, of that Dean was certain, and they clicked together practically screaming: _Sasha. Without a shirt. Sasha and Dean. On Sasha's bed. Together._

That couldn't be good. Dean was almost grateful for Gordon and their sudden crisis. He was so not ready to deal with Sam and his inevitable questions. Not now.

"How did you even spot Gordon?" Dean asked, reminding himself that they _did_ have a crisis and it _was_ pretty serious, "I mean, you were pretty much dead when I left the room."

Sam's eyes slipped out of calculating brother mode to the much safer mode of trained hunter. "Call it divine precognition or just dumb luck. All I did was glance out the window coming back from the bathroom and there they were out by our car."

"They?" Sasha questioned, his voice full of nerves Dean knew had nothing to do with almost being caught. Sasha was the one who seemed so damn sure about the whole thing, while Dean still felt like he was floundering in the dark.

The incubus was putting on his shoes now since a fast getaway was pretty much guaranteed. It made Dean grateful he had kept his on.

It was then that Sam started moving to the door. "There was someone else with him," he said.

The door was still open from when Sam had broken through it, leaving it half off its hinges. Dean wondered if Sam even realized when his super strength snuck out to play for a bit. At least Sam's wits never left him, Dean thought, since he could see that Sam had brought along both of their duffles, already repacked and ready for them to hit the road. Thank God for quick stays, when they only brought in the least of what they needed.

"I didn't recognize the other guy," Sam continued, tossing the bags into the room and shutting the door as best he could, "I say we wait until they come inside. They'll head for our room, since Gordon would look for our aliases, and we can sneak out the window to the car."

Dean was about to suggest that they just stay, gear up, and take Gordon head on, but he thought better of it before opening his mouth. They were in a frickin' Holiday Inn. Civilian casualties were way too likely.

Sasha did speak up, however, and if Dean hadn't seen that particular look a few times before, he never would have believed Sasha could look so suddenly panicked.

"What did the other guy look like?" he asked, walking right up to Sam and grabbing him by the arm, "Was he older? Maybe fifty? Curly dirty-blonde hair?"

Hazel eyes blinked back at Sasha. "Uh…yeah. Just like that. How'd you know?"

"Shit." Sasha stomped away from Sam, his hands forming into tight, dangerous looking fists, "_Shit_."

"What?" Dean prompted, not liking this particular twist in Sasha's mood one bit, especially considering the situation they were in.

Sasha looked up at Dean with tightly knit brows, then to Sam, pursing his lips. Shaking his head finally as he fought for words, the poor guy looked like he was caught somewhere between guilty and just plain pissed. "Kubrick. An old friend of my dad's," he said, "Well…acquaintance. He always seemed a little weird to me. Bit of a Jesus freak. He's…" Sasha blinked several times and his gaze drifted to the floor, "…who I kept thinking I saw by the Shaws' place."

"What!"

"I didn't know he was in league with Gordon!" Sasha defended, looking back up again with wide eyes and even taking a step back from the brothers as if he thought they might suddenly turn on him, "I didn't even know he knew Gordon. Believe me, if Gordon was the one I thought I saw, even if I wasn't sure, I would have told you. I just…I thought I was imagining it. I haven't seen him in years. I just…I just didn't think about it."

Well that was just perfect. Dean couldn't help feeling a little ticked that Sasha had been so quick to brush off having spotted another hunter around, but he also didn't like the cornered animal look Sasha was sporting right now. Sure, Dean was mad. But he wasn't about to string the guy up. Hadn't Sasha learned that by now?

"I'm sorry," Sasha went on, "I should have told you anyway."

"Yeah, you should've," Dean growled, but when Sasha looked at him, all puppy-like again, God damn it, Dean had no choice but to soften his gaze, "Forget it. So Gordon has help. Explains how he got out of prison. But it doesn't change that our best bet right now is to make a break for it while they're over there tearing up the other room."

Dean stormed back to the window and peered outside again. Gordon was gone, and there was no sign of that other guy, Kubrick, either.

"Looks clear." Dean turned back to Sasha. "Just gather your stuff and we'll get the hell out of here."

Surely, that was the best plan. Sam tossed Dean his leather and slipped one of the duffles over his shoulder. Dean happily put his jacket on and reached for his own bag. This didn't have to be difficult. They could totally make it out of town without even confronting Gordon. Even if they hadn't been in a busier hotel it wouldn't be a good idea to fight right now. Gordon had the upper hand. Getting it back was always better than rushing into battle. Dean might not always follow that ideal, but he understood its importance.

A minute, maybe two ticked by. Sasha had his coat on now and was pretty much finished stuffing things into his bag when he looked up with fear filled eyes again.

Sam, concerned, but still a little rightly upset, said, "What's wrong?" They had to get a move on and get out of Danville before Gordon realized they weren't in their room.

"I just…thought…" Sasha's eyes glazed over and then returned sharply to look at Sam and Dean in turn, "Kubrick. If they were following us, then they know I'm with you. And he…might know some of my aliases too."

The door opened so fast Dean barely had time to register how screwed they were.

This was turning out to be a really bad day.

"My, my," Gordon said, pistol already drawn and ready to fire as he walked slowly into the room, gauging his prey like a true hunter, "And I thought this was going to be a challenge."

"Gordon…" said the man with him, Kubrick, Dean reminded himself, who had a gun on his person too but didn't pull it out and even sounded a little warning to Gordon as he spoke. He closed the door behind them and his eyes went immediately to Sasha. "Now, don't you forget our deal on this, Gordon. You really have it in for Sam Winchester, I won't stop you. But Kelly's son's got nothing to do with this, I'm sure of it."

Great. That granted Sasha a get out of jail free card, but didn't exactly reassure Dean about his or his brother's welfare. They were trapped, hands raised too much like surrender rather than risk reaching for their guns while Gordon had one pointed at them, and the other guy sounded like he was just going to let Gordon kill Sam in cold blood.

Like hell that was going to happen.

"Gordon, you've got this whole thing all wrong…" Dean tried, taking a step forward that awarded him having Gordon's gun pointed at his chest instead of Sam's. Better that way anyway, Dean figured.

"Wrong, Dean?" Gordon parroted, wearing a half smile that just made Dean want to hit the guy, "No. Sorry. Really, I am. I know what it's like when one of your own gets turned into one of _them_."

"I'm not a vampire, Gordon," Sam said with some exasperation, which naturally brought the gun back on him, "Not like the sister you killed."

Even Dean cringed at that. Really, Sammy, do you need to upset the guy currently pointing a gun in your face?

Dean was feeling really antsy now, barely able to keep himself still, but Gordon just went on smiling.

"No. You're not a vampire, Sam. You're something much worse. You've got most of the hunter community believing your story too. Bobby Singer. Your friend Kelly there. Kubrick couldn't believe the son of the great Deklin Kelly would hunt side by side with an abomination and not know it." Gordon glanced at Sasha, who was still by the side of the bed where he had been packing. "Well maybe he does maybe he doesn't. I don't really care. The only one I really care about, Sam, is you."

"Gordon—" Dean tried again, but the gun moved over to point at him even swifter this time. There options were too limited and Gordon was ready to end this. Dean went for the next best bet. He turned to Kubrick. "Dude, you know Sasha. You think he'd be stupid enough to get sucked into this if Sam was some demon messiah?"

"Shut up," Gordon warned, but Dean kept his eyes on Kubrick and didn't stop.

"Or even worse, you actually think Sasha would be in league with someone like that? Deklin Kelly's _son_?"

"Shut up!" Gordon called again, but Kubrick wasn't looking too sure.

"I told you, Gordon, that I didn't think this was right," Kubrick said, shuffling around Gordon with hands raised as if he might act if need be to rid Gordon of his gun. Dean tried not to grin. "Sasha's a good kid, no doubt about that. And Bobby Singer's not one to be easily duped either. I'm gonna need actual proof here before I can let you go through with this."

Inside, Dean was cheering. All this time Dean had been worried that Gordon would get out one day and raise an army of hunters against them. But with the support the brothers had in the few hunters they knew and trusted, Gordon hadn't even been able to convince the one guy he had managed to bring along.

Gordon's eyes flicked between Kubrick and Sam, wild, the way Dean remembered them looking when he had that vampire chick tied up, and when he was using Dean as bait to capture Sam in that trap.

"Proof?" Gordon repeated, his mouth twitching as it tried to retain some form of a smile.

With his attention more on one side of the room, it made it easier for Sasha to move. Dean watched, anxious as Sasha inched his way closer to the rest of them. But then Gordon was looking at Sam and only Sam, and there wasn't time. There wasn't time for anything.

"I have all the proof I need."

The gun fired, dulled by the silencer Dean hadn't even noticed. Well, at least they wouldn't wake up the hotel. But that wouldn't save his brother.

The gun fired twice in the end, but Dean didn't hear either of the shots clearly. Time had slowed and Dean felt his heart constrict as if one of those bullets had found him.

God, please say Gordon hadn't really fired. Please, no. There was no way he had fired. But Dean watched, amazed, terrified, as Kubrick tackled Gordon back into the wall too late. He looked to his brother then, but he couldn't see him, he only saw the blur that was Sasha as he took the first bullet in the chest in Sam's stead. Then Sasha went down and as Sam fell with him the second shot struck Sam in the shoulder.

Time was back, fast, too fast, and both Sasha and Sam were on the ground bleeding. Dean didn't know what urge in him was stronger, the one to fall down beside them and make sure they were both okay, or the one telling him to fly across the room and strangle the life out of Gordon right now.

"Gordon, damn it!" Kubrick hissed, pinning Gordon to the wall still, though the gun remained gripped in Gordon's hand.

"Sasha!" Sam was shouting, ignoring his own wound as he tried to get Sasha to uncurl from the ball he had formed on the floor.

Kubrick looked back and saw Sasha lying there, turning then to press Gordon even more firmly back. "You see what you did! That's Kelly's boy you hit!"

Kubrick was yelling. Sam was yelling. Gordon was seething. But Dean still couldn't move. That hadn't happened. That hadn't actually happened. Dean was the one who was supposed to stupidly dive to catch the bullet meant for his brother, not Sasha.

But then maybe it hadn't happened, it couldn't have, because Sasha was suddenly uncurling and getting to his feet. There wasn't any blood at all, not from him. The blood was only Sam's, a simple shoulder shot. Sasha looked…fine.

"It's okay," Sasha said as Sam helped him to his feet, smiling as if nothing had happened even though his voice was ragged. He looked over at Dean who felt so stupid for just standing there. "I'm okay," Sasha said again, pointing to his shirt that was torn from the bullet hole but still, amazingly, not bleeding. Then Sasha was looking over to Gordon and Kubrick, staring at Kurbick especially—who looked as if he had just witnessed the original resurrection.

Sasha pulled at the tear in his T-shirt and the shirt ripped open, revealing a perfect little hole as the bullet pushed out of him from healing tissue, fell to the floor, and left behind perfect smooth skin.

"It was only lead," Sasha smiled.

Dean saw Sam start to grin even as a hand came up finally to press into the wound in his shoulder. Dean figured he was probably grinning too. But even though Sasha's smile had come first, his was the one Dean knew wasn't real. Sasha was staring at Kubrick almost like a challenge, and although Dean didn't understand at first, the truth struck hard when it finally dawned on him.

It _was_ a challenge. A test. And by the look on Kubrick's face, Dean was fairly certain the guy wasn't going to pass.

"What…what are you?" Kubrick breathed. Already, his grip on Gordon was loosening.

Sasha was still smiling, but it looked plastic—dead. "Deklin Kelly's son," he said, "But somehow…I don't think that's going to be enough anymore."

There was a simultaneous eruption of shuffling and resounding clicks. Kubrick pulled his gun, releasing Gordon who immediately took aim again with his, and there was finally enough time for Sam and Dean to pull theirs. Dean thanked his lucky stars and his father for instilling the need in him to always arm yourself first. Dean had tucked a gun into his pants even before he put his jacket on. Sam had done the same it seemed, and thankfully it was his left arm that got shot.

Sasha was the only one who didn't have a weapon. The incubus hadn't even moved. He just stood there, centered between them all, his eyes straight ahead and staring right at Kubrick.

Dean glanced to the bed and saw Sasha's hand gun lying out in the open. A few seconds more than they had been given and Sasha would have had his gun safely tucked somewhere too. At least now they knew that Gordon wasn't packing iron bullets, but there was no way to know about Kubrick.

"Gabe…" Sasha started, using what Dean assumed to be Kubrick's first name.

"Possessed?" Kubrick breathed, eyeing Sasha as if he thought the redhead might change into something ugly and horrible at any moment, "I've seen demons heal their host and keep on coming after shots like that."

"I'm not possessed," Sasha almost growled. Dean was getting worried. They didn't have time for this. It was obvious Kubrick wasn't going to listen to the details. Couldn't Sasha see that?

Then it was Gordon's voice that broke through the rising tension, his words steady and certain. "An incubus," he said, shaking his head at Kubrick when the other hunter turned to him, "Hair like that. Eyes a little too bright. I know my vampires. How long's he been scamming you, Kubrick?"

Kubrick didn't respond, but his trigger finger looked a little twitchier. Sasha was close to actually growling now, but he didn't have time to reply either.

Gordon looked right at Sam again, gun unwavering. "I didn't realize you were recruiting, Sammy," he said with his insufferable smile, stressing the use of the nickname only Dean had the right to say out loud, "Seems we caught up with you just in time." Gordon gave a passing glance at Dean. "Put a demon in your brother yet?"

While it was Sam's eyes that flashed, Dean was the one who took a step forward, gun ready, just itching to fire and end this. But everyone had guns and everyone had them pointed at someone else. Even if Sasha didn't, four guns were enough.

There was no way this could end well. Someone was going to fire and it was going to be soon, Dean could feel it, feel the energy in the room becoming hot and menacing. Another moment more and—

"_Stop_."

Dean froze. Literally froze. He couldn't move if he wanted to. He tried to shake his head to clear away the sound of Sam's voice but he couldn't even do that. Damn it, he'd been mojoed again. And so had everyone else.

"Now," Sam continued, slow and calculating, "_Everyone, put down your weapons_."

Dean listened, placing his gun neatly on the ground in front of him. As soon as he was standing upright again he felt a snarl coming. He knew this was better than the shootout that had been about to happen, but he still hated his mind being messed with. Couldn't Sam be more specific and just focus on Gordon and Kubrick, for crying out loud!

Sasha hadn't moved, not having a weapon of his own currently, but Kubrick placed his gun on the ground as well. It was unnerving, however, that Gordon did not. In fact, he was still smiling.

"_Gordon_," Sam said warningly, but Gordon still didn't follow the supernatural order he had been given. Instead, he raised his gun a little higher, keeping it aimed squarely at Sam, the only other person still holding a gun.

"No," Gordon said simply, his head cocked just slightly. His free hand reached to a cord around his neck and he pulled up on a pendant that had been hidden beneath his shirt. "Think I didn't do my homework, Sam? Andrew Gallagher. Guthrie, Oklahoma. I'm not stupid. This charm protects against mental sway. I may not be able to predict all of your powers, Sam, but those mind tricks won't be working on me."

Shit. Way to go, Sammy, Dean thought. And you just made me put my gun on the ground.

Gordon steadied his gun a little more, promising a gunfight after all, albeit a little smaller. Strangely, that didn't make Dean feel any better.

"Gordon—" Sam tried.

"No. No more running. No more games. You want to shoot me, Sam? Go ahead. It won't stop me from getting my shot off too." Gordon glanced over at Dean again. "You didn't have to get yourself messed up in this, Dean. You could have let your brother go. Instead, you hook up with yet another monster and say _I'm_ the one who has things turned around." Gordon shook his head and then his dark eyes moved to Sam again, wider, intent. "I'm thinking I got to you just in time, Sam, before you had the chance to gather that demon army you let loose. A shame there aren't any here to do your bidding."

Then Sam did the very last thing Dean expected. He lowered his gun. "Demons, Gordon?" Sam repeated.

Dean tensed to run. He knew that tone. He could feel what was coming.

Sam's eyes shimmered as he turned and looked right at Kubrick. "Who said I needed demons." No other words left Sam, but a message of control was sent, and suddenly Kubrick lunged for Gordon in a fury, truly tackling him to the floor this time and sending Gordon's gun flying from his hands.

On that obvious cue Dean was ready; no order needed to be given. He grabbed his bag, saw Sam do the same and Sasha rush to the bed to grab his things too, and then they were gone, all three of them bolting out of the room for the nearest exit. The Impala couldn't come into their sights fast enough, but when it did they didn't even bother with the trunk. Their things were thrown into the backseat beside Sasha and Dean took off without looking back.

It was barely thirty seconds later that Dean started cursing.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked beside him, holding tight pressure to his injured shoulder.

"That fucking bastard slashed my tires!" They hadn't seen it in the dark, but Dean could feel it now as they tried to drive along the road. They wouldn't get far like that. The rims would be bent before they made it to the next town.

"Turn up here," Sam said, out of breath but calmer than Dean at the moment, "We passed a garage coming back from the Shaws."

Dean gripped the wheel like Death and cast his brother a glare. "I can't put just any tires on this thing, Sammy. We don't even know if there'll be something we can use."

"Do you have a better idea?"

No. Dean didn't. He chewed his lower lip as he drove, hating every minute of this. They needed to get out of town _now_. He was going to have to work like lightening to put on a new set of tires before Gordon caught up with them. Their only hope was that Gordon would be grappling with Kubrick long enough that he wouldn't be able to get a clear trace on where they went.

Only a few minutes had passed, but Dean wasn't oblivious to how quiet Sasha was being in the backseat. Not a single sound left him as they pulled up to the garage, made quick work of the locks, and broke inside. It was riskier than a simple smash and grab kind of B&E. They needed to bring the Impala into the shop and put the tires on there. Dean set to work immediately.

Even as Sasha helped him raise the car to make things go faster, the incubus said nothing but one syllable grunts of acknowledgment. Once the car was raised and Dean could set to work stealing the tires off the corvette next to them, Sasha disappeared from beside him.

Sam had gone to find a first aid kit to do something about his shoulder. When Dean saw his brother come back into view, he called for Sasha, wherever the guy had gone, to help Sam with the bullet wound. When Sasha didn't even so much as grumble, Dean looked over at Sam. Dean was half-under the car; he couldn't see anything but what was right in front of him. Sam nodded his head somewhere over to the left, looking all concerned and unsure, and Dean knew things were worse off than he had wanted to believe.

Pulling himself out from under the car, time ticking away be damned, Dean headed over to where Sam had gestured and spotted Sasha standing amongst the hubcaps. Dean was about to ask what the hell was going on when Sasha suddenly lashed out at a display, his hands morphed into incubus claws that caused a great crash of metal to skitter over the floor.

"Fuck," Dean cursed, sick of this already and not in the mood to deal with any of it. He walked up behind Sasha and grabbed him by the shoulder, "Are you out of your fucking mind?! We need to get the car fixed and out of here. What we don't need is every Good Samaritan on the neighborhood watch calling the cops on us. _Sasha_," Dean pulled harder on Sasha's shoulder to get the incubus to turn towards him, but he wouldn't budge.

Then suddenly Sasha turned on his own, and it was his hands gripping Dean, holding him by the arms painfully and staring with red eyes and fangs like he was halfway to frenzied. "I don't care! I don't even care anymore!" he growled in Dean's face, fierce and angry, "Let them come! Let every hunter out there come for me! Let every last one of them!" But even though Sasha was yelling and holding Dean so tight, his voice broke and his eyes were swimming.

Dean couldn't believe how quickly Sasha's tone changed from furious to close to crying, but it did, and as Dean listened he couldn't breathe let alone think about how much his arms would hurt from this tomorrow.

"One day it won't…it won't matter," Sasha said, and his grip on Dean finally went slack, "You'll look up…and it won't matter that we're friends. You won't care anymore." Sasha pulled away completely and stared at the hands he had let turn into claws. "You'll only see this."

Dean's hands formed into fists so quickly and so tight, he almost cut himself with the flat of his nails. His nerves were shot and all patience was non-existent. Dean knew he might regret it later when he was holding his hand in a glass of ice water, but in that moment the idea of punching Sasha as hard as he could sounded like the best idea in the world.

So Dean did it. Hard as he could. _Harder_. His hand throbbed the second he connected with Sasha's jaw, but damn it was worth it. Sasha morphed back to being fully human and all he could do was gape back at Dean with wide, too blue eyes.

"You _ever_ say shit like that to me again…I'll dip my hand in iron first. You hear me?" Dean's words were acid, his tone dripping with it, and his eyes left no room for negotiation. He had already had to deal with Sam's 'everyone thinks I'm evil so maybe I am' speech; he would not sit through this. "Now get your _ass_ over to Sam and help him with his shoulder. I have four tires to remove and replace and we are out of time. Are you hearing me? Or do I need to hit you harder?"

Sasha's eyes were swimming even more now, liquid blue, and as much as he had looked menacing and powerful a moment before, now he just looked broken. "Dean…I…"

"Save it," Dean snarled, "Just…just go help Sam." And with that Dean turned away. He didn't miss the matching gape Sam was now sporting as he moved back under the car, but he didn't acknowledge it either. Why the fates had decided he was the one destined to babysit two of the most ignorant, selfless idiots ever to walk the earth, he didn't know, but he'd be damned if he'd put up with their shit anymore.

Didn't they understand how much Dean needed them to stop falling apart so he wouldn't fall apart with them? Nothing would make him turn away from them. Nothing. But that didn't mean he wasn't ready to knock some sense into them whenever they tried pulling stupid shit like that. Dean would punch Sasha again if he had to. Gladly. He told himself that his throbbing hand was a sign of victory.

He'd get those tires on in half the time, God damn it.

Halfway through the second tire, Dean risked a glance over at Sam, seeing that Sasha was right where he was supposed to be—sitting on the same tabletop, helping Sam clean out the wound so they could get the bullet out. It was about damn time someone started listening to what Dean said.

As Dean continued to work, he could hear Sam and Sasha talking, like a faint humming that drifted over to him in pieces.

"…sorry…not…good with my hands."

"Isn't…oxymoron for an incubus?"

Light, strained laughter.

Sam hissed loud and clear then and Dean heard Sasha mumble an apology. Then Sam said something like, "Let me try something," and Dean couldn't help glancing at them again in curiosity.

They were sitting side by side. Sasha's hands left Sam's arm and shoulder as Sam closed his eyes in concentration and started worrying his bottom lip just the way Dean knew he was probably doing right now. The wonders of learned family traits.

At first Dean couldn't imagine what Sam thought he was doing just sitting there, but then short breaths and a few pained moans slipped from his lips and Dean suddenly got it. Sam was using his TK to remove the bullet. That would actually be pretty cool if it didn't look like so much strain.

A second later the bullet clinked onto the table between the two of them and Sam released a deep, held breath. Sasha's voice floated very clear across the garage. "That was amazing."

Sam chuckled through a few more deep breaths. "Now if only it would close up nicely like it did for you." Sam looked at the hole left by the bullet, bleeding only lightly but still red and angry looking. He looked back up at Sasha and smiled. "Guess I'm not quite as lucky." It was the simplest thing but Sasha's whole face lit up to hear it.

Dean grinned to himself and turned back to his work. Leave it to Sam to know just the right thing to say, all subtle-like, and everything was okay again. That's why Dean liked it being all three of them; he could never have managed that. Sasha would have had to brood for a few more hours, like Sam usually did, until Dean finally just hit him again and things awkwardly slid back into normal. This made it so much easier.

By the time Dean was finished, Sam's shoulder was neatly disinfected and wrapped up, there had been no sign or sounds to indicate they were going to get caught, and Sasha looked fairly back to normal.

Dean gave each of them a smirk as he patted his baby's hood. "Do you love me or what? Now come on. I want to put as many miles between us and our new best friends as we can. We good to go?" Dean cast his gaze so much more obviously on Sasha than on Sam that his real question was clear.

_We good?_

Sasha nodded.

"Then let's put this place in out rearview mirror. Pronto."

-----

Dean drove until none of them could keep their eyes open. After four hours with the clock quickly passing three AM, they made a unanimous decision to stop at the next town. Topaz, Nevada wasn't as out of the way as Dean would like, rounding off over 2000 for a population, but it would have to do.

While Sam and Sasha checked in to their motel, Dean made a quick run to Walgreen's for some pain medication for Sam's shoulder. Much as Dean hated all chain stores on principle, he couldn't bring himself to dislike any place that stayed open 24 hours. He also picked up what would hopefully pass as breakfast in the morning and some sodas for the road. They planned to set out early and put at least two more states between them and Gordon before they slowed down. They had also decided to get only one room, just to be safe.

"Is he breathing?" Sasha asked jokingly as he came out of the bathroom, finding a now drugged up Sam collapsed on one of the beds.

Dean raised an eyebrow in his brother's direction and shrugged. "Probably. You should have seen him the one time we managed to snag some Vicodin. I don't think he moved for twelve hours."

An easy laugh fell from Sasha's lips and he went to sit beside Dean on the bed Sam wasn't currently passed out on. "Look…um…I'm…really sorry about before," Sasha said, having left a good foot between them when he sat down. Sasha sagged forward to rest his arms on his legs. "He just made me so…mad, ya know? Kubrick. The way he looked at me." Sasha shook his head. "Promise you'll never tell Bobby what I am. I don't think I could stand to see _him_ look at me like that."

"Bobby _wouldn't_ look at you like that," Dean affirmed, trying very hard not to let the frustration show too much in his voice now that Sam wasn't awake to mediate, "Don't you get that by now? Sam and I, we're not going to wake up one day and decide liking you isn't worth our time. And Bobby isn't like that either. I won't tell him. But you should. And you shouldn't be afraid to do it."

Sasha didn't say anything. A sigh left him though, and he nodded noncommittally. At least it was better than an all-out refusal. Not that Dean had any right to judge someone for keeping some things a secret.

Dean was fairly certain he let out a sigh too, slouched there on the bed with Sasha beside him. He was so tired he didn't think he could sleep. With his eyes drifted off somewhere on the other side of the room, Dean jerked back to himself suddenly at the feeling of warm fingers taking his hand.

"Does it hurt?" Sasha asked, his voice barely above a whisper. That foot between them lessened as Sasha turned over Dean's right hand, pressing lightly with his thumb into Dean's palm. Blue eyes fluttered up to look at Dean and Sasha smiled. "You know, from when you punched me so hard I heard your knuckles crack. It did hurt, in case you were wondering."

"Probably not as much as I wanted it to," Dean grumbled. The words came out so fast and breathy, however, that Dean was pretty sure they lost most of their bite.

Sasha turned his touch into gentle rubbing, massaging Dean's hand with both of his. "I deserved it. I can get…kind of intense. One of the many reasons I used to work alone. Sometimes it's easier when someone isn't there to yell at you for being an idiot." Sasha scooted closer to Dean on the bed. "But I like this better."

"Haha…" That old uncomfortable laugh found its way out of Dean like it hadn't since Sasha first hit on him. Time was inching towards four in the morning and Dean was not in the right mind to deal with this. "So…I take it that means you finally get that you can trust us, right?" Dean decided on saying. He wasn't done picking on Sasha yet for that stunt in the garage. "Coz if you don't…"

"I do," Sasha said, sighing himself back into a slouch, "I always have. It's just…I've never been able to trust anyone before. Obviously, I was right to keep the truth hidden from some people," he added with downcast eyes.

Damn, Dean really wished Kubrick would show up right now just so he could punch the guy. And he really needed Sasha to stop rubbing his hand like that. Did the guy even realize he was still doing it? "Well…we're not Kubrick. Sounds like your dad was the kind of guy who put a lot of faith in people. Sam's that way too. Me, I hate to admit it, but I'm not. People suck. Most people aren't worth trusting any further than you can drop-kick 'em. But you can trust us. We're a whole trio of freaks now," Dean grinned, taking the opportunity of Sasha being slouched down to pull his hand away and hook his friend into a headlock, "Keep adding all these chick flick moments and we'll be able to sell tickets."

Sasha laughed so hard he practically fell onto the floor, unable to disentangle himself from Dean's hold. When Dean finally released him, all the lingering sadness in Sasha had been banished completely and things felt…normal. Dean needed normal right now.

"You know we're gonna have to kill them, right?" Dean said, not needing to elaborate on who he meant, "They haven't exactly left us much choice."

"Would it weird you out if I said '_good'_?"

This time it was Dean who laughed, though he knew it wasn't really meant to be funny. "Not at all. Coz I've been thinking the same thing. Gordon wants my brother dead. Kubrick wants you dead now too. Sorry but neither of those is gonna happen. Not on my watch."

"Your watch?" Sasha repeated, grinning sideways at Dean. He nudged Dean in the shoulder then and Dean took a moment to notice that the once foot between them had become pretty much nothing. "I sincerely hope you don't think of me too much like a brother."

There it was again, the subject Dean didn't want to touch right now, and again the uncomfortable laugh tumbled out of him. "Uhh…you know…about that."

"So you're thinking we'll wait a while, let Sam heal up, and then hunt _them_ next time?" Sasha switched the subject effortlessly, as if he hadn't said anything even remotely suggestive, "We need to have the upper hand with this one. They know even more now what to expect from us."

"Yeah…" Dean said mindlessly at first, still stuck back on the subject he wanted to stay away from, "Yeah," he said with more conviction, "Exactly that. Believe me if I thought it was a good idea to just head back in the morning and hunt them down right now, hell, I'd be all over that. But because I know it _wouldn't_ be a good idea, I say we move on and regroup later. Give it a few weeks for Sam's shoulder to heal and…" Sasha had already said that, "…yeah." Dean really needed to get to sleep.

"You know…it's my birthday in a few weeks," Sasha said, purely casual.

Dean blinked himself back to alertness, grinned, and smacked Sasha on the back. "December 17th. See? I remember the important things. Don't let Sam try poisoning you with lies. I am so ready for this."

Blue eyes were brightly lit up now, as if Sasha couldn't believe someone besides him was excited for his birthday. "Great. But I gotta tell you something. See, my aunt wasn't too thrilled I said I already had plans to spend the day with you guys. She wants me to spend the whole week beforehand in Seattle to make it up to her. She has a loft there, since I…can't go to our other home."

"A whole week?" Dean thought he'd go crazy without hunting for a whole week. The expression on Sasha's face made him pretty sure his friend felt the same way.

"A whole week," Sasha echoed, "You two can manage not to get yourselves killed for that long, right?" he winked, "I'll be back the day of. Still a while til then anyway, but I'd hate for something to happen with Gordon while I was gone. Keep a low profile for me, will ya?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Don't I always?" _We_, he thought to himself after he had said that. Sam was included. It really should have been a _we_. God, Dean needed sleep. "We'll wait for you," he added, "Find a nice quiet haunting or something. How're you getting there? Need us to—"

"Greyhound," Sasha said a little too quickly, "Safer. I mean…it's just…" Suddenly, Sasha's face had gone about five different shades of red, all of which were different than his hair color.

Finally, Dean had his chance. "Okay, are you embarrassed of us or your aunt, coz I can totally be on my best behavior—"

"My _aunt_," Sasha broke in, half laughing, "Believe me, I'm more afraid of what my aunt might do, not you guys. Geez, you can be kind of sensitive, huh?" Sasha nudged Dean like he had before, and Dean waited for the suggestive pun that was sure to follow. He breathed relief when it didn't come, and instead Sasha went on. "She just really hates hunters. Still lectures me about being one every time I see her. She'll…say something or do something and you'll all end up hating each other and…" Sasha trailed with an exaggerated sigh. "I so don't want to deal with that."

Dean knew the feeling. "So we'll drop you at the nearest Greyhound station come the day. I'm not offended. She'll make you introduce us all eventually, though, you know that right?"

Sasha's eyes closed and he nodded in defeat. "Oh, I know. Believe me, I know."

Maybe it was that particular sigh of inevitability Sasha breathed out, maybe it was just that they were so close on the bed again, but regardless of the reason Dean's hand ended up moving to rest on top of Sasha's in a gesture of comfort. Dean blamed nerves and fatigue, because there was no way he would have done something like that if he was in his right mind.

When Sasha looked up and their eyes met, Dean thought 'I can do this, I can have a Sam moment and be supportive. It's just a fucking hand'. But then Sasha's hand was turning beneath Dean's and he laced their fingers tightly into a much more intimate hold. All the while blue eyes stared hungrily back at Dean, heated and steady.

Dean wasn't going to panic. He wasn't going to…panic.

"Bed?" Dean croaked, tearing his hand out of Sasha's grip, "I mean…we should probably…sleep. Yeah. Sleep…would be good." Well done, Dean thought with a mental grimace. Perfectly smooth.

Sasha's eyes shone with a little disappointment, but he didn't look upset. His smile was more placating than anything. "You can have it," Sasha said, reminding Dean that they had never actually bothered the front desk for an extra cot, "I've slept on worse than a motel room floor." Sasha started to get up but Dean, almost unconsciously, reached up to grab Sasha by the arm.

"No. You have it," Dean said, and then realized that he might be implying something he didn't actually mean, "Not that I…I just meant…you. You have this bed, and I'll…I'll just shove sleeping beauty over." Dean nodded back towards Sam in the other bed. "Haven't slept with him since his last grade school nightmare, but I think I can handle it. None of us deserve the floor after tonight." There. That wasn't so bad.

Sasha was smiling, like he knew how hard this was for Dean and had all the patience in the world to deal with it. "Okay. We should probably hit the hay then."

Dean tried to make a point of not watching Sasha shrug out of his clothing, despite there being so little left of his T-shirt anyway, but somehow his eyes kept drifting. Then Sasha was down to his boxers again and climbing under the covers, while Dean was still in his jeans.

Kicking his pants into a corner finally, Dean couldn't help noticing that Sasha was also watching him. Dean didn't really want to rummage for a clean T-shirt to sleep in, so he stuck to just his boxers too. Moving to the bed, though, knowing Sasha's eyes were following him though he wouldn't have been able to look up and meet those eyes for anything, made Dean's blood temperature sky rocket.

They kissed. They really kissed, no bet, no pheromones. And if Sam hadn't come in with that warning of Gordon, Dean would have…

_Jesus_.

"God, what a day," Dean said aloud, giving Sam a good—but careful—shove over to the other side of the bed. As expected, the younger Winchester didn't even twitch. Dean climbed under the covers since Sam was sprawled on top of them, and tried not to think too hard. Then it hit him. "Day. Fuck. It's the same God damn day." Dean groaned up at the ceiling. "Shoot me in the head."

Laughter filtered over from Sasha's side of the room. "No," he said simply.

"Spoil sport."

Again, Sasha laughed. A moment of silence passed, but when Sasha spoke again, it was casual. Easy. "Slither was fun," he said, "We should do it again some time."

_Shoot me in the head_. "Sasha…"

"Goodnight, Dean."

Right. Sleep. Sleep would be good. "Good night." But Dean knew that when he woke up in the morning, he would still have absolutely no idea what he was doing.

tbc...

A/N: The excitement mounts! The more I think of it though, this wouldn't have to be called the Gordon arc, since most of the parts don't have him in it and all, but he is the catalyst for many things, and that is very important. Halfway through the arc! Woohoo! Maybe more than half or less, you never know how these things will work out in the end. Anyway, you guys are so wonderful, sticking with this. I understand how all of you are getting fangirl twitchy (fanboy twitchy for a few of you), but I can promise that things will happen as they are meant to. As I told one of you lovely readers recently, I may break your heart in chapters to come, but I promise...what's meant to be will be. And no hints! Much as I enjoy you guessing. ;-) Please review, you know it's like chocolate, and who can live without chocolate. Love!

Crim


	19. Part 6: Just A Little Sentimental

Part 6: Just A Little Sentimental

-----

The more Dean thought about it, the more pleased he was that Sasha would be gone for a week. It would give him the time he needed to think things through. And to pick up Sasha's present. He hadn't told Sam about it yet, but he was pretty sure his brother would be all over the idea.

That was what Dean focused his attention on as the first week went by and time ticked closer to when Sasha would be heading to his aunt's. They were still staying all together in one room, just in case, so it wasn't as if Dean got any time alone with one of them. That, at least, was a blessing. It was way too likely that if caught alone with either Sam or Sasha they would inevitably want to _talk_.

Hunting was slow, but that was also intentional. Sam's arm was quickly regaining full range of motion but it was still understandably sore. They had been trying to build up a better system for tracking down demon activity, like what Ash used to help them with, and so far it had granted them one small jackpot—a couple in Elizabethville, Ohio disguised as a priest and a female bartender.

It made for an easy hunt with the way Sam spotted them for what they were and then effortlessly exorcized them once the demons were caught, saving the hosts instead of having to use the Colt. Sure, Dean felt a little useless what with Sam's newfound abilities popping up more often, and with Sasha's abundant strength and resilience. But he wasn't about to complain. It just made Dean long for a haunting again or something unexplainable. The last thing he wanted in his last months was to sit back like a shmuck and let others do all the work.

Oh, Sam was still doing everything he could to find out some kind of information to help Dean, but it wasn't exactly easy to dig for information in front of Sasha when Dean was still against letting the incubus in on the secret. Sam had gone so far as to demand to know whether the demons they exorcized in Elizabethville knew who kept the contracts for souls sold to hell. They didn't have an answer, even under Sam's sway.

When Sasha asked about that detail later, Sam shrugged and said they had dealt with that sort of thing before and knew decent people sometimes got tricked into devil deals. Dean was grateful Sam made it seem like something more generally personal, but he didn't miss the scowl Sam shot him after the lie was made.

They were considering checking Massachusetts for demon activity next, a hunch Sam had after going over possible demonic signs. That would have to wait until after Sasha got back though, and after they went for Gordon and Kubrick. Waiting much longer to burn that bridge would only leave them open to unprepared attack again, and there was no way Dean wanted a repeat of that. He chalked up their bad luck last time to having gone back to the same place twice in so short a time span. They wouldn't make that mistake again if they could help it.

They had spent the night at a hotel usually used by oil drillers in Williston, North Dakota, but that also accommodated the few people who might actually drive through the town. Dean had taken notice of the Amtrak station when they drove past it, Williston being an apparently important stop along the famous train's route, but Dean didn't see anything but cowboys and old shops to give him a reason why that might be.

"Sounds like there's been a black dog sighting in Troy, Pennsylvania," Sam said from one of the beds as Dean came out of the bathroom, his laptop propped on his legs, "Not much else on the radar."

"Sure," Dean shrugged, rubbing at his hair with an extra towel, another still hanging loose on his waist from his shower, "Shame that Montana thing had to be a bust."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, what a _shame_ the possible zombie attack was only a bunch of pranking teenagers."

"Hey," Dean looked around the room, suddenly noticing that he and his brother were alone, "Where's the redhead?"

Already, Sam had dived back into whatever he was looking at on the computer, probably leaving the information he had about Pennsylvania to return to his constant 'save Dean' search. Dean no longer bugged him about that, especially when Sam made sure Sasha wasn't able to catch sight of what he was doing. "Ran down to the gym," Sam said, "Said he needed to let off some excess energy."

Dean tried not to tense at that particular phrasing. Excess energy. Right. "This place has a gym?"

"I'm guessing a big empty room with a treadmill and a punching bag, but who knows."

"Huh." Dean tossed away his towels and reached for a clean pair of shorts he had already laid out. Modesty never mattered as much when it was just him and his brother. Sam's eye roll said he didn't agree, but Dean concentrated on getting dressed. "I think I'll run down there too."

Pulling a T-shirt over his head didn't stop Dean from feeling the weight of his brother's eyes as they turned to him. "You just took a shower."

"So? I'll stretch and do sit-ups. I don't have to get sweaty." Dean pulled on a pair of jeans, careful to keep his gaze away from the fixated stare of his brother.

"Dean…"

That was not the tone Dean wanted to deal with right now. "I'll make sure we're back in half an hour. We can grab some lunch at that place next door." He had to get out of the room before Sam tried harder to stop him. Screw socks. Dean pulled on his shoes and headed for the door.

"_Dean_."

Damn it. Dean knew he would regret walking out on Sam now, the evil little brother in Sam would make sure of it. Still, Dean had to salvage some of his pride, so he kept his back on Sam and stayed facing the door. "What?" he prompted warily.

"I hope you're going down there to apologize for whatever happened between you two. Did you and Sasha have some kind of fight? You know, besides you hitting him back in California."

Fight? "No," Dean said, peering back over his shoulder. "What makes you say that?"

The expression on Sam's face was completely incredulous. "You haven't noticed how pissed he's been at you the last couple of days? Maybe if you actually looked at him lately you would have seen some of the glares he's been giving you. Dean," oh God, here it comes, Dean thought, bracing himself for the worst, "Is something going on between you two?"

That was Dean's cue to leave. "Don't worry about it," Dean said dismissively, turning back to the door and reaching for the handle, "I'll...I'll talk to him. It's nothing."

Only it wasn't nothing. Dean hadn't noticed Sasha being upset with him because of exactly the reason Sam gave; Dean hadn't so much as looked at Sasha since their conversation at four AM while Sam was lying passed out on the opposite bed.

As Dean left the room, he definitely did not hear the impatient "_Dean_," that followed after him. He had some patching up to do, and that was much more important than talking things out with Sam.

Dean had originally planned to try and smooth things over with Sasha anyway, maybe get things back to normal somehow. Now he had an actual mission. He hadn't meant to be so standoffish and awkward around Sasha lately, he just didn't know what he _should_ be doing. Half of him was still terrified to face Sasha, but his feet carried him along the hallways anyway, following the signs that pointed to 'Workout Room'.

Using his guest key on the door when he finally reached it, a single glance told Dean that he would have to remember to tell Sam he had been right. An empty room with a treadmill and a punching bag was pretty much all there was to the hotel's 'Workout Room'. That, a TV, and one of those elliptical things. Sasha was the only person in the room, not surprisingly, and he was currently pummeling the life out of the punching bag. Had anyone else wandered in, they probably would have turned on their heels to see the way Sasha was going at it.

"Dude, you break it, you buy it," Dean said with half a grin. He knew that if Sasha was hitting the bag like that then he probably had a reason for it. _Him_. "Did the bag insult you or something, coz I can totally help you take it down."

As Dean moved into the room, noticing several full-length mirrors along the walls but thankfully no windows, Sasha stopped mid-punch in recognition of being walked in on. When he tried to smile back at Dean, the expression fell flat. "Hey. Didn't you just shower?"

What was with these logical guys? Dean laced his fingers together and raised his arms above his head. "Felt like stretching. Some mid-morning calisthenics and…all that. You mind?" Yeah, coz that didn't sound awkward.

"Of course not," Sasha said, holding the bag to stop it from swinging, "I was just…"

"Releasing a little excess energy?"

Sasha laughed and that sounded flat too. "Yeah."

"Why not release a little on me?" Dean froze in his steps. He so did not just word things like that. "I mean…not…ya know. Just…sparring. Or something." Why was Dean so bad at this? It was like he was hopped up on pheromones again and wasn't entirely in control of what he did. Like a week ago when he made out with Sasha after their…pretty much date.

Oh God, it was so like a date. And afterwards all Dean could do was start acting like the biggest asshole in the world and try to pretend it never happened. No wonder Sasha wanted something to hit.

"I'm thinking I got a little excess energy too," Dean said, eyeing the cryptic and intense look that had taken over Sasha's eyes, "And I'm getting the feeling you'd really like to take a shot at me right now. Am I right?"

The intensity on Sasha's face broke a little and a small, real smile managed to break through. "I don't…want to fight you, Dean."

"I didn't say fight. I said spar. You know, friendly fighting. Better than hitting something that doesn't hit back."

"Dean—"

"Come on. Humor me." Dean grinned a little wider, not forgetting that Sasha had used that exact phrase on him in an alleyway that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Dean kicked off his shoes, glad he was barefoot now, and motioned Sasha closer as he positioned himself into a fighting stance. He hadn't sparred with anyone since a few weeks before his dad disappeared. Those fights were always a challenge, Dean remembered. His dad had been a Marine and a damn good hunter for years. He didn't just fight with Dean, he fought hard, as much as he would if the fight were real. Dean knew he would have to fight the same way to even keep up with Sasha.

At first Sasha didn't so much as flinch or blink in his direction. He still had the punching bag in his arms. He was barefoot too, just wearing a pair of sweatpants he had slept in. That would give him an advantage too since Dean was in jeans.

Then Sasha pushed the bag away from him and started towards Dean with a blank expression that made Dean shiver, and not in the way Sasha used to make him shiver.

"I can hold back," Sasha said, getting into a fighting stance as well, "But not much."

"Don't hold back at all," Dean replied. He was no pussy.

"I could kill you."

"I doubt it."

"I could break an arm or a few ribs."

"Try me."

"Dean—"

"Hit me. I've already gotten a hit off you, remember."

Sasha didn't reply but his eyes flashed a moment as if they wanted to turn red. He nodded.

What the hell am I doing, Dean thought, as they started to circle each other. There wasn't enough room to fight properly anyway, and Sasha had super strength. Still, the adrenaline rush that started to surge up into Dean's limbs kept him from calling a stop. They had some issues to work out, and finally Sam wasn't anywhere near them. This was the only way Dean knew how to face these issues, or face anything for that matter—head on and fists flying.

Dean threw the first punch, but Sasha dodged effortlessly to the side and brought a ready uppercut into Dean's ribs. That almost winded Dean right then, but there was no way he could let things end that quickly. Dean was hunched slightly from the well-placed hit and used it to his advantage, bringing a knee up into Sasha's stomach. Dean prided his small victory on catching Sasha unprepared. If Sasha didn't expect much of a fight, he was wrong.

Dean swung with the same punch he had tried before and this time he connected, clean across Sasha's jaw. He would have to ask one of the others to drive today and give his hands the chance to recover from this, but right now he could care less about his fingers jamming.

Recovering quickly from the hit, Sasha rounded on Dean with a kick to his shins and Dean went down. He was used to that kind of tactic though and rolled out of the way before Sasha could pounce again, managing to jump back onto his feet. Sasha was faster than Dean though, ready with another hit, but this time Dean was the one who dodged and then used Sasha's own movement to plow forward and throw his friend off balance. Sasha slammed back into the nearest wall and Dean reared back for another hit.

It was like the movies, only not cool or funny when it happened to you. Dean's punch got caught by Sasha's hand, and Sasha squeezed Dean's wrist tight enough for Dean's fist to completely release. That hurt. Dean tried to pull his hand away but Sasha's grip was too strong. The incubus pulled on the wrist, swinging Dean around into a hold that had Dean's back pressed against Sasha's chest. It felt tighter and closer than Dean ever remembered them being. Dean had to get out of it.

Ramming his hips backwards, Dean slammed Sasha into the wall again and lifted up with his back as he bent forward. It took all of his strength but he managed to flip Sasha over even if it also brought Dean down to his knees. Better to be on his knees than how Sasha was flat on the ground.

"Had enough yet?" Dean said with a smirk as he brought his feet up into a crouch.

By now Sasha was grinning pretty heavily too, which was much better than that look of blank determination. Of course, Dean should have realized that a mirrored smirk couldn't mean anything good for him.

Sasha was on his back with Dean staring down at him. Really, that should have meant that Sasha was the one at a disadvantage.

Lashing out with that same fierce grip, Sasha grabbed Dean's ankles only to throw them behind Dean towards the wall, knocking Dean down flat on his face. Dean immediately rolled onto his back, but he didn't have the chance to get up again before Sasha lifted his whole body up into a handstand and flipped over to land straddled on Dean's hips. Now that _really_ hurt.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean called to the ceiling. He certainly hadn't expected Sasha to be quite that nimble and acrobatic about things. He only anticipated the strength. Too bad for him.

"No," Sasha said by way of answering, grinning down at Dean in pleased triumph, "Just your friendly neighborhood incubus. But you knew that when you got yourself into this, so you really shouldn't complain."

Dean took in a few labored breaths. Sasha had managed to soften the blow somehow, of that Dean was certain since he could still breathe, but that didn't mean a grown man hadn't just landed on a particularly sensitive area. "I'm not complaining…only my balls are," Dean said, and he wasn't exactly lying either.

The response Dean got was the one he wanted—Sasha laughed. "I'll have to make it up to them sometime then."

If Dean had been able to see his own face, he was pretty sure his eyes must have been bugging out of his head. He really needed to get out of his current position. Now. "Funny," he managed, "Do you mind letting me up? You win, okay? I concede."

"Really?" Sasha started. He looked a little too pleased suddenly, and Dean didn't miss that the incubus' legs locked a little tighter on his hips. "Well if I win…then I think I'm the one making the decisions here."

Shit. Sasha didn't usually look that dangerous…did he? "Uhh…Sasha…"

"Maybe I'm thinking of staying right where I am for a while," Sasha said, their hips tightly met and Sasha's hands holding Dean down by the shoulders, "Maybe I'm tired of waiting for you."

Dean froze, completely froze as a new shiver like he hadn't had in a very long time traveled down his body. That tone of voice, the low growl to it, as if Sasha was in his incubus form even though his eyes were still blue, it made Dean suddenly very aware of how much trouble he would be in right now if Sasha actually wanted to hurt him.

Thankfully, that was not what Sasha had in mind. "It's been a week, Dean. And this, right now, is the first time you've really looked at me since that night. What do you want from me? I thought I knew, thought I understood the signs you kept giving me. If you wanted me to back off then why the hell did you let me kiss you?"

"I…I don't know," Dean managed, but it was all he could say. Why hadn't he anticipated this? Or had he walked into the trap willingly, knowing he deserved it?

"You don't…know?" Sasha repeated, eyes narrowed and fierce. He pushed himself away then, freeing Dean's shoulders, but remained sitting on Dean's hips at first. He looked both sad and angry as he said, "Fuck you," before finally starting to get up.

Dean caught Sasha's arms so quickly and so tight, he almost thought it was enough to hurt the incubus by the sound of Sasha's gasp. "Don't," Dean said, because he didn't know what else there was to say. All he did know was that he couldn't let things go sour between them, not like this, not because he was scared again after all that time trying to bolster himself to get over it.

It was just a kiss. It was just a fucking kiss. It didn't have to be the end of the world.

There were so many things Dean wanted to say, but none of them found their way past his lips. He only managed a choked, "Give me more time," and then he felt like such a girl for this whole situation, felt like such a damn fool because he wasn't acting like himself at all. Even if Sasha hadn't been the insane combination 'male' and 'incubus', this wasn't the way Dean acted. How did Sasha unhinge him so completely?

"More time?" Sasha said, staying where he was but looking down at Dean in frustration, "More time for you to convince yourself you don't want me, you mean. I can only take so much, Dean. I may not be human but that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt."

Fuck. _Fuck_. Dean didn't even want to have this conversation, but he knew he couldn't run from it anymore. He literally couldn't even more. "I don't care that you're not human, and I know you can feel everything I feel, I know I've been an asshole," Dean admitted, " I just…I don't know what I'm doing."

"This may surprise you, but neither do I." Sasha's eyes softened and he sighed, bringing both hands up to run through sweat-dampened hair. Then he looked down at Dean again and started to lean closer with something between sympathy and strained understanding in the expression. "I can do slow, Dean. If you need slow, I can do that. It's the back and forth with you jerking me around I can't handle."

"I'm not jerking you. _Around_," Dean blurted, feeling stupider by the minute. He was fully aware of their intimate position and how he had actually been one of the factors that kept Sasha in it. "I…think maybe…I might be able to do slow too." Panic choked in Dean's throat as he said that. He couldn't take it back now. He couldn't make this all go away. They were in too deep and Sasha would never forgive him if he flipped-flopped on this again. Dean looked up at the smile growing above him and said quickly, "But it has to be like grandma driving on Sunday afternoon slow, okay, because this…this is…

"Kind of scary. I know. For me too, Dean. But it doesn't have to be…"

Dean knew it was coming, knew before Sasha started leaning down further, lips parted just so and eyes closing. Like that night in Sasha's hotel room, Dean let the kiss happen, let Sasha kiss him deep and press his body into the floor. He loved kissing Sasha, no amount of denial or blaming on other factors could keep Dean from believing that anymore. He couldn't survive on just dreams. And neither could Sasha.

Within the kiss, Sasha's hips gave a little jerk against Dean's and they broke apart with mutually sharp gasps.

"Okay…that's not slow," Dean said breathlessly.

At least Sasha had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry. It's just…having you in this position like this…" He bit his lip a little and his cheeks went flush with whatever was going through his mind at the moment.

A lump rose in Dean's throat. "Let me up," he demanded. This was more than he could handle right now.

The heat drained from Sasha's eyes and he stared down at Dean like a child that had lost his balloon and had to watch minute by minute as it disappeared from view.

"You're crushing me," Dean tried, forcing a smile, "And I just know that any minute now some middle aged woman's going to come waddling through that door. So…can you please?" Please. Dean had been saying that word way more than he normally did, around Sasha and around Sam. He had also been letting loose flurries of 'sorry' and 'are you okay?' and who knows how many other Sam phrases that just felt weird on his tongue.

At least it did the trick, because Sasha smiled sheepishly down at Dean and then he was getting up and holding a hand out for Dean to take.

"Déjà vu," Dean said, allowing Sasha to hoist him up off the floor.

"More than once now," Sasha replied, still smiling, and looking much more flushed than he had seemed while they were on the floor. Dean didn't want to think about how flushed he probably was.

Sasha made to move closer to Dean but Dean held up his hands defensively, just in case Sasha was trying to go in for another kiss, or maybe a hug, or maybe nothing. "I mean really, _really_ slow," Dean said, "And, you know…low profile. Not all…public and everything."

Sasha's smile turned crooked and he crossed his arms over his bare chest. "You don't want Sam to know," Sasha deduced.

Okay, so Dean wasn't the best at playing the subtle card. "Just not…not right now. He's not stupid. He knows something's up with us, but I just…there's so much going on, he's still a little hurt right now, Gordon's out there…"

"I get it, Dean. It's okay," Sasha broke in. He reached to touch Dean's shoulder, casual and supportive enough that Dean didn't flinch, "You're being good enough to keep my secret from Bobby, even though you think it's silly and I know I should be able to let the secret go. I can do the same for you. Just…not forever." Sasha smirked a little, making those words seem more like a tease, though Dean knew the incubus meant them.

Forever wouldn't be a problem. Dean didn't have anywhere near forever. But if Sam found out what was going on between them he would make Dean tell Sasha about the deal before Dean was ready. Keeping an extra secret seemed plenty worth it to avoid that.

"And I _can_ do slow," Sasha said, dropping his arm down to his side again, "I don't like slow. I might have trouble with slow. But I can do it. That doesn't mean I don't want another kiss though."

"Haha…" Again with the uncomfortable laugh. "Sasha…" Dean warned, trying to back up despite the wall his body met before he could take more than a single step.

"You've been the biggest test of my patience ever, Dean Winchester," Sasha said as he moved in closer to Dean's body, "Be thankful I have the self-control not to just jump you right now."

The tone was still playful, but Dean sensed the truth hidden in those words. The hungry looks Sasha sometimes gave him, and was currently giving him right now, were almost ravenous.

"I've enjoyed every minute I've spent with you since we met. Even the harder, scarier times. Even when you made me so mad, like I've been all week, waiting for you to say _anything_ to me about what happened. Because it's you, Dean. And I don't know what that means exactly, I just know that _you_ make the difference." Sasha reached towards Dean's face, his palm bushing Dean's cheek as gentle fingers ran through Dean's hair and smoothed it back.

Dean thought maybe he was shaking, but he couldn't move, so he couldn't be shaking, could he?

"Dean…please…" Sasha said in a whisper, "Just something…one kiss to feed the addiction you've become for me. Please…"

Dean didn't think it was possible for his gut to feel any hotter. Sasha was begging him for a simple kiss. Christ. Dean may have thought he was in this alone, but apparently they both had the craziest effects on the other. Sasha was beyond just being unhinged by Dean. Sasha was drowning, had drowned already, and didn't want to come back up for air.

Maybe that was it, maybe Sasha's deeply growing desire for Dean was what finally melted Dean down, but suddenly Dean didn't care about the details anymore. He didn't care about the angry butterflies eating away at his stomach, he didn't care about Sam sitting up in the room pondering over what was happening between his companions, and he certainly didn't care about consequences.

Reaching out as Sasha had reached for him, Dean gripped the back of Sasha's neck and pulled the incubus down into a kiss. This was Dean's kiss. His first kiss. The first time he had pulled Sasha to him. Dean had almost forgotten how thrilling it felt to do that. He was always the initiator with a girl. Sasha was just so different, and not just because he was an incubus and so undeniably male, but because he was Sasha. Dean's best friend.

When Sasha pushed the kiss a little deeper, pressing forward to pin Dean against the wall, the little voices at the back of Dean's head started whispering again. Dean refused to listen to them, but they still managed to ruin the moment.

"We ha-have to get back…" Dean gasped out of the kiss, feeling warm absolutely everywhere, "Sam will start…to wonder."

Sasha was so close to him, pressing into him the way Dean remembered from way back in Minnesota when they were both drunk and Sasha had first called Dean out for having feelings he wouldn't face.

It was strange having to look up into the eyes of the person you had just kissed. Dean hadn't experienced that since middle school when his almost girlfriend, more like make-out buddy, Tara Castello, shot up two inches in a weekend.

Strange, yes, Dean thought, but not bad. Nothing about this felt anywhere near bad. But it was still scary. "Slow," Dean said, pushing on Sasha's chest lightly, "I still need slow. I'm not ready to wave you into home plate just yet, okay, cowboy?"

Sasha let out a chuckle and nodded, as out of breath as Dean was. "Yeah. Slow."

They took a few more minutes to catch their breaths before heading up the stair to their room. Every step Dean took reminded him of all the sore places on his body after sparring. Hell, that wasn't sparring, that was a fight. A fight with a frickin' incubus. Dean ached.

Just as Dean reached for the door to their room, he let out a telling hiss and unconsciously started rubbing at the shoulder Sasha jerked when he whipped Dean around into that close hold.

"Fuck," Dean cursed out through clenched teeth.

"I knew I'd hurt you," came Sasha's close voice, all concerned and bordering on self-loathing the way Dean absolutely hated.

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled, throwing open the door, "Don't make a big deal over it."

"Big deal over what?" Sam said from the bed, just now closing his laptop as he looked over at Dean. He noticed the way Dean was holding his shoulder immediately. "What did you do?"

Great. Now there were two of them to fuss over this. "It's—"

"Dean wanted to spar," Sasha said before Dean could finish, "I told him I couldn't hold back very much, but…" Sasha shrugged.

Sam's eyes looked wide with worry and he was off the bed in a second. "Dean, what is wrong with you? You don't spar with our good friend the incubus for fun. I'm sure you went easy on him, Sasha," Sam turned to the redhead then, his tone entirely different when he was speaking to Sasha, "So don't worry about it. Sometimes Dean doesn't_think_."

"I'm fine," Dean growled, glaring at his brother. He released his shoulder and started to finish packing. So his shoulder hurt, and his fists ached, and his groin was still a little sore. Funny how Dean hadn't really noticed all that until after they left the workout room. "Let's get some lunch and get gone."

"I'm really sorry," Sasha said, coming up behind Dean to place a hand on his shoulder. This time Dean did flinch, and he looked back at Sasha with wide hinting eyes. _Not in front of Sam. _"You did ask for it," Sasha responded, lowering his hand but still giving Dean an equally frustrated look since he had, after all, simply touched him.

Sasha smirked at his own words, and now that Sam had been placated enough to realize Dean was in no way seriously injured, he allowed himself to laugh at Dean's expense too.

Sometimes Dean forgot why he actually enjoyed spending all of his time with these two jerks. One might be his brother and the other his…something else, but there had to be some kind of supernatural reason too. Had to be.

-----

Getting to Pennsylvania took an entire week since they ended up stopping in Napoleon, North Dakota to banish a hell beast, almost drove right through a demonic Cold Spot in some backwoods of Wisconsin and had to cleanse the earth, and then had to salt and burn the bones of the very angry ghost of a hippy that attacked anyone caught listening to modern music. Wonders never ceased.

The ghost had actually taken a liking to Dean, but that didn't mean they were going to let him keep messing with people. Sasha and Sam found the remains while Dean kept the ghost busy with talk of Led Zeppelin, and then the hippy was off to the other side. If an 'other side' even existed, one that wasn't the hell Dean knew of with demons in it he loathed.

Throughout that entire week they still all stayed in one room, usually with the option to bring in an extra cot, though a few more times Dean had to crawl in with Sam, which was much more awkward when Sammy wasn't drugged up and still. Normally, he kicked in his sleep, though apparently Dean snored so at least they were even.

Sasha and Dean didn't get more than a few spare minutes alone, but whenever they were, Sasha was always trying to steal another kiss, like he couldn't get enough of Dean's lips or something. Even when Sam was around Dean noticed how much more Sasha touched him. Not in any sexual way, just simple touches. His shoulder, a hand on his knee when they were talking, an arm thrown around his neck. Sasha did similar things to Sam, just being a touchy kind of guy, so Dean didn't think Sam noticed. But Dean noticed, he noticed how when Sasha touched _him_ those touches lasted just the smallest bit longer and were usually accompanied by a too sweet smile. Dean thought the smile looked like it was always saying silly things like _thank you_.

Dean had never courted a girl, and he hadn't done the dating thing since high school. For him it was usually a brief meeting at some bar and then home to the girl's place or back to his hotel room for mindless sex. Dean liked that arrangement. But this was so different. He couldn't even go beyond kissing Sasha without having to remind the incubus that they were supposed be moving slow.

The plus side to everything was that since they hadn't separated into more than one room, Sasha and Dean really couldn't do much more than steal kisses anyway, and Sam never got the chance to probe Dean for information. Sam's gauging looks became more frequent but he never said anything, probably for Sasha's sake. Dean knew that would change when Sasha left for the week, but he didn't want to think about it. At least, not until it was suddenly upon them.

The black dog sightings around Troy, Pennsylvania had turned out to be a rapid black lab that just happened to show up around the same time as a few inconvenient deaths. Dean tried to remind himself that it was good when something wasn't supernatural, but he still felt disappointed. Shortly after that they had driven the hour it took to get to Williamsport, the nearest larger Greyhound Station, and dropped Sasha off for his trip to Seattle. They would be picking him up in New York City the day of his birthday, where Dean had told Sam they would be spending the week.

"Why New York?" Sam asked as they drove away from the station, having already seen Sasha off, "You hate New York, remember?"

Indeed, Dean did, if only for the insane traffic. "I know. But it will give us a chance to catch up with our good friends, Manfred and Detective McBain. And…a few other things I found out."

Sam eyed Dean across the car. "What things?"

Dean grinned, pulling onto Highway 15. He didn't reply.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to hate you after this?" Sam grumbled.

Dean let out a long laugh. "Trust me, Sammy," he said, "Just trust me."

-----

It had taken Dean weeks to track the place down, but he knew it had to exist. His father couldn't have just thrown away every family memory, or many of the things he collected from hunts. Somewhere there had to be a storage place filled with the Winchester legacy, and Dean was determined to find it.

He had been sneaking calls ever since he and Sasha hunted alone those few days, and finally, it had paid off. That was how Dean knew they were destined for New York, and no amount of road rage would keep him from getting what he wanted.

"I can't believe Dad never told us about this place," Sam said, a little angry but obviously more curious as they broke the lock on the door and snuck inside. Technically it wasn't B&E. They had called the owner and confirmed that they were Edgar Cayce's sons and had come to collect his things after his death. Since that alias belonged to their actual father, they didn't feel like they were lying. Of course that didn't mean they had a key.

Dean could believe it, since there were so many things John never told them, but he just shrugged. "Hang on," he said, holding Sam back before his brother could enter too far, "Take a closer look, Cagney, or were you looking to get shot again so soon?" Dean gestured down to the tripwire Sam had almost walked through and then pointed to the gun positioned nearby.

"Yep, this place is definitely Dad's," Sam said, stepping over the wire carefully, "Think there's anything else?"

"Let's hope not." The last thing they needed was to get injured or killed on account of their dad's own traps.

They spent a few minutes browsing around, admiring the things John had saved over the years, mainly hexed boxes and dangerous items from hunts, but also trophies and projects from when Dean and Sam were in school. Dean took a special kind of pleasure in discovering his first sawed-off.

After a few minutes, Dean spotted what he had been looking for.

"So other than memory lane," Sam started in, not noticing that Dean was very quickly moving to the back of the storage closet, "Why are we here exactly?"

The case looked dusty, but at least it was still in a case. Dean ran a hand over the black material and glanced back at Sam with a grin. "This," he said, "We're here for this." Dean picked it up by the handle, removing it from its place against the wall, and set it down on the floor as Sam came closer. Dean unhooked the latches and threw the cover back, met by a very old and familiar sight.

"A guitar?" Sam said skeptically.

"Dad's guitar," Dean clarified, running fingers along the smooth wood now just as he had the case. He looked up and caught Sam's eyes that were filled with curious confusion. "I want to give it to Sasha."

Sam had discovered just as Dean did that Sasha sang and played guitar sometimes to make quick cash, and he also knew that Sasha currently didn't have a guitar with him.

At first he looked hesitant towards Dean's suggestion, unsure, but after a moment of staring down into the case and looking at the acoustic he didn't remember the way Dean did, Sam started nodding.

"Yeah…I think he'll love it," Sam said, "I can't believe I never knew Dad played."

"I barely remember it," Dean admitted, "Fragments, ya know? Mom singing. Dad playing. You were so young. I was so young. But I think Dad played all the time. Up until that night. I have this one memory," Dean started, staring down at the guitar so looking into Sam's puppy eyes wouldn't undo him too much as he spoke, "Dad's playing, sitting on the couch or something, and I'm right beside him. Dad had Mom come over to stand in front of him, and she's way pregnant, like ready to pop with you, right? And Dad, he's…he's singing and playing right to you. I wish I could remember what song it was…"

The feel of Sam's eyes on Dean was heavier than any comforting hand. Dean thought he would probably implode though if Sam ever stopped being the sentimental one.

Dean closed up the case, planning to have Manfred tune it for him when they got back to his place. Dean hadn't wanted to ask to stay there again at first, afraid Manfred would invite them out to hear his band again. Bad classic metal covers were just not something Dean could stomach. But then Dean had remembered Manfred's incredible coffee, and he—well Sam, since Dean still refused to drive in the city—eventually started turning down Manfred's street. They spent the first few hours talking about Ash.

"Hey, look at this," Sam said, just as they were passing a shelf on their way out the door, "Can you believe it? I think they're home videos."

That made Dean stop in his tracks. He knew their dad had never taken any video of them while living the hunter life. So if video did exist, it would have to be of when their Mom was still alive. Dean bent down by Sam and stared at the row of tapes.

"Dean's First Birthday," Sam read off one of the titles, "And this one, Baby Sammy Comes Home from the Hospital. God, do you think they'd still work?"

"These are ancient even for VHS, Sammy," Dean said, "I don't know."

But Sam had to try, he said, and while Dean carried out the guitar, Sam took an armful of home movies. They left the rest, knowing there wouldn't be any place in their lives for old school work and awards. Their dad's storage place would keep it all safe if there was ever a day one of them had a real life and a garage to store it in. But that didn't seem too likely.

Manfred was gone when they got back, which wasn't all that unusual. Dean started cleaning the guitar, toying a little at tuning though he didn't really know if he'd get it right. Just before leaving the storage closet, Sam had remembered that Manfred didn't own a TV, at least not one that worked, though he did have a VCR still for some unknown reason. Sam took the chance of grabbing the old TV hidden back by where the guitar had been and prayed it would work.

He spent a good hour hooking everything up, and didn't doubt that Manfred might have a comment or two for him about hauling in a TV, but Sam was determined to watch the Winchester early years.

Dean grumbled about not getting to listen to Manfred's amazing music collection while Sam got things situated, but really, he was just as curious when Sam popped in the first tape. Sam chose one labeled 'Sammy, One Month' and pressed play. The images jumped and the volume was too loud at first, but after Sam adjusted the sound and the tracking, the inside of Sam's old nursery came into view.

Needless to say, Dean put the guitar down.

"Look how young Dad looks," Sam said, seeing their dad's face up real close to the camera for a moment as he set it up to get a view of the whole room, "And Mom…God, she looks just like she did when we…saw her."

Saw her ghost, Dean filled in, but he left Sam's word there. "Yeah," he said, "And look at little chubby Sammy. Aren't you just so cute," he said in his best mocking baby voice.

"Look who's talking," Sam grinned, as the little form of four-year-old Dean came running into the room right into John's legs.

'Daddy, daddy, please!' called Dean's little voice on the tape, 'Wanna hold Sammy!' He was jumping up and down and pawing at John's stomach.

'Oh, let's let him, John,' Mary said, patting a place beside her in the rocking chair she was in. She had Sam in her arms and the baby blinked tiredly though he was still awake.

'Please, please!' Dean pleaded at John's legs again.

And there it was, that large smile they had seen in John's senior picture from Bobby, though neither of them could ever really remember seeing it in life. 'Okay, Dean. Up there by Mom,' John said, hoisting Dean up into the rocking chair, 'You gotta hold him real good now,' he said as Mary passed the little bundle of Sam into Dean's lap.

The way baby Sam looked so big in little Dean's arms was adorable, and yet it made Dean think instead of how big a responsibility had just been placed in his lap. He never minded, never would, but Sam had grown up even bigger and the responsibility grew with him.

Dean missed whatever happened next on the tape, thinking too hard and staring over at the large as life Sam next to him, who was watching with the sweetest smile. What finally drew Dean back to the TV screen was the gentle plucking of notes on a guitar and the simple but pretty voice of his mother singing.

'Hush now baby don't you cry…' Mary sang.

Dean felt his throat close up as the lullaby began. He stared at the screen then, watching as John played the very guitar that was in the room with them, Mary sitting in the rocking chair singing with Dean squished beside her, and little baby Sammy held clumsily in Dean's tiny arms.

"I'm glad we're giving the guitar to Sasha," Sam said suddenly, and his voice sounded too loud against the backdrop of those memories.

Dean turned to his brother and smiled. "Me too."

"You think he'll play for us?" Sam asked.

There was no way Dean could have repressed the grin that slid onto his face after that. "I think we can do better than that."

tbc...

A/N: Ack, I'm posting too fast! Yes, there is such a thing, but this chapter just poured out if me. Good? Sasha and Dean keep taking over, but I am back on track. Things just get crazier from here on. I'm so exited. This arc is my favorite by far. Thanks again all, you're the best support ever!

Crim


	20. Part 7: Surprise!

*Technical difficulties with this chapter resulted in FF losing it for a time. It is now re-uploaded. Please let me know if there are further problems with this chapter as it was taken from an older file. Sorry for the delay!

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Part 7: Surprise!

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Addiction. That's what Sasha had called Dean. An addiction that could only be satiated by physical contact. Maybe Dean was becoming addicted too, because with Sasha gone a whole week he should have been able to easily put the incubus out of mind, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop thinking about Sasha, whether he was downing Manfred's special coffee, listing to music in Manfred's living room, or even watching the few home videos Sam managed to get working.

Sam had been pretty disappointed when most of the tapes ended up being a bust. A couple even looked halfway to melted. That figured, though, considering nothing had managed to survive the fire except for the very few things kept in their garage. But John had been a mechanic. The garage was never used for storage. That was what basements were for. Dean had remembered though that his dad kept the guitar in the garage, away from the damp cold. He hadn't expected anything else from their old lives to have survived, but apparently the videos had been kept in the garage too.

The TV Dean remembered from later. Much later. Something their dad had bought to occupy little Sam and Dean while he began his research into the paranormal. If Dean thought about it, he actually kind of hated that TV. He was glad they would be leaving it behind when they went to pick up Sasha.

Sasha. Dean wondered what Sasha had done to pass the time with his aunt in Seattle. Sasha would already be on the bus, headed back to them by now, and they were going to pick him up the next afternoon. It had ended up being closer to two weeks really since they had dropped him off sooner but forgotten to count the travel time. Sasha's aunt refused to have her time cut short so getting back early wasn't an option. Sasha would be back the day of his birthday and that just had to be good enough.

Damn, Dean had done it again. He could have sworn he had been thinking about something else but then his mind, inevitably, drifted to Sasha.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, trying to sleep but too anxious for tomorrow. He had taken the same room in Manfred's house as he did last time, the usually unused guest bed musty but better than half the beds Dean usually slept on. Still, they had already decided to check into a motel after picking Sasha up, not wanting to inconvenience Manfred any longer, and considering they planned to be out pretty late the next night. Dean had already picked out a place for them to go in celebration of the incubus' milestone. He didn't mind the city too much as long as he wasn't driving.

Eyes heavy but brain still buzzing, Dean finally started to drift off to sleep, telling himself again and again that it was silly to be so excited to see Sasha. Silly to miss someone so much. He was lucky as hell Sam hadn't said anything all week even though the taller and forever nosier Winchester had looked like he was about to say something several times. Dean didn't know how he would have responded. Admitting his infatuation for Sasha just wouldn't come out easily no matter how enlightened Sam might be as a human being. It's not like Dean could tell his brother casually about how much he enjoyed Sasha's kisses.

He did though. Enjoy them. A lot.

Dean also really liked the way Sasha's tongue felt on his collar bone.

Green eyes sprang open. Well, not actually, which Dean was only mildly aware of, but in the dream, a very overdo dream since Dean had been thinking about Sasha so much. Whether real or not, some form of Sasha was sprawled lazily on top of Dean, hardly clothed if clothed at all, and licking a wet trail along Dean's clavicle.

Dean couldn't imagine there was anything to be afraid of in this dream, not anymore. Oh, he was often still afraid, especially with how much heat stared back at him whenever he looked Sasha in the eyes lately, but it was different now. So different.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed against his neck.

"Yeah…?"

Slowly, Sasha's nose bumped up along the line of Dean's jaw, breathing in Dean's scent deeply, and then the incubus was looking down at him, their faces painfully close, "You know the thing about moving slow, Dean?"

Dean blinked heavily up at Sasha. "Hmm?"

Sasha grinned. "The thing about moving slow is…you still have to move forward."

While it did not appear that Sasha moved, looking down at Dean with that beautiful smile, Dean felt Sasha's hand begin to ghost its way down his ribs, making him tense at the slight tickle. But the hand didn't stop. Soft fingers smoothed down across Dean's hips, his thigh, and then up again, grazing more and more sensitive areas until…

"Hahaha…"

Dean had started to close his eyes under Sasha's ministrations but now they widened, knowing that sound, that particular laugh. Above Dean, Sasha looked frightened too, something that bothered Dean so much more than his own fear.

No, it wasn't fair. This part of the dream was Dean's. This part was sacred and safe.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sasha whispered, blue eyes swimming with fear and regret, "I thought we had more time."

The laughter continued, growing louder, raking Dean's ears as it bounced off the walls that didn't exist. There were no walls. There was no bed. Everything around Dean was black and empty. Only Sasha was whole. Only Sasha was real and solid against him. Only Sasha…

…and Sam.

Dean turned to find the form of his brother, the source of that horrible laugh, and saw Sam right there at the edge of where the bed should be, standing in the darkness. It seemed to emanate from him, to originate from some greater darkness inside him. His eyes were that horrible mottled yellow, his mouth open as he laughed.

"Sammy…"

"You know you can't escape it, Dean," said a voice, close beside Dean but not from Sasha and not from Sam. This voice was so familiar that Dean couldn't possibly have recognized it for what it was until he turned to look at the other side of the bed and met black demon eyes.

And his own smirking face.

"Face it, Dean," said Dean's lips with Dean's voice, "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve anything. Everything you are, everything you've ever wanted, everything, belongs to me now."

It happened too fast after that. Always too fast. How did the time slip by so fast?

Dean's time was up.

The Dean with demon eyes had hold of Sasha and he was tearing the incubus off of the bed and dragging him away into the darkness. Dean tried to reach out and pull him back, but suddenly Sam was there in Sasha's place, holding Dean down the whole length of their bodies. It made Dean nauseous and he tried to forget that he was naked.

"Too late, Dean," Sam said, yellow eyes glittering and large body heavy on top of him, "Time to join the ranks. Won't Dad be so proud?" Again, Sam laughed, so unlike him, so offhandedly cruel. "That's what happens, you know?" Sam said, "When you die and go to Hell. That's where all those demons come from. Just pitiful souls like you. Well," Sam grinned toothily, "Not all of them. Old yellow eyes and me, we're special. You could be special too."

Shut up, Dean thought, just shut up. "You're not Sammy," he snarled, hating those mottled eyes as much as he did when the demon that killed their mother and took their father away wore them, "You're not even real. It's just a dream. I know it's a dream."

Sam's mouth twisted even further into a half-mad grin. "No, Dean. This isn't a dream. Deep down I think you know that. You know…that this is the reality that waits for you. And you…" Sam's body seemed to press into Dean even more, forcing the air out of his lungs and making his skin itchy and hot, "…you're going to lose everything."

There was so much weight to those words that Dean felt crushed. There was a time after making the deal when he thought he had nothing to lose, not because he took Sam for granted—you can't take for granted something you've tasted the loss of—but because Dean had given everything of himself for Sam's sake and could accept that loss if it protected Sam. But it wasn't just Sam anymore. Now, Dean had more to lose than he bargained for. He had everything to lose, just as these phantom demons were saying, things that only made sense if it was him and Sam and Sasha. All of them together.

And Dean would not give that up.

Roaring into his attacker's face, Dean pushed up with every ounce of strength in him, not surprised but determined when he lifted Sam effortlessly and flipped their positions, pinning the larger man back onto the black, formless bed. "You can't have him!" Dean yelled, his fingers digging deep into Sam's shoulders as he thought of Sasha, torn away from him unfairly, "And you can't have Sam! You won't take them like you've taken everything else! Not them! And you're sure as Hell not getting me!" Dean pulled his fist back, ready to fight until his last breath if he had to.

"Dean!" Sam called up at him, his eyes wide but wonderfully hazel-colored, "It's me!"

Dean's fist stopped inches from meeting its mark and realization tumbled around him like cold water. Sam. It was Sammy, real and human and entirely his brother. And he was lying back on a bed that did exist with walls around them that existed too. The black had vanished, that awful emptiness gone.

Dean was awake.

The first thought that crossed Dean's mind as he sat back and allowed Sam to get up was how happy he was he wasn't naked. This was awkward enough.

"Oh," Dean said weakly, his hand shaking as he brought it up to run through his short hair, "Sorry, I…I guess I was still sleeping."

That was pretty feeble for an explanation, Dean knew that, but he couldn't think to say anything else. Had Sam heard him dreaming and come in to check on him? Had Dean called out in his sleep? He was fairly certain he had yelled for real all that last part, and it made him choke on anything else he might have said. Sam wasn't supposed to know about his dreams.

Dean wanted to curse Manfred's guest room but also himself for choosing to sleep in the same place as where his first nightmare of yellow-eyed Sam had haunted him. He should have thought of that. He really should have. Maybe the room had some strange residual supernatural effects or something from Manfred's old ghost. Whatever the case, Dean knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon.

"I was just…coming to tell you," Sam started, sitting on the bed beside Dean now, his voice quiet and shaky, "The coffee's getting cold and it's…getting kind of late if you want breakfast."

Breakfast. Hadn't Dean just fallen asleep? He glanced to the window and saw the bright streaks of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the curtains. Damn it. Dean hated when that happened. "Right," Dean said, trying to find something to look at that wasn't Sam, "Sure."

"Dean," Sam prompted softly, "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Dean broke in, sharper than he meant to. Not now. Not today. Not after that. "Can't you two leave me alone for once? Between you and Sasha if it's not one of you it's the other or both, always trying to get into my hand. I'm not fragile, Sam," Dean said with conviction, finally glancing up to meet those pained hazel eyes, "I'm not going to break just because I have a nightmare." There, he'd said it. A nightmare. Now Sam didn't have to pry. Only, Dean knew he would anyway.

"Okay, Dean. You're right. I'm sorry."

Huh? "I'm right?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure if he had ever heard Sam say those words in relation to him.

"I only hope you're right about all of it," Sam went on, looking over at Dean with more than puppy eyes, more than kicked puppy eyes even, but those old sorrowful ones Sam had when everyone called him Sammy and he was chubby and fourteen and so damn needy, "I don't want them to take you. I don't want them to have claim over any of us. But lately I've been starting to wonder…even with all my power…if I'll be able to save you at all."

Now Dean really wanted coffee. He was too tired, too frazzled for this, and Sam looked far too close to leaning over and wrapping Dean in one of his suffocating bear hugs. Therefore, Dean made the move first and touched a hand to Sam's arm. "You gotta stop thinking like that, Sammy. You got no obligation to save me. I knew what I was getting into when I made that deal. Now…maybe I want out, maybe I'm hoping you can find some way to get me out of it after all, but if the only way ends up being another trade, you better damn well know I'm not going to allow that. I'm just doing my job, looking out for you."

"Yeah," Sam smiled, instead of turning cross or arguing the way he normally would, "Well I'm just doing my job too, Dean, looking out for you. Whether you like it or not."

Stubborn ass, Dean thought, but it made him smile despite himself. How could he ever think of Sam as turning evil on him when his brother looked at him with all the compassion and desperate affection that could possibly exist in shades of brown and green? Sure Sam had freaky powers but so did Sasha, and neither of them were evil no matter what people like Gordon thought.

Slapping his hands against the mattress, Dean pushed himself off the bed and arched his back in a stretch.

"You said something about breakfast, right?" Dean grinned. He wasn't sure if Manfred's kitchen was actually capable of cooking, but his stomach rumbled at the thought of sustenance. Dean could not start the day without something in his system, and usually a few cups of coffee too.

Sam got off the bed as well, already dressed for the day, Dean realized, though his hair was a bit of mess now after Dean's dream attack. "Manfred went out and got donuts. To thank us for stopping by for the week and letting him know about Ash. I saved you an apple fritter."

Dean grinned. "That's why I love you, Sammy," he said, knowing how difficult it was for Sam to stop himself whenever there was sugar in the equation, "Let's get this day started."

Five minutes later Dean had a fresh cup of Manfred's coffee and was already halfway through his fritter. Manfred was up preparing another pot since they went through the stuff so quickly, while Sam and Dean elbowed each other in their too close positions up at the kitchen counter. They knew they could scoot their stools further away from each other, but that would defeat the purpose of their brotherly immaturity.

Manfred was rattling on about his band and how he wished Dean and Sam would reconsider their plans with "That friend of yours" and come out to the Park in Rear again. Hospitality be damned, there was no way Dean was getting himself suckered into hearing poorly executed metal covers.

Dean also thought briefly of the bartender at that place, jeans hugging her hips just right and how they had flirted back and forth for several days when Sam and Dean were working on Manfred's ghost problem. Nothing ever came of it since the woman thought Dean was sweet and sexy as anything but too young for her. Besides, Dean had an arrangement now.

An arrangement. Dean didn't know what else to call it, but he was pretty sure he'd be running for the hills if he or Sasha ever used the word boyfriend.

"Shut the door tight behind ya when you leave later. Should be locked good enough," Manfred was saying, taking a cup from the freshly brewed pot for himself and looking as if he meant to leave, "Things haven't been quite the same what with Eddie gone and all that. He got off pretty well, ya know, it being an accident and all, even if his screw up got that poor thing all dead and haunting my house. He took off after it blew over. Training in this new guy for the band just isn't working like we thought, even all this time later. Audition today to see about finding someone knew, so I'll be heading out now. You boys gonna be okay here?"

"Sure, Manfred. And thanks again for this week. We really appreciate it," Sam said, rising from his stool to shake Manfred's hand.

Manfred was all smiles, grateful for the company, Dean supposed, and he shook Dean's hand good and hard when he turned to him. "See you boys around then. Don't hesitate to visit a little sooner next time."

They said their goodbyes and Manfred left them to the house until they were ready to take off.

Dean was already settled back on his stool and biting into his fritter again when Sam gave a good stretch of his arms above his head and sat back down beside him.

"So I'm thinking I deserve some kind of brotherly sainthood for this week," Sam said, a strange little smile on his lips that Dean wasn't usually used to. It was more like the smile Sam used when they were into one of their prank modes and Sam had just got one up on Dean.

Dean stared at his fritter as if the thing had somehow been poisoned. "What the hell for?' he said, rightfully wary.

"You know," Sam said, grinning, "Seeing as how I haven't brought it up yet."

Oh fuck. It. Dean was pretty sure he knew what 'it' referred to and he was not looking forward to this conversation, especially since he had thought he had avoided it for at least a while longer. Dean felt a chill climb down his spine when he glanced over at his brother and saw that expectant look. He set his fritter on the counter and took a long gulp of hot coffee.

"Of course I was hoping maybe you'd take the hint and talk to me yourself," Sam went on, all casual, sitting too close still beside Dean so that their arms hit whenever Dean squirmed, which was pretty much constant now, "Guess I should have known better, huh?"

"Sam…"

"You didn't really think I hadn't noticed, did you?"

Dean's right hand clenched tight around Manfred's novelty mug, one Dean had chosen for the prominent 'Fuck Communism' scrawled across the side. "Notice…what?" Dean said lamely.

Although Dean stared down at his coffee instead of looking over at Sam, he knew what expression his brother was wearing, that 'really, Dean?' look like Dean must be totally insane for trying to swindle Sam any further when the gig was pretty much up. "Dean, if you being awkward as anything, and twitchy and shy even, after you and Sasha sparred and…made up, I guess. If that wasn't enough," out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam shake his head and chuckle shakily, "Believe me that day with the shower thing was."

"What shower thing?" Dean said, looking up at last and truthfully confused this time.

Sam's eyebrows raised and he stared at Dean from beneath his lashes. "Let's think for a minute," Sam said incredulously, "I go down to grab some coffee and donuts from the lobby, Sasha, despite my warnings of your wrath over sharing the bathroom, goes to brush his teeth when you should almost be done showering, and when I get back what, ten minutes later? Sasha is just then coming back out of the bathroom and you suddenly hop back into the shower and turn the taps on, as if I didn't notice they were off when I came in, and douse yourself with cold water. I couldn't help noticing that the cloud of steam that usually follows you out of the bathroom was missing." Sam nudged Dean with his arm. "I mean, come on, Dean. That week before Sasha left, you two weren't exactly covert."

Sure they were, Dean thought, Dean had made certain of it. He thought he had. Of course Sasha kept him so damn distracted…

Dean's body seized up suddenly as it hit him that Sam had basically just admitted he knew Dean and their incubus friend were making out behind his back. Dean felt like maybe he needed to throw up.

"Breathe, Dean," came Sam's voice beside him, a large hand running up and down Dean's bare back. There was the sound of a smile in every word Sam spoke though, which Dean didn't really understand. "I'm only grossed out on principle, because you're my brother and he's our friend. As long as this isn't, you know, you sewing some really strange wild oats before you die or something…"

"Hey!" Dean instinctually pushed Sam away from him.

Sam raised his hands in defense but he was smiling, easy, like he was halfway to laughing. "I know that's not it, I'm just saying. I thought I was going crazy back in Danville when I came in and you guys were on Sasha's bed. You can only tell yourself 'I'm probably imagining it' for so long though."

This was too much. The last thing Dean wanted right now was for his brother to give his blessing or whatever for Dean to fool around with their male incubus friend. "Shut up," Dean said miserably, hiding his face in his hands, "Please just shut up."

Sam laughed. It wasn't cruel and haunting like it had been in Dean's dream, but it was still unsettling. "Okay, I'm sorry," Sam said, "I know nothing. Just an oblivious bystander until you're ready to look me in the eyes again. I don't…I don't really know what I think. How I feel about it. I just know it doesn't…bother me. That's saying something, isn't it?" Sam's voice was suddenly tender and Dean didn't feel quite like running for the bathroom anymore.

Dean peeked out of his hands and saw how benign Sam's expression was, just there, present and there for him without any of those overpowering emotions making it hard for Dean to meet his brother's gaze. "Yeah," Dean said, "But can you maybe—"

"Never bring it up again?"

"Please."

"Coz you're freaking out and probably have been freaking out since whatever'snot happening started."

Dean swallowed. Hell yeah he was freaking out.

"Well," Sam said, smacking Dean maybe a little too hard on the back as he rose from his stool, "Time to go pick up Sasha."

Okay, that was low. Dean turned to glare at his brother, his coffee and fritter forgotten now as a pool of heat and anxiety started to form in his gut. There was also a little anger thrown in since he was currently contemplating all of the ways he could make his brother pay for this.

Dean got off his stool—he really needed a shower—and tried to bypass Sam so he wouldn't suddenly punch the guy out of principle.

"Dean?"

Dean was halfway out of the kitchen when Sam's mournful plea hit him. Was his brother bipolar with all those freaky powers, or what? Now Sam sounded heartbroken and worried again, and it made Dean turn around so fast he almost thought he was going to find his brother bleeding or crying.

"You know…it's going to be that much worse now when you finally tell Sasha about the deal. You can't keep it from him anymore. He's in this with us too, you know? You have to tell him."

The deal. The damn fucking deal. Dean sighed. He had been expecting that, whether Sam was okay with the whole mess or not. "I know," Dean admitted, unable to deny that truth any longer. He forced a smile. "But it's his birthday today, Sammy. I don't want to wreck that over my problems. Soon, okay?" Dean added when Sam's eyes narrowed and his mouth started quivering with dissention, "I'll tell him soon."

For all his teasing and brotherly annoyances, Sam was a really wonderful guy at the core. Dean would almost admit that aloud. Because Sam just nodded and said, "Okay, Dean."

Despite the butterflies forming in Dean's stomach and how his throat tightened, Dean knew he couldn't ask for much more right now. Like he used to when fear still ruled his feelings for Sasha, Dean tried to tell himself not to think. Don't think, Dean. Don't think about how much this hurts. Today isn't your day.

Today belongs to Sasha.

-----

Port Authority was packed. Dean supposed it always was, this being New York and all. He glanced around at the sea of people, Sam close beside him since they were afraid losing sight of each other might mean never finding each other again. How were they supposed to find Sasha in this mess? They were a little late, or, rather Sasha's bus had arrived a little early. The incubus had to be around the place somewhere though. They hadn't heard from him since he called to tell them his bus would be in sooner than expected.

Dean whipped out his cell phone. "I'm gonna call him. This'll take forever." Dean was looking away from Sam, but he quickly turned back to his brother at the sound of sudden struggling and a great 'oomph'.

Then all Dean could do was grin. He put his cell phone back in his pocket and raised an eyebrow at the sight of a grown man—well, incubus—folded around the back of his very large 6'4" baby brother as if Sasha had just suddenly pounced on Sam like a cat.

Sam was laughing once he realized he had been attacked by a friend, and Sasha was still holding on tight, hugging Sam and crushing him at the same time with a wide smile.

"So I'm guessing all those nifty powers don't include a Spider Sense," Sasha teased, "Miss me?" he said close beside Sam's ear. Then he looked up to meet eyes with Dean, his smile growing as he winked none too subtly.

Sam groaned at the crushing hold Sasha had him in and said, "I think I miss breathing just a bit more."

Point taken. Sasha released Sam but only to be clobbered into a proper Winchester hug the next second, pulling them close together.

"Happy Birthday," Sam smiled, "I forget how annoying Dean is until it's just the two of us again."

"You're hilarious," Dean droned, moving around the pair to pick up Sasha's duffle and toss it over his own shoulder, "You girls ready or what? I'm getting people-claustrophobic in this place. Good to have you back, man," he added towards Sasha.

Sam and Sasha broke from their hug and turned towards Dean at the same time, each with equally memorable expressions. Sam seemed to be trying to say something silently that Dean took to mean 'remember I know what's going on between you two so you don't have to hide it'. But then Sasha's look was so eager, so pleased and hungry for Dean that Dean kind of preferred not letting things spill all out into the open just yet. There was something strangely enticing about the way Sasha managed to steal kisses. Just because Sam knew now didn't mean Dean wanted to give that up. Besides, he wasn't about to launch himself at Sasha and kiss him in public. That would never happen. PDAs just weren't Dean's thing even if he had been fully comfortable with this arrangement of theirs.

"Let's go," Dean said, turning on his heels to head back to the car. He grinned to himself as he went, loving the chance to mess with the angst twins' heads a bit. After a few moments he heard them shuffle after him, Sam bounding ahead and looking back briefly with a slight scowl, and Sasha falling into step beside Dean as they made their way through Port Authority.

"You did miss me, right?" Sasha whispered, leaning in close to Dean when he saw how far ahead of them Sam was walking.

Dean fought to keep his grin down and shrugged. "I guess the backseat was a little quieter."

Sasha laughed, seeing right through Dean just as Dean knew he would. "Jerk," Sasha said.

"Bitch," Dean responded on reflex. He almost tripped over his feet when he realized what he had done, and he was glad Sam wasn't close enough to hear their hushed words or he would be in for a world of extra teasing. "Sorry," Dean said to Sasha, scowling to himself even if Sasha looked all adorably amused about the whole thing, "You know how Sam usually…yeah…and I didn't…damn it." Dean pushed on ahead of Sasha, feeling ridiculous. Sasha really had managed to fit himself so seamlessly into their lives. Sometimes it shook Dean up, like it was all too perfect. And perfect crumbled so easily.

"Dean," Sasha said, so close beside Dean again that Dean knew Sasha had easily caught up with him, "I missed you too," he said then, and before Dean could yell something like 'there's people everywhere, you idiot!' Sasha was pressing a kiss into his neck.

Dean blinked and Sasha was suddenly up by Sam, the two of them chatting away with Dean taking up the rear. Dean's face felt so flush, he knew it had to be some shade of red close to Sasha's hair. Glancing around quick, Dean checked to see if anyone was staring at them but it didn't seem like anyone had noticed.

Yep, Dean thought as he followed behind the others, he was officially and irreconcilably screwed. And since there was nothing he could do about it he figured he might as well enjoy every moment he could.

-----

Dean had cased the place in Brooklyn at the beginning of the week. He threw out the idea of hitting a place in downtown New York right away. Too many people. But he kept his initial idea in tact, finding a good Irish pub that occasionally had live music and even had an outdoor area on the roof with nice views of the city.

"With a name like Kelly you have to spend your birthday in an Irish pub. Gotta be a rule or something," Dean had said when they arrived, pushing past the rush of people that had already started pouring in.

They had already had dinner at a rib place, corn bread and all, and Dean had joked about how Sam wanted to bake a cake but Dean felt his brother's manhood was in question too often for that to be a good idea. His arm still hurt from when Sam playfully smacked him and Dean had to wonder if Sam used any of that super strength in the blow.

The guitar remained in the safety of the Impala's trunk for now. Sam gave Dean a hinting look when they first parked, but Dean shook head. Not yet. He wanted to let them get through a few rounds first so Sasha would be more complacent, not that Dean thought there was any way he wouldn't be getting what he wanted tonight. That just wasn't going to happen.

Sasha was positively beaming when they grabbed a table, so Dean knew he had done well. "I guess this means we have to order a pint of Guinness, huh?"

"Each," Dean nodded.

Sam already looked wary. "We drove here remember. Someone has to stay sober."

"That's what the subway's for," Dean shrugged. Not that he wanted to leave his baby parked out in some strange place in Brooklyn for the night, but still. It was a celebration. Nothing could bring Dean's mood down tonight, and nothing would bring down Sasha's either if Dean could help it.

"Are we allowed to ask for Irish Car Bombs in an Irish pup?" Sasha asked with a sideways smirk.

"I think they're called Depth Charges in Ireland," Sam offered.

"What's in it?" Dean asked. He usually stuck to beer and straight shots.

"They put half Irish whiskey half Baileys into a shot glass and then drop the shot into a three fourths full pint of Guinness," Sasha explained, looking fairly excited for that to be their first drink of the night, "But you have to pound it right away or the Baileys will curdle."

Yeah, Sam was looking pretty nervous by now. Dean had to grin. He had Sasha on one side of him and Sam on the other, so it was easy to give them each a simultaneous smack on the back. "Bottoms up, boys," he said, and then caught sight of one of the waitresses flitting past them, "Miss?" he smirked.

An hour later Sasha was explaining another of his favorite drinks with three double shots set out in front of them along with lemons and packs of sugar. "It's called Chocolate Cake," Sasha said. They were all buzzed by now but still mostly in their right minds. Dean didn't want Sasha wasted when he gave him the guitar. "You take it kind of like a Tequila shot, only with sugar instead of salt."

Sam blinked slowly at the shot glass in front of him. Liquor always ran through his system a little faster than you'd think considering his size. "This isn't a shot. It's huge."

"Double shot," Dean said, "Not man enough for that? Though I guess it is called Chocolate Cake."

"But it's clear," Sam said, picking the shot up and studying it.

"Trust me," Sasha said, hoisting up his glass as well. They had already poured sugar onto their lemons, easier than trying to lick your arm, Sasha had said, and more common with this particular drink.

Dean was willing. He raised his shot too. "Lemon or shot first?"

"Doesn't really matter. I usually go for the lemon."

"So you do this often?" Sam said, eyeing Sasha over the table.

Sasha tried to shrug the comment off but nonchalance wasn't one of his stronger personality traits. "Women happen to like this shot, I won't lie. And I…may have bought a round for a bachelorette party or…three."

Dean snorted. "Ready?" Even Sam raised his glass. "Go." Dean sucked the sugar and lemon juice down and then poured the whole double shot of clear liquid down his throat. It burned warmly the way alcohol was supposed to, but not so strong that you wanted something to wash it down with. The amazing thing was, clear or not, it actually did taste like chocolate cake. "Nice," Dean said, licking his lips of the remaining sugar.

"Thought you'd like it. You too, sweet tooth," Sasha said to Sam.

Sam hadn't managed to take the whole shot, but was happily downing the rest with a satisfied hum. "I deny nothing," he said coolly. The kid was practically being coy and Dean couldn't have been happier to get a few drinks in Sam to see him loosen up.

Maybe if things played out right, they could find someone for Sam to hook up with. Lord knows the guy needed it.

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom quick," Dean said, sliding out of his chair and giving Sam a long stare. Sam's eyed widened in recognition immediately.

"Sasha," Sam said, grabbing Sasha's arm across the table in case the incubus tried to go with Dean, "Let me buy you a drink without Dean, huh? He keeps trying to steal all the credit for our night out."

Oh very nice, Dean said with his eyes, scowling as he slipped away from the table, though he had to admit that it was pretty quick of Sam, and Sasha had been successfully distracted since he laughed good and hard and said, "Only if you promise you'll have whatever I have."

That ought to be good.

Dean made quick work getting out to the car and removing the guitar case from the trunk. He smiled to himself, feeling pretty good with over an hour's worth of alcohol in his belly and the company of his two best friends. Not that he would ever admit to Sam that he thought of him that way or there'd be no end to the sentimental crap. Besides, Dean couldn't help but grow excited as he walked back into the bar and headed for their table. Sam could tease about Dean taking all the credit all he wanted, but Dean was the one who thought of the guitar and who worked out the little extra that went with it.

They had positioned themselves so that Sasha's back was to the door just for this moment. Dean could see new glasses in front of them both as he drew closer and the satisfied grimace Sam made as he took a sip from his. If Dean had to guess he would say they had Long Islands. He knew for a fact that Long Islands were one of Sam's weaknesses and usually knocked him on his ass if he had even the smallest bit else to drink. Oh the reasons Dean discovered everyday to be glad he knew Sasha.

"Happy birthday, man," Dean said as he reached them and slid into his seat. He propped the guitar case against the table between him and Sasha and waited for realization to hit.

Sasha looked absolutely floored. He gaped for a solid minute before he looked up and caught Dean and Sam's eyes in turn. "You bought me a guitar?" he said, amazed.

"Hell no," Dean laughed, "I'm not spending that kind of money on you."

Then Sam, all smiles of course, spoke up to explain. "It's our dad's. We want you to have it."

"Figured you must be missing the chance to play," Dean added.

If possible, Sasha's eyes grew wider and he reached out gingerly to touch the case. "I…I couldn't accept something like that."

"Sure you could," Dean said, grabbing the guitar and pushing it onto Sasha's lap. He opened it up then, right in front of Sasha's eyes to show him the newly cleaned, tuned, and downright beautiful piece of aged acoustic. "We don't play, idiot. You do."

"It would just be sitting in our dad's storage place otherwise, collecting dust," Sam said, "We'd much rather see it put to use."

Sasha's eyes spoke of further dissenting, but something about what Sam and Dean had said, or maybe just the fact that they were so whole heartedly offering the guitar to him made him change his mind. He reached in and pulled the guitar out and Dean moved the case away and set it under their table.

The bar was buzzing so much around them, they usually had to almost yell to hear each other, so as Sasha held the guitar, grinning madly but not yet giving the strings an experimental pluck, Dean leaned over to whisper in Sasha's ear. He watched Sam as he spoke, knowing that Sam knew what he was saying even if Sam couldn't hear him.

"This place doesn't usually have live music tonight, but the owner said he'd be thrilled if someone wanted to play a few songs for fun. See over there," Dean said, pointing across the bar to a balding man counting cash in one of the registers, "Just go up to him and say who you are and he'll get you set up on the stage." Dean pointed then to the little cleared away area covered in other instruments. It wasn't a real stage, not elevated, but it worked well enough as one.

Sasha pulled back from Dean, his mouth completely slack. He glanced nervously over at Sam then who was beaming into his Long Island. "You want me to…play? Here? Tonight?"

"That was the plan."

"But Dean…Sam…I can't…I mean I'm out of practice and—"

"You'll be fine," Dean promised. He didn't buy for a second that Sasha wasn't the kind of guy who could just pick up a guitar and play again. Not with the way he loved music and sang so well. "You owe me, remember?" Dean said, grinning wide. He had been planning this for months as his payback for Slither. Sometimes waiting was so much more satisfying than immediate gratification.

Realization dawned on Sasha, that was certain by the change in his expression and the slight glitter to his eyes. He smiled across the table at Sam and then turned back to Dean. "You had this planned all along. You want me to go up there and sing and play for the first time in months on my own birthday."

"Yep."

"You're an asshole."

"Eh, it's why you love me." Dean caught himself just as he said that, not meaning for it to tumble out, coz he didn't mean it like…that. "I…I mean…"

"Okay," Sasha said, saving Dean from his tied tongue, "But don't think I won't be getting both of you back for this later."

Sam was chuckling happily and since that minor slip had been passed over, Dean fell right back into feeling pretty good about things. Sasha flashed Sam his smile again and gave Dean a wink.

"I think there's one song I might be able to manage."

After Sasha had gone to talk to the manager, Dean reached over and pulled Sam's glass right out of his hands, taking a long drink from it before passing it back. "Good Long Islands here."

"Get your own," Sam mockingly pouted, clutching the glass close once it was back in his grasp.

"I need a new drink," Dean said, feeling his buzz start to fade despite the heat of the Chocolate Cake still swirling inside of him, "What should I buy Sasha next?"

"Trying to get him drunk?" Sam snarked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam's eyes already looked glassy and the way he was grinning made Dean suddenly feel a rise of panic. They hadn't actually discussed the whole Sam knows now thing, but if Dean knew this particular look of Sam's then it was a pretty good bet that Sam would be giving himself away more and more as the night went on.

"You know I've heard of this one drink…" Sam started with a grin.

"If you say Sex on the Beach to me, Sammy, I am putting you down."

Sam almost choked on his next swallow. "I'm serious," he said, "S'got Sloe Gin, Southern Comfort, Vodka, Orange Juice, and…something else I think."

Oh. Maybe Sam wasn't trying to be a smartass. "Sounds pretty good. What's it called?"

"A Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall."

"I fucking hate you."

Sam seemed to be enjoying himself way too much as a laugh burst out of him, even though Dean knew that if Sam was sober he would be making himself blush with these kind of comments. "Don't make me order one from the waitress for the both of you," Sam added teasingly.

Really, Sam was trying to kill him. "Shut up, Sammy." Dean could just imagine it, his inebriated brother waiting until Sasha came back to the table and then asking the waitress, "Can I get a A Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall for these two?" Fratricide would no long be a passing fantasy if that were to happen.

Thankfully, the screech of a microphone saved Dean from any more of Sam's comments and they both turned towards the mock stage. They had positioned themselves close but not so close that Sasha would have caught wise before now.

The bar was fairly packed still and even though all eyes turned to Sasha and his guitar, the incubus didn't look uncomfortable in the spot light at all. Dean knew most of his squirming over playing tonight was just show.

"Now I know most of you regulars here aren't used to live entertainment this night of the week," Sasha said into the microphone, his voice loud and clear inside the crowded bar, "But I'm not getting paid so they've made an exception. See, it's my birthday today." There was a chorus of loud applause of course, to which Dean and Sam chimed in readily. "Yes," Sasha smiled, "But instead of just buying me a few pints and calling it good, my good friends decided to force me up on stage to play for you tonight." Another chorus of cheers. "I apologize in advance. Normally I don't go for music you might find in the top 40, but this one…well…let's just say this one managed to catch my attention."

The first strum on the guitar was experimental, Sasha remembering the feel of his fingers on the strings, and then a gentle riff began and Sasha moved on into the opening of a song. When Sasha's vocals poured out, the smile clear in his voice even as he sang, Dean knew he had chosen the perfect present.

'You're a falling star, You're the get away car.  
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.  
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.  
And you're the perfect thing to say.'

Dean didn't know the song, but then he never listened to normal radio, certainly not anything that would be playing stuff that might fit into the top 40. It had a sort of lounge quality that suited Sasha's smooth voice, and it went well with the simple strums of the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the words either, and considering the way Sam nudged him in the shoulder, he was pretty sure Sam had gotten the message too.

'And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute.  
Ah, When you smile at me you know exactly what you do.  
Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true.  
Cause you can see it when I look at you.'

Even the smallest glance around the bar proved that at least a good population of the women had already fallen in love with the impromptu singer, and maybe even that one guy sitting in the corner with a stout and somber eyes.

'And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you, You make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word…

Sasha didn't try to hide how his gaze lingered in one place, soft and adoring towards their table and right at Dean.

'…You're everything.'

"I think he likes you," Sam said in a mock conspiratorial whisper. He had clearly drunk his Long Island way too fast. "It's so weird. I think you're blushing even." Sam reached over and poked Dean's cheek. "You like him too. And you weren't even going to tell me."

Dean tried to tune Sam out, but it was too late. He was thinking hard about everything suddenly, about how Sam knew, about how real it was now instead of just this crazy thing that was happening, and about how Sasha was still in the dark about one very important, horrible thing. The deal. Sasha's song didn't exactly make Dean feel any lighter about the weight pressing down on him either.

'And I can't believe, uh that I'm your man,  
And I get to kiss you baby just because I can.  
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,  
And you know that's what our love can do.'

Dean was playing a dangerous game. Sam seemed okay with it, drunk Sam seemed to cheer it on, and well, Dean had thought he had come to terms with it when he finally kissed Sasha of his own accord in that workout room. He needed slow, but Sasha gave him that, stealing kisses Dean craved more and more with every one. And that was the problem. Dean was falling into the comfort of it, into easy, into blissful, and the further he fell the more it would hurt when there was no place for him to land other than the bone and flesh and blood covered landscape of Hell.

'And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you, You make me sing  
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.'

Dean was stone sober when Sasha finished singing, having played through another couple of songs to the crowd's delight. Sasha looked fairly sober when he returned too, his own Long Island having grown warm, untouched.

"I gotta go the bathroom," Sam mumbled, pushing up from the table. He was pretty drunk, maybe more so than usual because of his state of mind, so content with a night out that didn't include hunting.

This left Dean and Sasha alone, the guitar safely in its case again. Once Sam was out of sight, Sasha suddenly stood and threw on his coat, reaching for the guitar as well. "Come on," he said to Dean, nodding towards the exit.

Dean was understandably puzzled. "Okay, I know Sam's a little annoying and all when he's drunk, but…"

A chuckle rose in Sasha's throat and he shook his head. "We're not ditching him. The line for the bathroom is crazy. We'll be back before he finds the table empty. Come on. Grab Sam's coat too so no one takes it."

"What are we doing?" Dean said, obliging by putting his coat on and throwing Sam's over his arm to carry.

Sasha just smirked and started leading Dean through the crowd, occasionally having to deal with people telling Sasha how good he had been up on stage, usually women.

When they reached the front door they didn't go through it, but instead started up the stairs. Dean had almost forgotten about the upper level. There were only a few scattered couples on the roof since it was open air and December in New York City. The sky was large and clear above them, the stars sadly dim of course, but still there. Sasha led Dean over to the empty bar—they didn't serve up there in winter—and as soon as he had set the guitar down on the countertop, he plowed Dean back against the wooden wall.

It was shadowy in the dark, but there were still people out there who could potentially see them. "Sasha…" Dean said warningly, but Sasha wasn't listening. He claimed Dean's lips so hungrily, Dean wouldn't have been able to say anything else anyway.

Halfway into the kiss, feeling that deeply probing tongue and Sasha's hands on either side of his face, Dean forgot why he would ever want to tell Sasha to stop. He had missed it so much, the way Sasha needed him and how their bodies fit together with hard muscle and strong holds.

They were no longer going slow. Not with a kiss like this.

"Come to my hotel room," Sasha said breathlessly when he finally pulled away, the hold he had on Dean's face dropping down to Dean's neck and shoulders.

"What?" Dean couldn't think straight. Maybe he hadn't heard right either.

Sasha smiled in the dark, his blue eyes surreal as always, glowing unnaturally. "When we get back to the hotel," Sasha said, whispering still, hot and breathy against Dean's lips since they were so close, "Come to my room."

"Jesus," Dean gasped. It seemed like it had been so long since they last met lips like this, bodies tight and words hushed. It made Dean's mind feel hazier than any alcohol could manage. He tried to grin in response to Sasha's request but he was shivering and there was nothing slow at all in asking such a thing from him. "What," Dean tried, "You think you're getting lucky tonight?"

A flash of white teeth told Dean that Sasha's smile had stretched. "Well it is my birthday," the incubus teased.

Dean swallowed, hard and heavy in his throat.

"Dean," Sasha said, that same smile in his voice as Dean heard when Sasha sang, "I'm not expected anything. Well…maybe a little something. But whatever you want, whatever you're comfortable with, that's fine. Just come. Please," he added, his voice small despite the weight of the request.

It wasn't as if they had to think up an excuse for Sam or anything. But going back to Sasha's room with him would certainly leave nothing to the imagination anymore. Still, Dean couldn't deny how much he wanted to agree, even if the ache in his chest from that dream and his promise to Sam to tell Sasha about the deal felt hotter and heavier than ever.

He wouldn't tell Sasha about the deal tonight. He couldn't. This was Sasha's night and Dean wanted it to be perfect. He wanted it to be perfect for himself to, to forget for a little while that the clock was ticking down.

"I…think maybe I can manage that," he said finally, his hands coming up to grip Sasha's biceps, "Sam's onto us by the way. More than guess work, he…pretty much…knows everything."

"Yeah…" Sasha said slowly, "I…kind of figured that after what he said when you slipped out to grab the guitar."

"Said? What did he say?"

"Umm…it's…not important."

If Dean could see properly in the damn darkness he was fairly certain he would see a blush in Sasha's pale cheeks. "Sasha…" he prompted.

"He just asked how things were going, and when I asked 'what do you mean?' he said…well…how're things working out being in love with my brother."

Dean was going to kill Sam, drunkenness as an excuse or not.

"And I said," Sasha continued, grinning a little in the dark again, "Much better now that he kisses back."

Or maybe Dean would just kill them both. It sure would save him a lot of trouble.

"Does it bother you?" Sasha said, more serious again.

"It doesn't seem to bother him," Dean shrugged, "But if you two start some kind of girl talk thing about this, I will disown you in a heartbeat. Now let's get out of here, huh? Unless you can think of any reason to stick around?"

Sasha pulled in close to Dean again, his arms wrapping around Dean's waist and hugging him while his lips ghosted along Dean's neck. "Everything's been wonderful tonight, Dean. Thank you. Really. No one's ever…cared about this kind of stuff with me before. Still, I'm thinking…" Sasha pulled away, eyes twinkling brilliant blue, "…calling it a night sounds absolutely…perfect."

Finding Sam wasn't difficult. They managed to get back downstairs, just as Sasha predicted, before Sam had even got into the bathroom. They paid their tab and left soon after, Dean tossing the keys to Sasha since he still refused to drive and Sam was in no condition to. Thankfully, Sam started to dose pretty quickly in the backseat. Dean would have shoved his brother right out into the street somewhere if Sam brought up anything embarrassing while they were driving.

It was still pretty early for a night out when they pulled up to the hotel. Dean asked Sasha if he would mind bringing Sam inside for him so he could have a minute to get some air. Sasha eyed him knowingly but obliged, and after a few moments, Sasha and Sam went slumping into the hotel. Dean promised he would meet Sasha in his room in a few minutes. He just needed some time to calm his nerves. No amount of trying not to think would save him this time. There was no way he couldn't think when he was basically about to go to his new make-out buddy's hotel room to fool around, and…maybe…

Dean took a deep breath. He could do this. Sasha had already said there was no obligation, not that Dean ever followed obligations anyway, except for the one about protecting his own. Still, naughtiness was implied and Dean couldn't help feeling nervous. This was new territory. No matter how Dean looked at things, this was new and very scary.

"Talk me down, baby," Dean whispered to his car, holding both hands on the hood as he took slow breaths, "Am I a complete jackass if I go in there and let something happen without…mentioning that little secret of ours."

The Impala didn't respond.

"I'll tell him soon. Real soon. Just…waiting until after we fix the damn thing and don't have to worry about it anymore would be so much better."

Again the Impala remained silent.

"Yeah…that'd be pretty low of me, I know. But just one more night. Tomorrow. I'll tell him tomorrow. Yeah," Dean thought with conviction. He could take Sasha out for coffee in the morning and spill everything. Sasha would have to understand why Dean waited, right? Dean sighed, patted his baby's hood and stood up straight. "Okay. I'm going in." But two steps later Dean stopped in his tracks, and not because of nerves.

"Dean, Dean," came Gordon's irritatingly casual words from somewhere behind Dean's back, "You didn't think you could hide from me forever, did you?"

tbc...

A/N: You didn't think I was giving you sex, did you? ;-) I know I'm evil, but hey, points for the new longest chapter, right? The next chapter is one of my favorites, and yes, I'm pretty sure you'll be crushed. It has been part of the story's plan since Sasha first existed so...be prepared. :-) Review?

Crim


	21. Part 8: Almost Lover

Recommended song track for the end of this fic: "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. Lyrics at the bottom, but I wouldn't read them or listen to the song until you've finished reading the chapter, for your own sake.

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Part 8: Almost Lover

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"Gordon…" Dean said with distaste as he turned around. Then his eyes fell on Kubrick standing there beside Gordon, both of them so casual and calm it made Dean sick. "Guess being grappled by your buddy there wasn't enough to split you two, huh?"

Kubrick scowled. Dean was pleased to upset the guy since he had turned on Sasha without more than a second thought. It almost looked as though Kubrick was going to come forward and try to take Dean down right then, but Gordon held up a hand to keep his partner back.

Neither of them appeared obviously armed at the moment, but Dean knew better than to trust first impressions.

"You're luckier than you think right now, Dean," Gordon said, "We're not looking to fight you. Not you," he said again.

The simple stress on those two words was enough for Dean to understand Gordon's real meaning. "Right," he huffed, keeping his eyes locked tight on them both, "Let me guess. I'm s'possed to just step aside now and let you kill my freak of a brother and incubus best friend like a good little mindless hunter. Is that it?" Dean laughed bitterly and took a step closer to his enemies. He knew there was no point in being afraid for himself. "Sometimes, Gordon, what should and shouldn't be hunted isn't black and white. And it's thinking otherwise that got Deklin Kelly killed." Dean flicked his eyes over to Kubrick. "You looking to repeat that past with his son now?"

"That _thing_ in there is not Deklin Kelly's son," Kubrick snarled, pushing past Gordon's shoulder, "I knew Deklin Kelly. He was a good man. A good hunter. He understood the plan God has for men like us. No son of his would let himself be turned into something like that."

Turned into? Dean laughed so hard at that it hurt. Gordon's expression remained benign, but Kubrick was so angry, fists tightening and knuckles white, that it just made Dean laugh harder. "You really don't get it," he managed through choked, bitter chuckles, "Sasha was born like that. And he is Deklin Kelly's son." Dean glanced pointedly at Gordon. "I have all the _proof_ I need to know that."

Either Kubrick didn't understand what Dean was implying or he didn't want to, but regardless, he made another offensive move forward. Again, Gordon held him back. "The incubus is minor compared to Sam," Gordon said, "But it helps prove my point. Would you have ever allowed a creature like that in your company before Sam…changed?" 

Gordon's question was calm and calculating. Dean didn't like it. "Maybe I've changed too."

"I don't think you have," Gordon countered, "I think you want to believe your brother is still a good, kind person so badly you'd tell yourself anything, even lie, to believe it. Even…allow yourself to be seduced by an incubus." Gordon's eyes flashed knowingly.

Now Dean really was angry and there was nothing funny in how foolish Gordon and Kubrick's ideals might be. Dean itched to grab for the gun in his coat. Ached for it. "Gordon…" he growled.

"This is the last chance I'm going to give you, Dean," Gordon said coolly, "You choose to help those creatures, to side with evil, then you will be counted among evil." Gordon almost looked mournful, sorry for him, and that just made Dean hate the guy more. "Let your brother go, Dean," Gordon went on, "I had to do it once too. I know how hard it is. I let my sister go rather than see her live as a monster. Think about who your brother once was. Think for a minute about yourself, about how much you stand to lose if you make the wrong choice tonight."

Okay, that was just too much—Gordon's ignorant words—making the same bitter, horrible laugh Dean hated but couldn't keep at bay start to pour out of him again. He imagined his eyes looked about as crazed and wild as Gordon's usually did. "Lose? What I stand to…lose?" Dean howled with laughter up at the sky. "Guess you don't know everything, Gordon. See, I don't have anything to lose anymore. Only them. Sorry I didn't call to give you the good news when it happened, but…Sam? He died months ago."

It was almost like a gunshot the way the words rang out and struck both Gordon and Kubrick. Gordon's eyes grew wide and unsure, maybe thinking Dean had finally lost it.

Maybe Dean had. "Knife right in the back," Dean went on, his face lit with a cruel smile and voice eerily calm, "Couldn't have lasted more than a couple minutes before he died, right in my arms too. So maybe you're right, maybe I want my brother to be good and whole and alive at my side so badly, I would do anything. After all…I sold my soul to the demon at the crossroads to bring him back, and I don't regret that in the least."

It made Dean bark out another laugh to see how Gordon and Kubrick both took a step back, as if they were afraid to catch his disease. The disease of caring too much. The disease of being a dead man walking—literally.

"So you see, Gordon, there's really nothing you can take from me other than them. A couple months from now I'm bound for that smooth, no stop signs Highway to Hell, AC/DC blaring like nobody's business too, if they let me." Dean took a step. Another. He didn't even God damn need his gun. "And Gordon," Dean grinned, "If you even think of laying a hand on either of them, I swear…I am taking you with me."

It was possible that after spending so many weeks trying not to think about certain things that Dean had become a little too good at not thinking even when he should. He certainly wasn't thinking entirely clear at the moment, since he made his move without drawing the weapon he had tucked in his coat, and simply rammed forward into Gordon. Kubrick was standing close enough to Gordon that the impact knocked him back, but Gordon had the leverage of clinging onto Dean and he used that to his advantage. Pushing forward to stay on his feet, he made Dean think he was going to try and overpower him with his upper body when instead he lashed out with his feet suddenly, taking Dean's legs right out from under him.

Dean hit his back hard but it didn't wind him, not with his adrenaline running so high. He rolled up his lower body and kicked at Gordon's knees, sending the other hunter to the ground beside him. Kubrick had steadied himself by now, however, and finally he was the one who pulled a gun.

Starting a desperate roll towards his car, Dean avoided the first two shots easily, but a third grazed his shin and he cursed loudly as he rolled under the Impala and took a breath before rolling all the way out onto the other side. Standing was a chore, but Dean had to move. He pulled his own gun and waited for the firing to continue. He would kill Kubrick with a smile on his face if the guy put a bullet in his baby.

"You can still get out of this, Dean!" called Gordon's voice instead of a bullet roar, "Even a damned hunter can make a difference before he dies!"

Dean chuckled under his breath, couched down with his back against his baby's passenger side door. This was not a situation where Dean could take a high road. There was no fucking high road. There was Gordon and Kubrick on one side and Dean's family on the other. That was all. There weren't even decisions to be made, just a death toll to tick off one by one until someone came out the victor. And Dean always preferred to be on the winning side, damned or not.

"Dean!"

"Save your breath!" Dean called back, "I'm afraid blood is thicker than batshit, Gordon, and that is the only ammunition you've been throwing me!"

"Hn. So be it," Gordon said more quietly. 

Then there was silence, and the slow movement of feet on concrete. Dean waited. He closed his eyes and he waited. He knew they could see him clear enough, even with the Impala mostly blocking him. He waited, a moment, another, until he was certain they had him just about surrounded, one coming from the front of the car and the other by the trunk. Another step and Dean made his move.

Kicking up off the ground, Dean hoisted his backside up onto the top of the Impala's hood, flattened himself, rolled off onto the other side, and came down again on his feet, weapon raised and ready. Kubrick was to Dean's right and he took that shot first, just barely missing him as Kubrick ducked around behind the car. Dean turned immediately to Gordon at his left then, but Gordon had already had time to take aim and was readying a shot of his own.

"Dean!"

The gun fired, a bullet disappearing somewhere into the sky as the blur of a figure knocked Gordon to the ground. Dean didn't have to guess who it was. No one else had hair that red.

First rule of hunting: eliminate all targets as quickly as possible. Sasha could handle Gordon, so Dean raced around the Impala to find Kubrick.

"Damn it!" Dean growled, finding the haunting sight of empty space as he ran around to the other side of the car. Dean dropped down, knowing that the only way Kubrick could have gotten out from behind the car without Dean seeing him was if the guy managed to pull Dean's own trick back on him. Sure enough, he caught sight of Kubrick just as the blonde hunter was rolling back onto his feet on the other side again.

Dean jumped back up, aimed at Kubrick as soon as the other hunter stood up straight, and took a shot. Kubrick cried out as a bullet hit his arm, but it wasn't good enough. Kubrick had started moving even as he stood, ruining the kill Dean had hoped for. He couldn't see Sasha and Gordon, which meant they were still on the ground, and Kubrick, despite being shot, suddenly dived down until he was unseen too.

Dean raced to the front of the Impala again, feeling almost dizzy with this game of chairless musical chairs. Gordon was on top of Sasha now, though Dean couldn't even imagine how things had turned out that way. Something glinted in Gordon's hand and Dean saw that it was a knife, Gordon's gun left on the ground nearby after Sasha tackled him. Kubrick had gone down to help Gordon keep Sasha still, holding the incubus by his shoulders. 

The aim would be haphazard at best but Dean had to risk it. His finger was ready on the trigger when Sasha suddenly kicked his knees up into Gordon's chest and lifted, flipping Gordon over to slam him back into Kubrick, knocking them both away and to the side.

Risking a moment to actually breathe, Dean just stared forward and it seemed to take forever for Sasha to get up and start running towards him. Gordon and Kubrick weren't fazed enough for them to slow down either, though, and even as Sasha reached Dean, it was clear that they didn't have enough time, breath, or weapons to defend themselves in the parking lot.

Sasha grabbed Dean's arm as he reached him and Dean allowed it, both of them turning and sprinting back into the hotel. Sam, Dean thought with sudden panic, Sam was in their room right now probably passed out on the God damn bed, dead drunk. This was bad. This was really bad.

"How did they find us?" Sasha was yelling. Even his friend's voice seemed distant as Dean ran over possible escape plans in his head. He didn't know how to answer, but Sasha went on, "This neighborhood's quiet enough, but we have to get away from the hotel. Shit!" Sasha cried suddenly.

Dean glanced and saw that Sasha was looking behind them. Dean didn't need to look for himself. Reaching Sam was more important. If they lost this fight, Sam would be completely vulnerable, left up there for Gordon to gut like an animal.

Barreling ahead, Dean saw the elevator and pushed forward that much harder. Their rooms were on the fourth floor. They had to make it.

Sasha was faster than Dean. He reached the elevator and had the button pushed before Dean even got inside. The doors started to close and Dean dived forward, his chest aching from sprinting. He looked back just as the doors shut completely to see Gordon and Kubrick's angry faces.

"Never a dull moment…being a hunter. Or is it hunted?" Dean gasped, trying to grin as the elevator moved slowly up. It wasn't late enough for them to get away with running through the hallways with guns, so Dean tucked his gun into his coat again, praying that even if Gordon and Kubrick waited and watched to see where the elevator stopped that they would take a long time finding their actual rooms.

Sasha smiled weakly at Dean and said, "I was coming to get you. So much for a happy birthday." Sasha tried to laugh at that but he suddenly fell against the side of the elevator and almost dropped straight to the floor.

"Whoa, you okay?" Dean said, grabbing hold of Sasha by the arms to steady him. That's when he noticed the cut on Sasha's arm, just below the cuff of his T-shirt. Then Sasha turned over his hands, both of which had long jagged cuts in the palms. "Iron," Dean said through clenched teeth. The poison worked fast enough when Sasha _wasn't_ fighting for his life and running a marathon. Damn it.

"Sam," Sasha said firmly, shaking his head when the elevator doors opened and Dean tried to turn them to the left towards Sasha's room, "We have to…wake him."

"And we will. After we get—"

"He has…some of the antidote in your room," Sasha insisted.

The elevator doors dinged closed behind them and Dean just stared for a moment.

"He said…it would be smart if…he carried some too…in case…" Sasha lifted his bleeding hands again and smiled.

Thank God for Sammy, Dean thought. "Come on," he said, guiding Sasha down the hallway towards his and Sam's room now with one hand around Sasha's waist for support. At least Sasha could still walk.

The room was dark when they entered, and they hadn't yet heard any sounds of galloping feet or the elevator returning.

"Sam, wake up!" Dean called loudly at the figure planted face first into the pillow of one of the beds. Dean didn't stop to shake Sam though. He helped Sasha sit on the unoccupied bed and then went over to rummage through Sam's duffle. "Wake up!" he called again and then glanced back at Sasha, "Any idea where he keeps the stuff?"

Sasha shook his head.

Wonderful. Dean spent all of thirty seconds looking through the bag before he gave up. "Sam!" Dean yelled right in Sam's ear, having practically flown across the carpeting to the side of the bed.

A groan responded and Sam's arms came up like they were trying to swat Dean away.

"This is serious, Sammy! Sasha's hurt. Where do you keep the antidote?"

Another groan.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his brother and flipped him over none too gently, met by a twisted, resentful face that squinted up at him, "Sam, Gordon is coming up to our room to kill you right now! Sasha has iron poisoning his veins, and I am done with this! We do not have time for you to sober up!"

Finally, Dean's bellowing seemed to knock some sense into Sam's alcohol riddled brain. "What?" he said, eyes wide with panic but still glazed, "Gordon? Here? But how did he—"

"The antidote!" Dean yelled. They didn't have time for Sam to ask questions either.

Sam blinked a few times, looked over to find Sasha pale and shaking on the other bed and immediately turned back to Dean with clearer eyes. "Coat pocket," he said, "Always keep some in there."

Dean didn't stop to ask why Sam hadn't thought to mention this brilliant idea to him earlier, but went straight for Sam's coat hung over one of the room's chairs. He found a vial in the first pocket, beautiful luminescent green.

It had only been a few minutes, but already Sasha didn't look good. Those sickly veins Dean remembered from so long ago were already spreading out over Sasha's arms and up his neck.

Opening the vial, Dean poured some on his finger and ran it over the cut on Sasha's arm, watching it fizzle and disappear. He did the same to each of Sasha's hands and then handed the vial to Sasha for him to drink the rest. Sasha's hands were still a little shaky though and Dean had to help guide the vial to Sasha's mouth with his own hand wrapped around Sasha's.

"Twice now," Sasha smiled as the green shot through him and his eyes flashed red for just a moment, "My knight in…sexy leather jacket."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, you saved me first. Gordon might have gotten that shot off if you hadn't tackled him. Now let's go." Dean stood and glanced over at his brother, who was sitting up now but rubbing his temples like he had the worst headache. "We are so fucked," Dean grumbled. Sasha would be off his game now and Sam was still halfway to shit-faced. How the hell were they supposed to defend themselves let alone plan an assault?

"We just need to get away from the hotel," Sasha offered, standing a little unsteadily after Dean, "There are a lot of warehouses in this neighborhood. If we could lure them to one…"

"And then what?" Dean said, turning back to him, "We're unprepared again and no one," he said, lifting his leg up onto the bed to show where he was bleeding from the bullet that grazed him, "No one is at their best. I say we make a break for the car again and get the hell out of here."

"No," dissented Sam from the bed, his voice scratchy and low. Dean looked to his brother again, meeting tired eyes that couldn't quite focus, "He'll just come after us again, and…and we'll be right back here a third time and a fourth, and…Gordon needs to die." Sam's eyes flashed not unlike Sasha's, the green in them suddenly more intense, "I could…use my powers. Sasha's still stronger than either of them. And you…well…you got the guns."

Dean tried not to roll his eyes at his inebriated brother. "Yeah, I have guns and Sasha's strong. But Gordon had a charm against your powers, Sam, remember? I'm sure Kubrick has the same thing by now."

"Not the…not the mind stuff," Sam said, shaking his head a little too wildly, "Maybe…maybe the TK," he suggested.

Dean didn't have time to comment on that before one of the water glasses Sasha had set on the nightstand for Sam shot across the room and shattered against the wall.

Sam grimaced. "Mmm…maybe not."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Dean said in exasperation, dropping to his knees in front of Sam on the bed and placing a hand on each of Sam's thighs. "Sammy, you are drunk, Sasha and I are both hurt enough that it could slow us down, and we have no time. We need to get out of the hotel."

"If we get them to an alley," Sasha broke in, "Somewhere we can hide, wait until they come close and then ambush them—"

"No," Dean said firmly. Why were they arguing about this?

"But…but he's right, Dean," Sam said, his hands sliding into place over Dean's to grip Dean's wrists, "We…we leave our stuff. Just take what we need for weapons. We can end this."

Bad idea, Dean thought, definitely a bad idea. But when he looked up into Sam's eyes, despite them being hazy from drinking, he saw the same determination he could see in the sober eyes of Sasha. It wasn't a good idea, but maybe it was better than running.

Dean pushed back up onto his feet, looking from brother to friend, and then over at their bags on the floor. They didn't have much, but they still had guns.

"Okay. But we have to go now. And pray we're not absolutely out of our minds."

-----

Getting back down to the first floor wasn't the hard part. Their car was parked outside one of the exits that was thankfully nowhere near the front lobby. Despite Dean's slight limp now that his adrenaline was cooling, Sasha's fatigue from recent poisoning, and Sam's drunken stumbling, they made it out to the Impala without incident. Dean had his same gun, reloaded with an extra clip in his pocket, and Sasha had a gun as well. The Colt, however, didn't sound like a good idea when all of them were a little off their game. Besides, Gordon and Kubrick weren't demons or any other supernatural creature. They were just human, and normal human weapons would work just fine.

"I don't see them anywhere," Sasha whispered, looking sharply around the parking lot. They walked with Sam between them just in case he crumbled to the ground. At least Sam's eyes were looking a little more alert as time went on.

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Dean grumbled.

The parking lot was empty of people. They had chosen a hotel in this specific neighborhood _because_ it was quieter. Dean glanced at the Impala's tires, remembering Danville. They looked fine.

"We can still make a break for it," he suggested.

"But our stuff…" Sam said, looking up at the hotel. They had left most of their things in their rooms so they wouldn't be slowed down any more than they already were.

"It seems too easy," Sasha added, bending over to look at the Impala more closely, as if he half expected to find a bomb hidden under the carriage.

Dean understood the incubus' concerns. He didn't like any of this either.

Looking away from the Impala while Sasha inspected it a bit more, Dean noticed suddenly that Sam had started wandering out into the more open part of the parking lot. He was looking up, almost as if he was enjoying the few dim stars, but Dean recognized the worrying look on his brother's face.

"They're watching us…" Sam said softly to the air. Then he jerked suddenly to the side, just in time it seemed since a bullet whizzed past and struck one of the cars behind him.

"Sam!" Dean called, racing for his brother.

Sasha's voice yelled after him. "Dean, up there!"

Dean risked a look but not before he had reached Sam and started to pull him aside. Gordon was visible in a window on the fourth floor of the hotel, maybe he was even in their room, and he had his gun steadied on Sam.

All Dean cared about after seeing that oh so reassuring sight was moving fast and getting out of the line of fire, even with Sam's feet stumbling along beside him.

Dean saw Kubrick come running from around the other side of the building just as he and Sam reached the Impala again. Kubrick's arm was still bleeding from when Dean got a shot off him, but like all good hunters, he didn't seem to be paying his wound much mind. Kubrick didn't care about Sam. Not really. He had his sights on Sasha whom he believed to be nothing more than an abomination that soiled whatever warped imagine he had of Deklin Kelly.

Sasha saw Kubrick coming too and with a quick look at Dean they made the decision to run for it. A corner that turned down a narrow alley was right in front of them at the edge of the parking lot. Dean moved fast to meet up with Sasha at the mouth of that alley and they ducked down it before Kubrick or Gordon could find a clean shot.

"At what point did we think this would be a good idea?" Dean said bitingly as they ran. Hauling Sam along with him was getting easier, but a completely sober Sam would be so much more helpful. "Any more brilliant plans, Starsky?" Dean called ahead to Sasha.

"Does that make me Hutch or you Hutch?" Sam asked. How Sam could manage to dodge a bullet on instinct but still act like a drunken idiot was beyond Dean's comprehension.

He decided to ignore him.

Meanwhile, Sasha seemed to be looking for a place they could hide, which Dean didn't really consider a better alternative to running.

"They have to regroup again," Sasha said, not bothering to look back at Sam and Dean as he rushed on ahead, "Kubrick will wait for Gordon before they come after us."

"Even if you're right about that," Dean began, slowing his run since he was winded, Sam was heavy even with the guy moving mostly on his own power now, and Sasha did appear to be right since there was no one rushing down the alleyway after them, "We still don't have enough time for this. Do you even have a plan?" Dean asked, grabbing Sasha's shoulder when the incubus stopped in front of him. Then Dean realized what Sasha was staring at. "A dumpster?"

There was a moment, a pause, and then Sasha was grinning as he turned around. He reached over and grabbed Sam's face gently, turning it towards him to be sure he had the taller Winchester's full attention. "Sam," he said, "All I need you to do when I give the word…is concentrate as hard as you can."

Only one or two agonizing minutes passed before Gordon and Kubrick came running down the alley, weapons both at the ready. They were quiet, moving swiftly with ever-watchful trained eyes on their surroundings.

Dean could feel Sasha's breath on his hair as they waited, and Sam's more labored breathing against his cheek that smelled faintly of alcohol and lemonade from the Long Island. They were huddled tight together on the hidden side of the dumpster, easily visible once Gordon and Kubrick got past it, but not until they came further down the alley.

Sasha had placed Sam's coat across from the dumpster against the other wall. If Gordon and Kubrick took the bait, it wouldn't take them long to spot where the trio was hiding, but if all went well that wouldn't matter.

"Gordon!" came Kubrick's voice in a harsh whisper. Dean couldn't see either hunter just yet, but he imagined that the coat had finally been spotted.

Gordon came into view first, reaching down to pick the jacket up. If he turned just slightly he would be able to see his quarry right there beside the dumpster. Dean knew they couldn't act yet though. They had to wait for Kubrick. They had to try and get them both.

Sam's breath hitched and Dean tightened the hold he had on his brother's shoulders. Another moment. Just one more moment.

Gordon's head started to turn, slowly, so slowly that Dean couldn't breathe. But then Kubrick was there, right where they wanted him, and Sasha's voice rang out clearly in the dark of the alley.

"Sam, now!"

The grating of metal on concrete was deafening. Sam focused one half-drunken scattered thought on the dumpster, and just like what had happened with the water glass in the hotel room, the dumpster went flying fast and hard into the opposite wall. 

Kubrick was crushed back, giving a pained howl as he became pinned from the chest down. Almost instantly he slumped forward, half-unconscious from the blow to his ribs. But Gordon had seen them, giving him just enough time to move out of the way and crush only his hand. Thankfully, this removed him of his gun, but it wasn't enough to hold him, and he pulled his hand free again with a growl on his lips. Gordon was no fool though. Realizing he was now at a disadvantage, he took off running further down the alley. Dean wouldn't have minded that at all either if Sam hadn't immediately jumped up to give chase.

"Sammy, no!" Dean cried, amazed that Sam had slipped his grasp so easily. 

"We can't let him get away!" Sam called back.

The alley cut off just ahead and turned into darkness, swallowing Gordon and Sam up like a hungry creature. Dean had no idea where it led, but he hardly cared as he got to his feet and followed.

Not even pausing to look back at Sasha, though Dean knew the incubus was on his heels with Kubrick forgotten at the mercy of the dumpster, Dean hurried to catch up to where Gordon and Sam had disappeared. As soon as he turned that corner, however, no curse could have done his frustration justice. The alley opened up into a comb of others, splitting in several different directions that were equally dark from lack of street lamps. The whole throng of alleys led into the warehouse district and any of the passages seemed as likely as the next.

Dean was just about ready to pick one at random and go for it, when Sasha grabbed him from behind. "I have a better idea," he said, pointing up at the tall building they were next to, "Better vantage point. Climb on." Sasha positioned himself as if to scale the wall, despite there being absolutely nothing he could use as leverage.

"Uh…what?"

"Just hang on to my neck," Sasha insisted. He pulled back one of his hands and it morphed into dangerous claws just before he punched taloned fingered into the brick of the building, creating his own form of holds.

Dean didn't exactly like this idea, but they didn't have time to stop and discuss possible routes. Wrapping his arms around Sasha's neck, Dean braced himself as Sasha began to climb, using his claws like grappling hooks. These alleys were too narrow for Sasha to get any kind of wingspan without starting high, but apparently the incubus had built in ways around that.

Despite feeling frighteningly weightless, Dean knew that as long as he didn't look over his shoulder at the ground below, he could handle this. Of course that didn't stop him from curling his legs around Sasha's waist for extra support.

"Climb over me," Sasha said once they reached top.

Dean obliged, carefully climbing up off of Sasha and over him onto the roof. Sasha hoisted himself up easily after that and his claws faded back into smooth, pale hands.

"Can you see them?" Sasha asked, coming to stand beside Dean as Dean stared down into the maze of alleyways below.

Light was meager, but movement was easier to make out from their new height. After a few moments, Dean spotted what looked very much like two running figures down one of the alleys leading to a larger building. "There! Come on!" Dean turned and headed back to the edge they had come from before remembering they hadn't used a ladder.

"We'll never catch them on foot," Sasha said, "But now that we're high enough…"

Dean turned to look back at Sasha and saw the gradual shift as Sasha's clothes faded and his incubus features took over, the horns gently curling, the wings out and ready. There was still some obvious fatigue present in Sasha's body, but not the way it had been the night Sam almost killed Sasha with a knife to the stomach. Sasha held a claw out towards Dean like an offer, smiling.

"Come on, we have to hurry."

"Wait," Dean said, suddenly understanding what Sasha had planned, "You go, I can…I can just walk."

"Dean…"

"You can catch them. Don't worry about me." Dean would have backed up a step if he didn't know the edge of the roof was close beside him.

Sasha looked incredulous in a way that didn't fit his incubus form at all. He stomped over to Dean with all intentions of grabbing Dean by force if necessary. "I know you're afraid of flying, Dean, but this is me, okay? I'm not going to drop you."

Dean swallowed, his arms stiff as Sasha grabbed them and started to pull him towards the edge. "Yeah, well…the plane's not gonna crash either but every once in a while…BAM!"

"Dean," Sasha said chidingly again, "I'm not going to drop you." And then he had Dean at the edge and he was coming up close behind Dean, taking tight hold of Dean's biceps and pushing off, no warning, just that horrible free-falling feeling with Dean's feet dangling and Sasha flying above him.

"Oh fuck…_fuck_." Dean closed his eyes. There was just so much space down there, black empty space.

"I don't like this…" Sasha said softly, after a few moments of air whipping past Dean's face.

_You don't like this?_ Dean thought maddeningly, but he couldn't quite form the words.

Sasha continued, his voice that comforting growl that normally Dean would enjoy if he wasn't dangling from the incubus' arms. "I can see Gordon and Sam pretty well now, but it just seems too…convenient. It's like Gordon's keeping just enough ahead of Sam so Sam doesn't lose him, but still fast enough not to get caught. Like he's…"

Sure it was scary as hell, but now Dean had to peak an eye open. He could see the moving figures of Sam and Gordon too, and there in the distance lay that building Dean had noticed before. "Like he's…leading Sam somewhere," Dean said, finishing Sasha's hanging thought. God damn it, they were so fucking stupid.

"Sam's moving a little steadier," Sasha said by way of placating Dean, "Maybe without his jacket the cold is helping sober him up."

That was possible, but that didn't mean Sam was in any condition to fight. 

Now that Dean had convinced himself he wasn't going to plummet to his death, he allowed himself to look around. If Dean didn't hate heights it might actually be pretty. The landscape of New York City lay in the distance, sparkling up towards the sky. It reminded Dean of just how many people lived in New York City and its surrounding suburbs.

"Have you thought about people seeing us?" he said to Sasha, as if his chiding would make them land faster.

A low chuckle escaped the incubus. "People lie to themselves all the time about what they see. Besides, who'd believe the guy who said he saw a gargoyle carrying someone off to his lair?"

"One of the people who watched the cartoon?"

Sasha laughed, but when he spoke again he was entirely serious. "Okay, they haven't reached the building yet and we're almost there. I'm going to go in low so I can drop you."

Dean's head snapped up to look at the incubus' face above him. "You're gonna what!"

Red eyes glanced down at Dean with amused affection. "I'm talking so low you'll be able to touch your feet down and start running before I even let go. It'll just propel you. Trust me."

Okay, that did sound better than 'so I can drop you,' but Dean just wanted the ride to be over. It was going to be close anyway. Sam and Gordon had almost reached that one building, and there was no telling what Gordon might have planned for them, waiting inside those walls. Dean could see that Sam was running straight and steady, but he remembered how glassy those hazel eyes had still looked when they were crouched together by the dumpster.

"Ready?" Sasha prompted. The ground was mere feet below them now and Sam and Gordon were only a few yards in front of them.

Dean braced himself, feeling a little ridiculous when the ground came up fast and he started pumping his legs even before his feet touched. Then he was running almost as if Sasha was no longer hanging on, and suddenly that was true and he felt the rush as Sasha let go and he propelled forward. 

Dean had forgotten one thing though, and so had Sasha. Dean's adrenaline was up again, but his leg was still injured, hurting more now than originally since it hadn't been treated. Dean only made it a few feet before pain shot up his body and made him trip over his quickly moving feet.

Sasha had already soared over Dean, landing more easily and keeping up the chase. Dean tried to push back up onto his feet, watching as Sasha caught up to Sam and stopped him just before the younger Winchester could follow Gordon into the building. But they weren't waiting. Sasha gestured Sam to go around and find another door—at least Dean assumed as much since he couldn't hear them—and Sasha took Sam's place, heading into the door Gordon had just gone through.

Dean wanted to yell at both of them, but he was still limping when he got to his feet; the impact had been too much, enough to tear the wound open and start it freshly bleeding again. Sasha should know better. He had been conscientious enough to move Sam out of harm's way—just as he did when he took a bullet for him, for crying out loud—but he didn't seem to know how to keep himself in the clear at the same time. Dean pretending he didn't recognize the irony in being angry at Sasha for that.

Pain be damned, Dean got to his feet finally and raced after Sasha into the building. The first thing that struck him was that the door had been unlocked despite the building being an in-use factory. How Dean knew it was in-use was because of the second thing that hit him: fumes. He almost choked on them at first, the smell was so strong. He couldn't pinpoint what the fumes were, but he didn't have time to care.

Already, Dean could hear sounds of fighting, indicating Sasha had caught up to Gordon and there had to be some kind of open area behind all the hanging machinery and storage.

"You're like every other hunter I've met, Gordon," Dean heard faintly from Sasha over the factory's hum, "The only big picture you see is black and white. But it's not that simple."

Dean heard grunts and thuds in the distance as he took a wrong turn back into a rack of spare parts. Damn it. He needed to slow down. He needed to stop, take a breath, _think_ and focus on where the voices were coming from.

The sounds of fighting were close. Dean took another turn past stacks of boxes that towered over him up to the high ceiling above, listening carefully as Gordon answered.

"Dean said the same thing," came the louder voice, closer than Dean had heard Sasha's, "Makes me wonder. Who's really poisoning his mind these days? Sam? Or _you_."

Dean rushed ahead, spotting movement in front of him, but it was dark, and as Dean approached he came up to shelving that only gave him a tease of what was happening on the other side. He could see Sasha and Gordon, neither visibly armed as they traded blows. That should have made it easy. There was no reason Sasha shouldn't be able to take Gordon down, even if he wasn't at his best. Worst of all was how pleased Gordon seemed to be about it.

"You're starting to slow down," Gordon taunted, and it was true. Sasha looked sluggish, tired. Gordon sidestepped a punch and pushed Sasha into another set of shelving, causing a cascade of clinking, clanging metal.

Metal. It dawned on Dean like a bucket of ice that the fumes he could smell all around them had to be metal.

"You know what they do here?" Gordon was saying as Sasha recovered and they started circling each other again, "It's a manufacturing plant. Odds and ends. That scent in the air?" he said, as if he knew just what Dean had been thinking, "That's molten iron."

Dean was no stranger to panic lately, but tonight was breaking new records. He had to get to the other side. Now. 

Following the path of the shelving, Dean moved as fast as he could. It was taking him away from the fight, but he knew if he could just find an end he could go around it out into the opening with Sasha and Gordon. The voices grew dimmer as Dean hurried through the factory, but he could still make out most of what they were saying.

"It's like Kryptonite for you, isn't it?" Gordon said, his tone dripping with a grin Dean could picture perfectly, "Little by little it's slowing you down, eating away at you. I couldn't be sure if this place would have affected our dear Sammy, but it sure seems to have an affect on you."

There! Finally, Dean could see an end to the shelves and he tore around to the other side, running, desperate now that he could finally see Sasha and Gordon clearly. The light was brighter where they were fighting since they were so close to the conveyer belts. Dean could see every move they made, but he was still so far away. Sasha was throwing weak punches and being struck by blows he should have easily been able to avoid. Gordon wasn't even trying now. He was playing. He was having fun. It made Dean so angry he almost screamed.

Dean was close. He was so close. He could reach them. Gordon didn't even see him coming.

Internally, Dean cheered when Sasha got in a good hit finally and Gordon went down, landing amongst the various finished metal parts Sasha had knocked over earlier. It was stupid but understandable the way Sasha rubbed at his eyes then, stopping to take a breath he desperately needed with how the iron in the air was affecting him. 

With his attention unfocused though, Sasha didn't see Gordon pick up one of the sharp, jagged pieces of metal beside him and start to get up.

"Sasha!" Dean yelled. He could make it. He could still reach them in time.

And then Dean realized what a fool he was for calling out, because Sasha turned to look at him, turned away from Gordon completely, and it was all the opportunity Gordon needed.

Dean was two yards away…when Gordon stabbed the piece of metal into Sasha's chest. Suddenly it was months ago, and Dean was so close to Sammy, so close, but not close enough. "No!" Dean cried, reaching them finally, too late, and descending on Gordon with the fiercest hit he could manage. Gordon went down hard, dead weight, but Dean immediately forgot all about him.

_Sasha_.

"No, no, _no_," Dean chanted, dropping down beside Sasha who was already on his knees and falling back. Dean tried to help, tried to hold him up, but Sasha was so heavy, dead weight just like Gordon. Dead weight…

Dean choked back a swallow and did his best to ease Sasha back. As the incubus lay down, he reached up towards Dean's face, but his hand couldn't grip and his fingers slid down Dean's cheek in a desperate, failed attempt to touch him. Those bright blue eyes were so wide, Sasha's whole expression one of shock, disbelief. Dean was right there with him too, because this couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening.

"You're okay…you're okay," Dean tried, looking down at the jagged piece of metal sticking out of Sasha's chest like it couldn't really be there, like it couldn't be _real_. The positioning was perfect. Of course it was; Gordon had struck the blow. Right in Sasha's heart. "No, no…you're okay…you're gonna be okay…"

"D-Dean…" Sasha said in a gasp, and immediately Dean's eyes went back to Sasha's face, that pale skin shimmering with waves of those horrible veins the way Dean remembered with Sasha's aunt. The way the poison of the iron worked through her body before she…

"No," Dean said again, shaking his head, crouched on the floor and holding Sasha in his arms tighter—clinging, needing, "The antidote," he said with conviction, holding a hand to Sasha's cheek the way Sasha had been unable to do with him, "Sam has some. He's around here…somewhere. He has to be. Sam!" Dean yelled. He didn't know what else to do.

Slowly, Sasha's eyes began to soften, no longer staring up at him with fear but somber affection instead and the small subtle traces of a smile. Dean knew that look. That look was resignation. That look was giving up.

"You'll be okay," Dean said in response, tightening his grip on Sasha's face and leaning in close, "We just…we just need the antidote and you'll be okay. Sammy!" He called up to the ceiling again. Why wasn't Sam here? Sam should be here by now. Where the hell was he! "Please…just…just…" Dean clenched his eyes shut a moment and felt a tear run hot down his face. He couldn't feel his own body. He could only feel Sasha, trembling against him and looking at him like he was trying to say goodbye. "You can't," Dean said, almost angry, "You just can't…" but he couldn't finish what he meant. He couldn't actually say the word, the awful truth of what was happening.

The veins shimmered over Sasha's face again, not really there but so much more imbedded then they had ever been from simple cuts. Sasha tried to lift his hand again but it flopped uselessly beside him, so instead Sasha lifted his neck, surely an even harder feat, and pressed his lips up into Dean's.

It wasn't even a real kiss because Sasha's didn't have the strength to give him one, so Dean moved his other hand underneath Sasha's head and helped, deepened it so he could feel that mouth warm against his. Nothing seemed more important than that kiss while they were in it. Dean wasn't saying goodbye, even if Sasha was, he was saying everything else, all the things he never said, maybe never would just because they weren't things Dean said out loud. But he could say them like this, knowing Sasha heard him.

When Sasha's lips went slack finally, Dean pulled away, hating how dim those blue eyes looked now, like real eyes, like weak fragile human eyes. Sasha's mouth quivered and Dean knew he was trying to say something, maybe Dean's name again, maybe something else, but it didn't matter. Dean just nodded, holding Sasha there, his body, his face, _holding him._

The change was so abrupt, so final. Sasha was dead weight in Dean's arms for real, his head falling back, eyes closing, and as he hung in Dean's arms he slowly began to shift. The glamour couldn't hold—not any of them. Suddenly, Dean was holding Sasha the incubus in Sasha the hunter's clothing. It would have been funny to see him like that if this had been any other moment.

"No…you…you're okay….you're gonna be okay…" Dean said barely audible, thinking of Sam, of Sasha, of Sam, of Sasha. _Not again, God damn it, not again!_ Not the same way. Not for the same reason. Not because he was right there but was still too late to save him.

"You know…I thought I understood when it was just your brother," came Gordon's voice, so dim to Dean's ears he barely heard him, "But this? _Dean_."

Such a condescending tone, it made Dean growl low in his throat as he turned back, seeing Gordon on his feet again and holding Dean's own gun that he had dropped so uncaringly when he raced to Sasha's side. Dean stared at the barrel. He should care more that it was pointed at his face. He should care.

"I was wrong, Dean," Gordon was saying, "You know what I think now? I think you were damned long before you ever made a deal."

And for a moment, Dean agreed so heartily he didn't even care when the hammer of the gun pulled back.

_Your fingertips across my skin  
The palm trees swaying in the wind  
Images  
You sang me Spanish lullabies  
The sweetest sadness in your eyes  
Clever trick_

_Well, I never want to see you unhappy  
I thought you'd want the same for me_

_[Chorus  
Goodbye, my almost lover  
Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
I'm trying not to think about you  
Can't you just let me be?  
So long, my luckless romance  
My back is turned on you  
Should've known you'd bring me heartache  
Almost lovers always do_

_We walked along a crowded street  
You took my hand and danced with me  
Images  
And when you left, you kissed my lips  
You told me you would never, never forget  
These images_

_No_

_Well, I'd never want to see you unhappy  
I thought you'd want the same for me_

_[Chorus  
Goodbye, my almost lover  
Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
I'm trying not to think about you  
Can't you just let me be?  
So long, my luckless romance  
My back is turned on you  
Should've known you'd bring me heartache  
Almost lovers always do_

_I cannot go to the ocean  
I cannot drive the streets at night  
I cannot wake up in the morning  
Without you on my mind  
So you're gone and I'm haunted  
And I bet you are just fine_

_Did I make it that  
Easy to walk right in and out  
Of my life?_

_[Chorus  
Goodbye, my almost lover  
Goodbye, my hopeless dream  
I'm trying not to think about you  
Can't you just let me be?  
So long, my luckless romance  
My back is turned on you  
Should have known you'd bring me heartache  
Almost lovers always do_

tbc...

A/N: Just trust me.

Crim


	22. Part 9: All Too Much

Part 9: All Too Much

* * *

Who was it, Dean thought. Who? What Powers That Be decided he and his family deserved chaos and pain and loss time and time again? What God that may or may not exist thought it was okay for one man to lose everything every time he gained even the smallest something? What Heaven allowed it? What Heaven _existed_ if Hell already owned a place on Earth?

Dean was there. Dean was in it. He didn't need a deal to earn a place in Hell. Someone else decided that for him long ago, ensuring Dean never had a chance or choice in how the world crumbled around him every time he finally thought it made a little sense.

Demons Dean understood. Ghosts. Werewolves. Even an incubus. But humans…Dean couldn't figure them out at all.

"You didn't know him…" Dean said in a breath, staring at the gun in his face but not seeing it, not caring. He was on his knees and he could still feel the weight of Sasha's body against him, solid, heavy and limp. "You didn't know him…or my brother. You don't know me. You don't know…anything." When it came down to it, Dean wasn't even sure if he was speaking those words to Gordon or if they just poured out to whatever non-entity no-where god that decided Sasha had to die.

"I'm sorry, Dean," came Gordon's voice. The way the lights above them glowed down too harshly, Dean could only see gunmetal when he tried to focus, and focusing just took too much effort. "Really," Gordon went on, and if Dean had cared to really listen he might have heard that there was some truth in those words, however jaded, "I am sorry. Nothing personal."

Nothing…_personal_? Hell couldn't be worse than this. Than life. It just couldn't.

Dean didn't close his eyes, didn't flinch. He just stared on ahead at the barrel of his own gun, breathing, aching, but not thinking. _Don't think_, he thought. _Don't think._ Don't think about how you failed. Don't think about how you're giving up. Don't think about how you let him die. _Don't think, don't think, don't think._

"Actually…" And the voice wasn't Gordon's, but sounded surprisingly steady for someone who was supposed to be drunk.

The picture changed in front of Dean, just a blur, movement, and Dean recognized that Gordon had whipped around, readjusting his aim to point the gun at someone else. But that someone was too close for Gordon to find a quick enough shot. The gun clattered to the floor and Dean heard Gordon's breath hitch.

"It is personal," said the new voice, a voice forever coming to Dean's rescue as Dean would always gladly come to his. "Goodbye, Gordon," Sam said so calmly. Then there was nothing but dead weight. True, beautifully morbid dead weight as Gordon crumbled, no sound just him on the ground and still.

_Don't think, don't think, don't think._

"Dean?"

No, no, no. Gordon was finished and Dean was saved, but that made it real. It meant Dean had to turn and look down again. It meant he had to turn and see Sasha lying there, dead as Gordon was dead.

"Oh, god. Oh, god, _Dean_," Sam was saying. He must have seen Sasha. How could he not? Sasha was right there, his body leaning up against Dean's legs.

Dean wouldn't turn to look, couldn't let it be real, couldn't believe it.

"Dean, please…" Sam was pleading now, he was on his knees in front of Dean, crying and trying to pull Dean into his chest. Dean let it happen, let his body get drawn away from the one lying beside him until he couldn't feel Sasha at all anymore. Sam was hugging him tight, too tight, and before Dean could stop himself he _was_ thinking about it, and remembering, and trying to breathe, and god, oh god, it was real_, it was real._

Something hitched in Dean's throat, caught, choked there, and he did more than cling to Sam, he clawed, fingers digging bruises into Sam's shoulder blades, while the side of his face pressed against Sam's neck and tears fell hot and liberal. "_Sam_…"

"Dean…oh god, _Dean_…"

Why was that all Sam could say? Why was that all Dean could think? _Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god._ There was no god! Dean never believed in one. Sam could keep his prayers. Their mother could keep her dreams of angels. There was only this. This world. This Hell. Nothing else mattered.

"Dean…" Sam was desperate now, begging for a response, any response more than Dean pounding his back with angry fists now and shaking in his arms.

Dean obliged, not because he chose to, not because he wanted to, but because he was thinking so hard, so much that if he didn't find words to form those thoughts into he wouldn't be able to stand it. "The same thing," Dean growled into Sam's shoulder, eyes clenched so tight it forced any further tears to still, "It was the same…god damn thing. I was…I was right…there. I was…right…_there_. But I…I couldn't do anything. God damn it, it…it was the same…the same damn _thing_." Only it was worse, somehow it seemed so much worse this time because Dean had been even closer, because he had been the one to call out and make Sasha lose his focus, because it shouldn't have happened the first time and god damn it, it shouldn't have happened again.

"Dean…Dean, please, just…just…" Sam trailed. He couldn't say anything. How could he comfort Dean when he was just as angry, just as fiercely sad? They couldn't take another loss, not again, not after Mom and Dad and Jess and _Sam_. Sam knew that too. Of course he knew. "Dean…"

"No," Dean didn't want to hear it. He wanted to push Sam away now, wanted to stop crying completely, stop clinging so tight. He wouldn't ever be able to stop if he kept on like this. He wouldn't be able to _stop_.

"Dean, wait," Sam went on, "Listen to me." Sam sounded surer suddenly, steadier again, but Dean didn't care. He couldn't care. How could he care? "Dean," Sam said again when Dean didn't answer, and the question that followed cut Dean to the quick, "Are you sure Sasha is dead?"

The question stung, to hear the words 'Sasha' and 'dead' said aloud, but also because it was so ridiculous, so unnecessary. Did Sam actually want to force Dean to say the words?

"_Dean_."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean said bitingly, trying to push Sam away finally but ending up keeping a grip on the shoulders of Sam's shirt that were cold from being outside without a jacket, cold despite the heat of the factory and the iron burning nearby.

Sam's eyes were clear, almost completely free from the haze of alcohol, and they stared certainly and dry despite the tears staining Sam's cheeks. "Dean, are you sure?" Sam said again, glancing around Dean and looking at Sasha with pained eyes. Then he turned back to Dean just as certain, "It looks bad, I know, but Dean…I think he's breathing."

Dean was almost sure he _stopped_ breathing to hear Sam say those words. "What…?" No amount of wanting to escape the truth could keep Dean from turning back now and looking down at Sasha's still body. He hated to see it, to see incubus Sasha in jeans, a torn T-shirt, and a ruined leather jacket from where the glamour could no longer protect it and wings pushed through the back. Sasha's shoes had torn open too, his taloned feet sticking out in places and looking squished.

But all those tell-tale signs—the metal sticking out of Sasha's chest, the faded glamours, the closed eyes and limp body—meant nothing now that Dean could see as assuredly as Sam had the slow rise and fall as Sasha breathed. He was _breathing_.

"He's not dead…" Dean said in something of a haze. He raced to Sasha's other side and dropped to his knees again instantly, turning back to Sam who crawled up so that they were parallel with Sasha between them. "What do we do?" Dean said, tears completely dry but hands still shaking as he reached out to touch Sasha's forehead. He was still warm. _Warm_.

"We just need to act fast enough," Sam said. It was crazy how calm they were trying to force themselves to sound when the edge of panic was still so clear. "The antidote?"

"Right." Dean looked up at Sam and suddenly gave a pained cry. "Your jacket! It's still out in that other alley!"

Sam's eyes widened, and for a moment Dean thought Sam was going to jump to his feet and take off running, and honestly Dean wouldn't have tried to stop him. But then Sam's panic faded again and he started patting down his body until he got to his jeans. Out of his pocket he pulled a green vial, a more pleasant sight than anything else Dean could imagine right now.

Dean stared a moment though, almost disbelieving. Was this too easy? Had Gordon shot him after all and this was some horrible tease, the first level of Hell where you get everything you want and still lose it?

"I shoved some extras in my pockets before we left. Just in case," Sam said.

Well that did seem like something even a drunken Sam would do, so it had to be good enough for Dean. He reached over Sasha and grabbed Sam behind the ears, planting a ridiculously firm kiss on Sam's forehead. "I love you, Sammy. Even totally blitzed you think better than I do."

Time couldn't possibly be on their side right now, so they acted quickly, ripping Sasha's T-shirt away—it being already beyond repair—so that his chest lay bare before them. Dean positioned himself to pull the jagged metal free but Sam shook his head and handed Dean the vial. If Sam was thinking clearer then his powers should be working better now. Dean had to assume as much since Gordon had dropped like lead and all he could imagine Sam had done was touch the guy. So a little extra strength was smart, ensuring a clean pull of the metal out of Sasha's chest for Dean to immediately pour on the antidote.

It happened just like that, smooth and seamless, and Dean took a deep, glorious breath when the gaping, angry wound left behind from the metal piece sizzled and closed up. But then Dean frowned, because it had left a scar, large and misshapen over Sasha's heart. None of the others had left scars. Dean even glanced down to where the wound Sam had made long ago used to be, and there was nothing there but smooth white skin.

"Dean," Sam said with some impatience.

Right. Dean opened Sasha's mouth, remembering that he had done this before, that it was going to be okay now, it had to be, and he tipped the remained green liquid down Sasha's throat.

Just like before the green shot through Sasha's body beneath the skin. But his eyes did not spring open and wake him with a gasp. His body didn't move at all the way it should have. It remained heavy and still with no change at all save perhaps a steadier rhythm to Sasha's breathing.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Dean said, trying to hold the panic at bay but failing just as he had failed all night.

"Maybe…it just takes a little longer for something this serious," Sam offered.

Dean nodded to himself, still staring down at Sasha and waiting for those eyes to open. When a minute passed and still nothing, it was more than he could handle, and he grabbed hold of Sasha's shoulders in an angry lunge, shaking him. "Wake up!" he cried, "What's wrong with you, just wake up!"

"_Dean_," Sam's hands reached down to pull Dean away, gripping Dean by the wrists and forcing Dean's eye up to look at him, "This is different, okay? That was iron right to the heart. All the rules are different now. He should…he should be dead…" It was as if by saying that aloud something finally dawned on Sam and his grip renewed as he focused back on Dean and said, "Dean, where did this metal come from? Where did Gordon get it?"

"Uhh…" Dean shook his head and tried to concentrate. It was right behind Sam past Gordon's body. The box that Sasha had knocked over, spilling out all of those similarly horrible parts. Dean pointed to it and Sam immediately went over to inspect the box himself.

Sam's expression changed as he looked the mostly empty box over, and he held it up for Dean to read the side. Dean didn't understand at first. There was a serial number, some name for what the parts were and what they did, and then...what they were made of. Dean fairly gasped. It said 'Iron Alloy'. Iron _Alloy_.

"It's not pure iron…" Dean breathed. That explained everything. Almost. "But then why isn't he waking up? It shouldn't be that bad. It isn't iron. He should be okay."

"Maybe it's not that simple," Sam said, walking back to Dean and crouching down again with sorrowful eyes cast on Sasha, "Iron to the heart would have killed him. An alloy still has iron in it, just diluted. That might still be enough to…" Sam's eyes flicked up, meeting Dean's to be sure his brother was listening, "Enough to put him in a coma."

A coma? "But we used the antidote."

"That might only be enough to keep him alive, not to wake him. What we need to do is…is just stay calm and decide where we're going to go from here."

Dean was listening, he was, he just didn't like what he was hearing. If the antidote wasn't enough to wake Sasha then he had no idea what would. At least Sam was sober enough after everything that had happened that he was speaking sense, soothing and confident.

That didn't mean he was entirely right though.

"No," Dean said, "First we're going to get Sasha out of this building then we'll decide what to do next. There's iron in the air. It was hurting him while he was awake. It can't be doing him any good now." See, Dean could be calm. He could. He could pretend his cheeks weren't wet and his pulse wasn't racing. He had to.

"This way," Sam said, not arguing with Dean's decision as he gestured beyond Gordon's body and moved to lift Sasha by the shoulders, "Around that corner leads right to the door."

Dean was just about to lift Sasha's legs when he realized what Sam meant. "That's the door I came through," Dean said, "We have to go around the shelving the other way to get to it."

"No," Sam shook his head, "I came through that door too. A passageway leads right here if you take an immediate right coming inside."

A new weight settled into Dean's stomach upon hearing that, like lead, like a couple hundred pounds of dead weight incubus. Dean had taken a left when he entered that door, leading back into a maze, into dead ends and confusion. If only he had taken a right like Sam…

"That's why it took me so long," Sam continued. They started to lift Sasha, but it wasn't easy, and Dean knew he was managing to move mostly on instinct. "I went to the front of the building but every door I came to was locked. I was so frantic I didn't think to break one down, so I just came back to the one Gordon went in. I'm sorry, Dean." There was guilt in Sam's voice.

Dean could relate. Still, he said, "If I put any blame on you, Sammy, I would have hit you by now," because the guilt was stronger in Dean than in Sam. It had to be. Dean had already been the cause of this once; now he was again. He should have been able to save Sam. He should have been able to save Sasha. It was his job. "What about Gordon?" Dean mentioned as they were disappearing around the too near corner towards the door.

Sam didn't even glance back. "Leave him."

Dean couldn't have agreed more, but that wasn't what he meant. "What did you do to him? He just…he just went down. Like nothing."

Since Sam had the heavier part of Sasha's body, Dean was the one walking backwards on the way to the door. When Sam looked up, Dean could tell it was difficult for him to shrug the incident off as easily as he wanted to, but it was probably best he could no longer see Gordon's body. "I stopped his heart," Sam said, attempting to sound deadpanned.

"Funny, I don't remember you mentioning having that power." Although Dean did remember when Sam mentioned its existence. Something about a girl who accidentally killed her girlfriend. It didn't sit well with Dean. "When did you learn it?"

Sam's mouth twitched like maybe he was trying to smile. "About a minute ago," he said.

Dean didn't press for more. He didn't need to know anything else. He didn't need details to know he trusted his brother with his life and with Sasha's.

Getting out the door was difficult. Sasha's body was heavy and awkward in incubus form, and they couldn't figure for the life of them how to properly maneuver around his wings. Finally, though, they made it outside and set Sasha down on the concrete. He was so still save his breathing, but blessedly limp and loose, not growing stiff as he would if he were dead. Dean took small comfort in that.

"We have to get this off," Sam said, tugging at Sasha's leather jacket. He pulled a switchblade from one of his jean pockets and started to cut the leather from Sasha's arms and wings where it looked painfully tangled. "I just hope he'll forgive me for ruining this thing. Sometimes I think he's almost as attached to it as you are to yours." Sam attempted a weak smile.

Dean pulled out the small blade he kept attached to his ankle. Following Sam's example he began sawing at the few pieces keeping Sasha's shoes together around his taloned feet. Dean was just glad the guy sometimes wore sneakers instead of boots. "It was already ruined," Dean replied about the destroyed leather, falling just as short as Sam had when he tried to smile in return, "We'll buy him a new one." Hell, Dean would buy a whole fucking wardrobe for Sasha as long as the incubus woke up.

Eventually, they had cut away all but Sasha's jeans, deciding that the denim was the one thing that still looked like it fit comfortably on Sasha's body. Besides, the guy deserved a little modesty, what with the being dragged around like a ragdoll and everything.

"Now what?" Dean said as they prepared to lift Sasha again, "We carry him back to the car, get our stuff, and go where?"

Sam looked thoughtful for a minute. There weren't a lot of options. "Bobby's," he said finally, "It' the safest place. We'll have time to regroup. To think."

"Problem one," Dean started in, even though he had known that would be Sam's suggestion, "South Dakota is at least a day's drive."

"Then we'll drive all night," Sam countered.

Dean had thought of that too, but there was still one more problem. "Two," Dean continued, "Bobby doesn't know the truth about Sasha and we just show up at his doorstep with a comatose incubus?"

Immediately, Sam started worrying his bottom lip, but he still sounded sure when he spoke again. "It's Bobby. He wouldn't turn us away."

Dean didn't think so either, but he still had his doubts, for Sasha's sake at least, and it made him worry anyway. Nothing seemed to be turning out like Dean expected these days.

Lifting Sasha was easier without torn clothing in the way. Sam and Dean had folded Sasha's wings around his body to make it less awkward when they carried him, but it made Sasha look even more like a corpse, wrapped in a shroud of black skin. Dean tried not to think of it that way. For the first time he _wanted_ to think, but about how Sasha was alive, about how they could still save him. Dean didn't mind thinking about that.

Sam's extra strength also made it easier to carry Sasha, but Dean could tell Sam wasn't at his best, much as the younger Winchester tried to hide the final traces of drunkenness that lingered.

It took them so much longer to get back to that first alleyway by the hotel that they were both cold and tired and Sam was nearly completely sober by the time they reached the dumpster and Sam's forgotten jacket. They set Sasha down again so Sam could put his jacket back on, and to give themselves a moment of rest. Sam had both arms through the sleeves before either of them remembered.

"Shit, the other guy! Kubrick!" Dean said, staring at the slightly moved dumpster that had no signs of a person crushed behind it.

Sam had jumped back about the same time and now walked slowly closer to the dumpster to inspect it. There were clearly no signs of Kubrick. "He has to at least have a few broken ribs after a hit like that," Sam said, "He couldn't have gone far. Maybe we can—"

"No, we're getting Sasha out of here. _Now_." Dean didn't mean to sound that vicious, but he was through playing around. They could track Kubrick later. They didn't have time to go hunting the guy down when Sasha could be dying that very minute.

Dean remembered that coma victims were always hooked up to so many machines, one to watch their breathing, one for their heart rate, everything. He had been in that situation himself once. Sasha was just lying there on the ground with nothing to protect him, nothing to make sure he was okay except the constant vigil of Dean's eyes, checking to make sure he was still breathing. That was all they would have during the drive to Bobby's too, and even after they got to South Dakota there was no way to be sure they could find a way to help Sasha. Right now all Dean knew was that acting fast was better than playing 'hide and seek' with Gordon's accomplice.

They reached the car a few minutes later—Sam hadn't even tried to argue with Dean, which was rare, and proved just how desperate Dean must have sounded. They passed one couple before managing to lay Sasha in the backseat, but it must have been normal for New Yorkers to see a strangely 'dressed' guy passed out and being stuffed into the back of a car because they didn't even do a double-take.

"I'll go get our stuff. I have Sasha's key," Sam said, already turning to head inside the hotel.

Dean was still standing by the open back driver's side door. They had had to lay Sasha slanted so his feet fell down into the floor but most of his chest and head were lying comfortably. He was just so _large_. "Sam…" Dean wanted to get in the backseat with Sasha, wanted to hold the incubus close to his chest to keep him warm, keep him safe, something.

Sam seemed to understand. He paused and took a few steps back towards the Impala. "Gimme the keys, Dean. I'll drive when I get back. It's okay."

"But…you drank too much," Dean said lamely. He knew Sam was sober enough to drive now, but he still had to pretend like he was protesting.

Sam just smiled and held out his hand. "I promise I won't hurt your baby," Sam said, and Dean honestly wasn't sure if Sam was trying to be cute about the car or about Sasha.

After tossing the keys over the Impala's hood into Sam's waiting hand, Dean climbed into the backseat, carefully lifting Sasha's upper body so he could slide in underneath and lay Sasha back down on top of his lap. Sasha was heavy; Dean's legs would probably be asleep before Sam even got back down to the car from gathering their things. But Dean didn't care. He needed Sasha close. He needed to feel that reassuring warmth.

It was an unconscious effort the way Dean started combing his fingers through Sasha's hair. He liked it both short and long like this, past Sasha's shoulders and always so soft. Sasha's skin was so white too. Dean usually forgot that with how much more he saw Sasha human, but as an incubus he was pure white with faded greys on the way to the blackest pitch on his hands, feet, and wings. Dean could see the tattoos peaking out of Sasha's low-riding jeans, and it made him smile a little. The comfort of something normal, of something steady that Dean saw everyday, made the weight lessen, if only a little.

"Some happy birthday, huh?" Dean said softly, whispering even though they were alone in the quiet car. The fact that Sasha didn't answer, _couldn't_ answer made Dean ache a little more. He just wanted those eyes to open, blue or red, it didn't matter.

Thankfully, Sam came back down in record time, and Dean was so grateful he smiled when Sam climbed into the front seat and started up the engine. He never smiled at the thought of Sam driving his car, not even in New York when he refused to drive himself.

Every bump in the road made Dean want to curse though, and he clung to Sasha, afraid that a particularly harsh jerk would cause Sasha to fall off his lap and down between the seats. Once they were on a highway, though, it was smooth sailing.

Sam called back, watching Dean in the rearview mirror. "Want the radio?"

That was a surprisingly tough question to answer. Music was usually Dean's go-to escape, and there were certainly plenty of things he wanted to escape after tonight, but it just didn't seem right. "I kinda like the quiet right now," he said. He knew that made Sam's gaze linger a little, but he really did like the quiet. It made it easier to hear the gentle huffs of Sasha breathing.

"I'll call Bobby when we get closer," Sam was saying, "I'll just tell him…I'll tell him Sasha's hurt and we don't have anywhere else to go. We'll worry about the 'he's also an incubus' part later."

Dean grunted approval. That was fine by him. He still wanted to believe Bobby would shrug the whole thing off like he had Sam's powers—more or less—but that slim chance of Bobby freaking out still made Dean antsy. He just wanted to figure out how to wake Sasha up. There had to be a way. Sasha couldn't just stay like this forever, frozen but still alive.

An hour into the drive Dean asked Sam if he had any more vials of the antidote. Sam produced one from his pocket and Dean applied it again to the wound and down Sasha's throat, hoping that maybe an extra dose might help. But the scar didn't look any paler and Sasha didn't wake. This was going to take something bigger and Dean hated that he didn't know what it was.

"He's so warm," Dean said absently, about the time they were passing Cleveland with the sun peaking over the horizon, "Not hot, has a fever warm, just…not cold, ya know?"

"Yeah," came Sam's voice, gently from the driver's seat.

"You went cold so fast…" Dean said, lifting his eyes to the image of Sam in the rearview mirror, so tired looking but alive and there, right where he was supposed to be. Dean hadn't really meant to say that, and he regretted it as soon as Sam's eyes met his through the glass, suddenly wet all over again, the kid was so damn sentimental.

Dean turned away and looked back down at Sasha. Hours passed and kept passing, and still Sasha lived, breathing the same steady rhythm. As long as there was still a pulse, still the barest breath, Dean knew he could handle this. It was different this time. Sasha wasn't dead and never had been. Dean couldn't have been more grateful for that. He didn't have another soul to give.

They stopped to pee and grab water and food in Chicago, the halfway point. Dean was thankful for the water, but he didn't touch any of the sandwich Sam had grabbed for him in the gas station. He just couldn't want to eat.

They didn't stop again until they reached Bobby's scrapyard. They had made pretty good time, but it was still the next night, dark enough that after they wrapped Sasha in a blanket from the trunk they were pretty sure Bobby wouldn't notice Sasha didn't exactly look normal until after they got him inside. It might have been a dirty trick, but they weren't in the right mind to care. Both Winchesters were dead tired, neither having slept the entire drive, and their adrenaline hadn't stopped pumping since leaving New York. Saving Sasha was all that mattered.

"Bring him in here, on the bed," Bobby directed them, having gone on ahead after opening the door and allowing them to haul Sasha inside.

Sam and Dean obeyed, carrying Sasha into the guest room that one or both of them usually slept in when they spent the night at Bobby's. They assumed Bobby hadn't noticed the horns and clawed feet quite yet, just as they were hoping, but there was no way they could hide the truth once Bobby came in behind them and started to help them unwrap Sasha from the blanket.

They expected shock, even a cry or look of revulsion maybe. What they didn't expect was Bobby's complete and utter disregard for Sasha's incubus form as he checked Sasha's forehead for a fever and inspected the sealed up wound on his chest.

"He been like this since you left New York?" Bobby asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged equally surprised and curious glances before Sam managed, "Yeah. No change."

Bobby checked Sasha over a few minutes more but finally just threw the same blanket back over him to better keep the incubus warm.

Dean couldn't take it. Bobby was just so damn calm. He had to ask.

"Hey. You don't seem too surprised to see him like this."

Bobby looked across the bed at where Dean and Sam were standing. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well neither do you," he said with half a grin, "How long you boys known?"

Something was definitely going on here. Dean was too busy gaping, so Sam had to step in and say, "Since Minnesota. How long have _you_ known?" It was obvious Bobby wasn't just that enlightened.

Again, Bobby allowed a bit of a smirk. "Since a skinny sixteen-year-old redhead showed up on my doorstep," he admitted, "Thought he was scamming me at first with the Deklin Kelly's son thing, but the more we got to talking, I knew he was telling the truth. 'Sides, he's got Deklin's same smile, same walk, same way he carries himself. I put the pieces together. Last I heard from Deklin he called to say I needed to meet his new wife. I imagine that meeting would have been filled with interesting explanations." Bobby walked around to the foot of the bed and Sam and Dean moved to meet him there. "But I don't know anything special about how an incubus hurts or heals. You're gonna have to tell me exactly what happened."

So Sam and Dean did. Every last detail. When they were finished, Bobby still looked just as lost as they were, shaking his head and shoving his hands into his pockets like he needed time to think, but even then he wouldn't be able to come up with anything.

It made Dean so angry. Sure they were here, and Sasha was warm and safe and lying on a real bed finally, but what good did that do them if they still couldn't wake him up?

"There is one other thing we might try," Sam suggested slowly. They had already dismissed looking things up on the computer. Anything readily available they already knew. Then Sam was reaching into his pocket and pulling out Sasha's cell phone, something he had been careful to claim from Sasha's leather jacket before they left the pieces of it back in the alleys.

It took Dean a moment to understand what Sam was getting at. If Sasha got through this he would probably be pissed at them, but at this point Dean really couldn't care. "Do it," Dean said to his brother, firmly and uncaring to the consequences, "I think it's about time we met that aunt of Sasha's anyway."

Apparently, Sasha's aunt left Seattle about the same time Sasha did and was only one state away in Valentine, Nebraska when they called her. She was at Bobby's door less than two hours later, two hours of waiting that Dean spent mostly gritting his teeth. He had completely forgotten about his wounded leg, being so focused on Sasha. He remembered it started aching in the car, but the bleeding had stopped again so that Dean didn't think it mattered enough to mention.

Bobby chewed him out long and hard over that, having noticed the blood stain and tear in Dean's jeans. The elder hunter immediately set to work to clean the wound out. It was borderline infected and angry after a day of going untreated, and Bobby was not gentle. After forcing an antibiotic down Dean's throat and wrapping bandages around his calf, Dean was finally able to relax, but now that he had time to think about his leg again, it throbbed.

Sam was the one who answered the sharp rapping of knocks when they finally came, presumably having the best constitution for an attack should something happen. Dean stayed close anyway though, and peered around Sam to get a good look at the succubus he had only heard about and caught snippets of voice clips from when Sasha was on the phone with her.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say she was probably the hottest woman Dean had ever laid eyes on. She was beyond model material. She put models to shame with those legs, shown off too perfectly in a short black skirt and heels. How the woman had driven two hours in heels Dean would never know. Her sweater was the same royal blue as her eyes, just like Sasha's, and it clung in all the right places, hanging off her shoulder to show pale perfect skin. The face was just like it had been in that long ago picture, almost identical to the face of Sasha's other aunt, but the hair was raven black and wavy down her back.

Dean held back a whistle, threatening to form out of old, old habit, and contented himself with a long once over of the entire package. That was one fine woman. The only thing that marred the picture was her fierce expression, as frightening as she was beautiful.

"Where is my nephew?" Shiarra all but growled, pushing past Sam without awaiting an invitation.

Dean took a step back since she was headed right for him and gestured further into the house. "Guest bedroom back there," he said.

Her eyes passed a sharp, icy glance at him and Dean felt himself shiver. He wondered if Sasha had the ability to look that pissed. He had a feeling the incubus probably did, and it made Dean glad he had never seen it.

Shiarra barely even acknowledged the figure of Bobby sitting in a chair outside Sasha's room, but when she reached the mouth of the door, she cast a look back at them all, each in turn, that made Dean shiver again. "Hunters," she grumbled, not trying in the slightest to hide her revulsion. Then she was gone, disappeared inside the room.

Wary of the succubus as Dean was, he wasn't about to just abandon the responsibility he had taken to protect Sasha. He followed Shiarra into the room without fear—well, with as mild a fear as he could manage—and approached the bed on the opposite side. Sam came in behind him and waited just inside the door, while Bobby remained outside.

A delicate looking hand passed over Sasha's brow, the same gesture all of them kept repeating even though Sasha had never shown signs of a fever, no signs of anything really other than his endless sleep. Then her hand brushed gently over the jagged scar left on Sasha's chest and her sharp blue eyes looked up at Dean, "You said a hunter did this?" she said.

"Not one of the ones in this house," Dean said by way of answer.

Shiarra didn't respond to that directly. "Where is he?" was all she said.

"Dead," Sam replied, steady now that he had had time to process how quickly and efficiently he had rid the world of Gordon Walker, "I killed him myself."

Shiarra released a small huff of air. "Well," she said, and Dean thought as he listened more to her that he detected some kind of accent, though it was so faint he wasn't sure he could have given it an origin, "At least that's something. And he kept telling me not to worry, that things would be even safer now that he was working as part of a team. Well done, boys," she said scathingly, "You've certainly proven that, now haven't you?"

Okay, that was it. Dean didn't take this shit from anyone, not any other hunter, not any other creature, and certainly not from some haughty broad who thought she could walk all over them just because they messed up. "Now you listen to me," Dean started in, no longer caring if Shiarra could technically rip him apart if she chose, "Sasha is just as much our family now as he is yours, so you can shove that self-righteous shit right up your ass." Dean thought maybe he heard Sam gasp and saw Sam twitch, but he pressed on, staring right across the bed into those burning blues. "We did everything we could. We called _you_ because we're sorry, but we don't know how to bring an incubus out of a damn coma. You want to help with that, good. You want to stand there and look down on us because we're hunters and you don't like that, never have, and keep talking down to Sasha for it too, well then you can get the hell out of here. We'll find another way. Understand?"

The silence that followed Dean's outburst was painful, it lasted so long. Dean felt like he was back to being ten, having a staring contest with little six-year-old Sammy. Shiarra was clearly not the type of woman to usually back down.

Apparently, she also respected that enough in others that she decided Dean wasn't worthy of being dismembered.

Rather, she said, "You must be Dean," and crossed slender arms over her more than ample chest.

Dean took that as a compliment. "Nice to meet you," he replied with extra sarcasm, "Now are you going tell us how we can get Sasha back, or do you need to touch up your makeup first?"

Now Sam was definitely twitching and definitely moving to join Dean beside the bed. "What he means is," Sam said, looking over at Shiarra with a smile Dean couldn't have managed right now even if he was good at faking sincerity, "We'll do whatever it takes to help Sasha, so please, tell us there's something we can do. We've already told you everything that happened over the phone. It wasn't pure iron—"

"It was an alloy," Shiarra finished for him. She started fishing in the purse thrown over her shoulder then, one that matched her black skirt so perfectly that neither Dean nor Sam had noticed it was there until the succubus called attention to it. "If that is the case…then your quick work with the antidote probably saved my boy's life." That particular phrase seemed very difficult for her to speak, so she spoke on again quickly. "To flush the rest of the iron out of his system and wake him up…we'll need this," she said, pulling a vial from her purse not unlike the ones Sasha had, "And a little something from the both of you."

Dean stared at the vial for a moment. At first it looked identical to the ones with the antidote, but then Dean noticed the strange spirals of red mixed in with the green and he knew it had to be something different.

"Not that I don't trust your other friend," Shiarra said, nodding towards the door where Bobby couldn't be seen though he remained respectfully outside regardless of the Winchesters storming in, "But I only need two more candidates for blood. My own has already been added." Shiarra started moving around the bed towards them and both instinctually backed away.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean said, enjoying the fact that he currently had Sam as a human shield, "What's this about blood? What is that stuff? What's it do?"

Shiarra stopped a mere foot from Sam and propped her free hand on her hip. Dean couldn't help but notice how similar her exasperated expression was to Sasha's. "If you two care about Sasha as much as you say, and as much as he believes, then this 'stuff' is what is going to wake him back up again. Everything about my kind is mystical, whether you're talking about the fae part or the demon," she explained, holding the vial up so that the green and red glowed in the light of the room, "Sasha has told you that a child incubus feeds off merely the affection of those around him, yes?"

Sam immediately nodded, so Dean decided he didn't have to.

"The most powerful thing to our kind is passion, emotion," Shiarra continued, "Usually we take this through sex, that much you know, but at the core it is still spiritual. This antidote is much stronger than the one used for simple cuts. It combines the strength of three, a powerful number in arcane magicks, by taking an amplified antidote and mixing it with three drops of blood from three willing participants who _love_ the one being cured. Love, boys," Shiarra repeated with a somewhat sinister smile, "So you understand why I'm not so thrilled about this. Sasha has no one but me. So either you're lying and using him somehow, and in that case the potion will be ineffective…and mean very bad things for you. Or…you really care for my nephew and are therefore the only thing that can help me save him. Understand?" she finished, eyes drifting incredulously back to Dean.

Dean felt both a rush of anger towards Shiarra and a jolt of joy at finally knowing there was a clear way to save Sasha and that it would work, of course it would work, Dean and Sam both loved Sasha deeply as friends enough to prove that. Maybe even beyond friendship…at least a little. Well, maybe more than a little, but now was not the time for Dean to dwell on that.

Neither Winchester saw reason to fear Shiarra now, at least in regards to the act they would willingly perform, and perhaps it was their twin looks of determination as they walked towards her that made Shiarra's expression soften. She was still a little vicious, however, when she snatched up Sam's hand and pricked his finger with her suddenly transformed succubus claws. Sam hissed but didn't pull away, allowing Shiarra to hold his finger over the now open vial and squeeze three drops of blood.

Deciding on adding one more act of defiance, Dean reached down to grab for his ankle blade and cut his own finger himself. Shiarra huffed at him, more than a bit snobbish as far as Dean was concerned, and was perhaps a bit less gentle with Dean when she squeezed the blood from his finger.

Everything else about this new, more powerful antidote worked the same. First Shiarra poured it over the wound, where it sizzled the way it had the first time, softening the scar a bit though not getting rid of it completely, and then Shiarra poured what remained down Sasha's throat and green light shot through Sasha's body beneath the skin.

Dean waited for the moment, that glorious moment when Sasha's eyes would spring wide, flashing brilliant red, but it didn't happen. Sasha still didn't move. For a moment Dean felt a wave of panic. Surely, they both honestly loved Sasha. But what if Shiarra thought differently?

As the succubus turned away from Sasha though, her expression was not one of anger, but somewhere between fondness and exhaustion. "Now we wait," she said, "This isn't as quick a fix as other things. It will take time to banish every bit of iron, and only then will he wake again. The longest it could possibly take would be twenty-four hours, but considering how quickly you initially healed him, it might only be a few hours before the potion has finished. If after a day he does not wake up," she added, returning the empty vial to her purse and walking once again over to where Sam and Dean were standing, "You won't live to see the day that follows. That, I should think, should be very clear."

"Crystal," Dean said with a sneer, confident again now that he knew they weren't doomed. Of course the actual act of waiting was not going to be fun.

"So you…have a place in Seattle?"

Honestly, Dean could kill Sam for attempting small talk. He preferred the previous three hours of awkward silence.

Bobby had put on a pot of coffee, Sam and Dean both managing to function on pure will alone as they waited into the night, and the four of them were seated in Bobby's living room. Shiarra had become somewhat more courteous, at least to Bobby who she had heard Sasha talk of fondly for much longer than Sam or Dean, and who Deklin had spoken well of too.

"I'm more of a transient," Shiarra said, sipping her coffee. She was like one of those rich characters on primetime soap operas, all perfect crossed legs and delicate movements, despite the brute strength she had to possess after who knows how many years alive. "I prefer Seattle if I'm going to stay somewhere longer than a few days. It was nice having Sasha home. Of course all I heard about the entire week was the two of you." Her voice dipped a little with mock annoyance.

Sam tried to plaster on that 'but you just have to love me' smile of his. "Well, we haven't really spent more than a few minutes apart since we met, besides that week, of course."

"Yes…" Shiarra said somewhat calculatingly.

"And you can't go blaming or hating us for that either," Dean jumped right in. He could see the gears working in Shiarra's head; she had pegged them before she even got there as just mindless hunters unworthy of sharing her nephew's life. "We've never talked Sasha into anything, not a hunt or anything else. He makes his own choices. You can't blame a hunter for getting in a little deep now and again. But we've always managed to come back from it. Even this time." Dean was certain now that Sasha would wake up. The incubus just had to.

"We'll see about that," Shiarra said with an insufferable grin.

Dean wanted to like her for Sasha's sake, but it just wasn't going to happen. She hated them without know them and he could never like someone like that.

Even though Dean knew he would be chided by Sam for it later, he just couldn't help himself.

"You know…you're about as big a hypocrite as anyone I've met," he said, and before the words even fully left him, Dean could already see Sam's wide eyes silently imploring him to stop. Like _hell_. "Sasha didn't trust us at first either. Smart thing. But when push came to shove and we found out what he really was, we helped him, kept working with him, became _better_ friends even. We didn't pull what that bastard that killed Sasha's parents pulled. And Bobby, he's known the truth about Sasha for years and you said yourself Sasha's never had anything but good things to say about him."

Bobby gave Dean a look like 'please keep me out of this', smiling weakly when Shiarra's eyes moved over to him. "Yeah, well…" Bobby tried, clearing his throat a couple times, "I could tell Sasha was a good boy from the get-go. Just a kid when we first met and all. I've been around long enough to know that supernatural doesn't have to mean evil. These boys have learned that too."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Shiarra said, surprising Dean and all of them with the honest sincerity of her tone, "I really don't. But that doesn't mean I trust you," she added, falling back into pattern again, "Sasha can if he wants, but you're still hunters. And a hunter killed my sister and her husband. Deklin made me think…maybe hunters weren't what I had always believed, but that friend of his reminded me of the truth. Humans see different and they fear it, you can't deny that."

"Has Sasha told you anything about my brother?" Dean said, jumping in before Shiarra could say anything else. All eyes were on Dean in a second, Sam's especially.

Shiarra gave a slow nod. "Not anything concrete, mind you, but he did mention that Sam Winchester was someone he believed could understand what it was like to be different in a world that only likes normal. I can only assume that means your brother isn't entirely human, or that he has some unnatural abilities. But if you're trying to say that _you_ still loving your own flesh and blood despite him being different than other humans makes you more capable of loving Sasha, then you can save your words. Sam is your family. Sasha is not, regardless of what you might say."

Now Dean wanted to get up and hit her, he was so mad, though he was fairly certain it would feel even more like hitting a brick wall than hitting Sasha did. "Sasha was right," Dean said instead, his hands gripping his coffee mug too tightly, "It wasn't a good idea for us to meet. And you know who he was worried about?" Dean had to grin, he really did, "Not us. _You_. So congratulations for living up to exactly what Sasha expected of you. Excuse me." Suddenly, coffee and conversation didn't sound all that good anymore.

Dean left the living room and headed straight for Sasha. He didn't need to be talked down to. He knew where he stood. He knew how he felt. Sasha _was_ family. He had become apart of them so quickly, so completely that it had to be thicker and stronger than mere friendship.

Dean had almost made it into Sasha's room when he heard Shiarra behind him.

"I see why he likes you," she said, softly and close at his back.

Turning back to her, Dean saw that she was alone, perhaps even having told Sam and Bobby to give them a minute. But Dean wouldn't let her have the last word just so she could prove her own point to herself. "Say whatever you want," Dean said, "I'll only listen to the parts that aren't stupid anyway."

A grin grew on Shiarra's pale, beautiful face. She was tall for a woman, tall enough that she could almost look Dean right in the eyes. She walked up close enough that it felt just like that too. "You're bold. You're confident. You're obviously vain."

Dean laughed. Keep it coming, Sister, he thought, he could take it.

"You're also very much in love with my nephew and I would have to be a fool not to see that."

Then suddenly it wasn't so funny. Dean gaped, not knowing how to respond.

Shiarra continued. "I don't want the same mistake made twice," she said, her tone no longer cool and filled with humor but frighteningly serious, "I won't lose Sasha the way I lost my sister, do you understand? Not the same way. Not again."

_Not again, God damn it, not again._

Dean felt like he was choking. He had to be choking on something for his throat to feel so tight. Shiarra was saying all the right words, all the right things to break Dean down into pieces. He knew those feelings, those hot, vibrant feelings that called to him from inside her eyes. He had felt them so many times.

"I swear, if you bring that fate upon my child, I will destroy every inch of you," Shiarra growled, and Dean couldn't blame her, he really couldn't. He knew just how it felt to be that angry and that scared at the same time. He knew too well. "I've heard and seen and felt all the feelings Sasha has for you…Dean Winchester. I can only hope, _pray_ he isn't blindly following the same path as his parents. You promise me he isn't. You promise me right _now_!" It didn't matter that Shiarra's voice was soft, her whispers were harsh enough and close enough to Dean that they still stung with all the emotion behind them.

What had Dean gotten himself into? If Shiarra was asking whether or not Dean would ever break Sasha's heart, then he couldn't promise anything. If she was asking whether or not Dean would let some fool hunter take Sasha away as Gordon tried and almost succeeded last night, then by God Dean would promise that, but he didn't know if he dared.

Since Dean wasn't certain of the question, he couldn't be certain of his response, so instead he chose a compromise, one he knew wasn't a lie.

"I can't keep him safe. Not anymore than you can," Dean said, just as harsh and soft as she had spoken, "But I can try. It's what I've been doing for my brother his whole life. I can't promise anything though, because it's just not in my power to protect Sam or Sasha every second, much as I wish I could. But if you think I'd let anyone hurt Sasha, even me, if there wasn't something, anything I could do to prevent it, then you don't listen when Sasha talks about me, because that is not me."

As Dean finished his words, he looked up past Shiarra and saw Sam and Bobby sneaking into the hallway from the living room, having heard at least some of what he said. Sam was smiling, somber but true, and Bobby gave Dean a nod.

When Dean looked back into the deep blue of Shiarra's eyes, so much like Sasha's but so unlike him too, he couldn't read them at all. He could only imagine she somehow understood since she didn't say anything to counter him.

"Hey…" came a voice suddenly, gentle and ragged from behind Dean. But there couldn't be anyone behind Dean. Everyone was in front of him.

Slowly, Dean turned around, his heart caught somewhere between his windpipe and his voice, and amazingly he saw red, and blue, and pale skin with a teasing black tattoo that peaked up over the top of loose jeans. Surely, Dean had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Sasha leaned weakly against the door frame of the guest bedroom, human looking and very tired despite his large smile. "Any…food around this place…?" Sasha asked, breathless but still breathing, still standing, _alive_, "I'm starving."

tbc...

A/N: See, I'm not a cold heartless bitch, after all! Yay! One more part to go in this arc. Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? And again, be sure to check out deangirl1's kiss fics of Sasha and Dean. Hot and steamy, just like you're hoping I'll finally get to, right? ;-)

Crim


	23. Part 10: Starving

Part 10: Starving

* * *

Dean wouldn't have put it past his body to mutiny against him in that moment, diving forward to tackle Sasha in a fierce hug that more than likely would have turned into an even fiercer kiss right there in front of everyone. There was a good chance it would have happened just like that too if Sasha's aunt Shiarra hadn't blown right past Dean to embrace the incubus first.

There were soft, scolding words spoken that Dean couldn't quite hear, but he managed to catch something about 'recovery' and 'should be in bed' and suddenly Shiarra was leading Sasha back into the bedroom.

Time moved in strange, uncontrollable jumps after that and Dean thought maybe he was in some kind of shock. He was outside Sasha's room and then he was inside and so was everyone else, talking about how the reunion could wait until tomorrow since everyone—Sasha especially—needed sleep. Then Dean was outside the room again and Sasha's door was closed. Bobby was offering his own bedroom to Shiarra, saying he'd take the pullout upstairs, leaving Dean and Sam the couch or floor.

The next jump had Dean curled up in a sleeping bag below where Sam was lying on the downstairs couch. Dean remembered vaguely that he asked for the floor, not wanting to be restricted by couch ends the way Sam with his ungodly long legs probably would be. Sometimes Dean actually preferred a stiffer surface to sleep on, usually when he was just too restless, like tonight. Everything was so quiet and Dean didn't know how it had gotten that way so fast. He didn't think he could sleep but then his body had been going for over 36 hours straight and the next thing he knew time had jumped again. Dean woke up to sunlight streaming in through Bobby's living room windows, feeling maybe even more exhausted now that his body had tasted rest.

_Tasted_. God, Dean was hungry. His stomach felt completely hollow. After all, he hadn't really eaten anything since those ribs the night of Sasha's birthday.

_Sasha_. Had Sasha eaten anything? He had woken up hungry last night, hadn't he? Of course he had, and they had just pushed him back to bed without so much as a cracker. Suddenly, it seemed more important than anything to make sure Sasha got something to eat. It was one of the few concrete things Dean could do for his friend.

The coffee table had been pushed over to give Dean more room on the floor, but Dean thought he remembered setting his watch up there. As he rolled over to reach for it he was understandably surprised when his hand came down on soft flesh instead of wood. Dean tried to focus his tired eyes on what was now in front of him, and what he saw was sparkling blue and a large mischievous smile.

"Hey," Sasha whispered, just lying there on the floor next to Dean's sleeping bag.

Deep down Dean remembered—_knew_—Sasha was alive, that everything was okay now, but the last two days had become such a blur, filled with time jumps. It made all the difference just to see Sasha there and feel Sasha's warm shoulder beneath his hand. He prayed to that god he didn't believe in that he wasn't dreaming. Don't let this be a dream. Not this time.

Dean had gone over so many things he wanted to say to Sasha while Sam was driving them across the country towards Bobby's. _'I don't think I can live without you, idiot, so don't do that to me again' _was definitely on the list. But as Dean looked into those beautiful _open_ blue eyes he couldn't remember a single one of his rehearsed lines.

"What are you doing?" he said instead, his voice a whisper just like Sasha's even though that much sunlight pouring in had to mean it was at least midday.

Sasha's grin widened. He was so close Dean could have counted teeth. "Trying to give you a good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Sasha said, "You wrecked my wake up kiss, by the way."

That should have been cute. That should have been funny. But Dean was only half listening. Concern had risen up within him, wrapped in over-protectiveness, and Dean suddenly grabbed onto both of Sasha's shoulders. "You should be resting," he said, louder now and borderline scolding if not outright desperate, "Have you eaten anything? How are you feeling?" Apparently some time during the night Dean had turned into Sam.

But Sasha just kept on smiling, bringing one hand up to rest over Dean's on his shoulder and the other to touch Dean's face. "I'm fine," Sasha insisted, and his voice and touch were so steady Dean sort of had to believe him.

Dean couldn't stop from being worried though, even as he tried to forget two days worth of panic so he could breathe and maybe even play along with Sasha's easy, familiar flirting. "Trying to…give me a good morning, huh?" Dean said, smiling perhaps a little crookedly.

"Yeah. How am I doing?"

_Fucking incredible_, Dean thought, but he chose a more subtle way of saying it as he moved his hands to the back of Sasha's neck and pulled the incubus closer, "As far as recent memory serves…this morning definitely beats yesterday's." Dean grinned, saw Sasha's close face grinning back at him, and just wanted to taste again. There was no room for fear or reservations in bliss like this.

Sasha was alive. Sasha was okay. It's all Dean needed to know.

There was a rustling noise and something like a cough from above and behind Dean, and it made him pause before his lips could brush against Sasha's. Peeking back over his shoulder, Dean remembered that his brother was up sleeping on the couch seconds before seeing Sam's amused hazel eyes and growing blush. So much for a little impromptu private time.

Sam cleared his throat again and formed an embarrassed smile. "Err…just pretend I'm not here," he said, rolling over to face the inside of the couch, though his mused longer hair still stuck out in funny places from out of the blankets.

Yeah. Coz Dean could just do that. Right. Pushing up into a sitting position, Dean huffed, remembering how tired he was and how that was probably why he wasn't thinking as clearly as usual.

Of course Sasha was disappointed, and sat up next to Dean saying, "_I_ can pretend he's not there," with a smile clear in every word.

Dean turned back to Sasha with a ready comeback. At least he thought it was ready. It fell from his tongue after a first true look at Sasha's body. The incubus was shirtless and barefoot, which wouldn't have been at all remarkable if not for the very large and loose sleep pants. They looked comfortable and had a drawstring, but it was the pattern that made Dean pause.

Tiger print. Actual tiger print with black and orange stripes that clashed horribly with Sasha's red hair.

Dean felt an uncontrollable chuckle rising. "_What_ are you wearing?" he choked out.

Blue eyes glanced down to where Dean was staring and Sasha's cheeks flushed much like Sam's had. "Uhh…"

"Are those _zubaz_?"

"They're Bobby's!" Sasha defended. He whirled on Dean then, pointing an accusing finger, "You left all our stuff in the car. And I wanted a shower when I woke up. My choices for something comfortable to wear were these or the same pair in purple, okay?"

Dean was already halfway into a full out guffaw before Sasha finished his first sentence. It felt so good to laugh, so strange too because of how easily it left his lips. "Dude, at least purple would match that hair better." As he said that Dean brought a hand up to his own hair to scratch his head. He immediately grimaced. Greasy was an understatement for how Dean felt right now. "Did you say shower? Coz that sounds awesome."

Climbing out of his sleeping bag and onto his feet, Dean arched his back in a great stretch. Oh yeah, he felt gross. And achy. And tired. At least the wound on his leg wasn't throbbing anymore, but Dean hated sleeping in dirty clothes. A glance down told him he was still wearing the same T-shirt and shorts he had on during Sasha's birthday. Laundry time didn't come often or easy for hunters, but Dean had a deep desire to strip and hose himself down anyway.

Sasha stood up next to Dean and when Dean looked over to once again take in the comforting sight of his friend—alive, Sasha was alive—his eyes went straight to the waistline of those pants. Sasha always wore his jeans a little low, but the zubaz were hanging down so far they bordered on being pornographic. There was _a lot_ of visible tattoo.

A strangled cough left Dean's throat. "You better tighten the strings on those pants, man, or…I think you're gonna lose 'em," he said, pulling his eyes with some difficulty back up to Sasha's face.

"Oh?" Sasha grinned, stepping onto Dean's rumpled sleeping bag to bring their bodies closer together, "You say that, but the look on your face tells me you're just wishing that's what would happen."

Dean blanched as Sasha teased his fingers around the drawstring of those loose fitting pants. The incubus was obviously feeling better.

When a barely contained snort rose up from the couch, Dean came back to his senses and remembered Sam again. It was almost entirely out of principle that Dean reached down to pick up his pillow, smacked it hard on top of Sam's head and left it there.

But before Dean could walk away, Sasha was sidling up to him, getting in Dean's personal space and pulling Dean closer by the hips. "Shower. Change. Whatever you need to do. But I'm taking that good morning kiss, Dean. Because I'm still _here_ to take it." Clearly, a near death experience had made Sasha even more bold than usual.

Dean didn't mind giving in either, not today, but he still had to grin and say, "You know, I haven't brushed my teeth in…" Dean trailed, honestly stopping to think about that and coming up blank, "I…really can't remember." Eww.

Sasha just laughed. "I think I can bear it," he said.

It was the last thing Dean wanted to think about as they leaned in towards each other—the last time they kissed, their _last_ kiss—but his mind couldn't help going right back to that moment as their lips pressed together. Somewhere in the back of Dean's throat a sob tried to break out. Like _hell_ he'd allow that. He wasn't weak. And he wasn't afraid anymore either. He didn't have time to be afraid.

Slipping his hands onto Sasha's hips the way Sasha's were on his, Dean found even more reason to be grateful for how low Sasha's pants were riding. All he touched was skin, real, alive, warm skin, and it made everything better. Things would get better. Dean would be able to move on this time and forget about almost losing Sasha, because it had been an _almost_. Sasha was here with him right now, and this time it hadn't cost him anything but heartache.

Dean flicked his tongue along Sasha's lips and pressed further forward. Maybe it wasn't so hard after all, pretending Sam wasn't there. Served the kid right too. Besides, it wasn't as if Sam didn't know about them now.

"Hey, Sam! Dean!"

Bobby on the other hand…

"You boys up ye—!" Bobby's voice cut off abruptly, close and loud enough that Dean knew the elder hunter had to be standing at the mouth of the living room.

Instinct had Dean harshly pushing Sasha away in a second, like he used to when Sasha started getting a little too frisky during their stolen kisses. But this was different. This was old panic, foolish, and Dean didn't miss the slightly hurt expression on Sasha's face before he turned to look at Bobby.

"Erm…" Bobby was clearly thrown by what he had walked in on, eyes wide and mouth fumbling for words, "So…you're up then. _Awake_! I mean. Right. Breakfast is getting cold so…yeah. Best get a move on." Then Bobby made a quick turn around and headed back out the doorway.

"Bobby!" Dean called, feeling like a complete idiot, "Wait! Listen, we—!"

"I don't need to know!" replied Bobby's now disembodied voice.

Great. Coz that was just how Dean wanted _that_ discovery to go down. He wiped a hand over his face and peeked at Sasha, who at least looked more amused now than upset. Dean hadn't _meant_ to react that way. But it was Bobby. It was almost as bad as having their dad walk in on them. Almost.

Dean really didn't want to think about how much more difficult this would be if his dad were still alive. Not that he wouldn't take John Winchester back into his life in a second, because he would, and he was pretty sure John would like Sasha since disliking the incubus didn't seem possible. It was the 'he's dating your son' part that Dean didn't think his ex-Marine father would be too keen on.

Wait. _Dating_. Oh god. Had Dean actually just thought that?

"I'm taking a shower," Dean said, slumping off towards the downstairs bathroom. Since there was highly inappropriate and loud giggling coming from beneath the pillow covered head on the couch, Dean gave it a good bop as he passed. "Save me some food, okay?" he called back to Sasha.

The redhead was laughing by now too, but he nodded when Dean glanced back, wearing a satisfied smile that made Dean feel at least a little better again. He almost didn't want to leave the room, because it would take Sasha out of his sight, and that meant this was all the more likely to be a dream that would evaporate if Dean looked away for too long. Dean remembered he had felt that way about Sam for weeks. He really didn't want to go through that again.

Shower. He could take a shower. He didn't need to spend every waking second with Sasha and ruin things by smothering the guy, much as he doubted that could happen. A shower would be good.

It was good too. At first. Warm water. Soap. Whatever Bobby tried to pass off as shampoo. No conditioner of course. Not that Dean needed any for his short locks, he had just grown so used to stealing Sam's. And sometimes Sasha's when they were all three in one room.

Dean realized too late that he would have to go out to the car and get his bag for his toothbrush and a change of clothes in nothing but a towel. There was no way in Hell he was getting put in one of Bobby's pairs of zubaz.

But five minutes into when the shower first started, steam rising and water running down Dean's face, it all started to catch up with him. It always happened like that, when he was alone in the shower, with no one nagging him to hurry up. He started thinking about things too hard, or maybe it was because he was trying so hard not to think at all. But those sobs he had been holding back suddenly found an opening, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the shower water down into the drain. He couldn't even keep his sobs quiet. They were loud and harsh, barely drowned out by the sound of the water running. Dean had to lean against the tile for a minute, take a few breaths, try to stop shaking. It didn't count as crying if he was in the shower, that's why the shower was one of the few places tears actually found a way out of him. The tears didn't leave any streaks. No one could prove they had ever been there. Dean should have known they would catch up with him as soon as he was alone.

But why? Everything was okay. It didn't matter if he had failed. Sasha was fine. The scar had been so faint on Sasha's chest, Dean almost hadn't noticed it. There was nothing to be upset over. Gordon was dead. Dean should be rejoicing. But he spent twenty minutes crying in the shower instead.

The bathroom was filled with steam when Dean finally had enough control over himself to step out. He had to wipe his hand over the mirror to see himself. He looked fine. Refreshed. No sign of tears or puffy eyes. His eyes…

For a split second Dean's reflection wasn't his own. It was…but it wasn't. His reflection smirked at him and green eyes flashed to full black. Dean slammed the flat of his palm against the wall beside the mirror and the illusion was gone. He was just imagining things.

_No. You know the reality that waits for you, Dean. You're going to lose everything. _

_Everything._

Dean felt the same tears rise up in him again but he willed them back down. He had to tell Sasha about the demon deal. He didn't want to but he had to. He had to ruin their bliss, their beginning by telling Sasha the truth. If he waited any longer it would just get worse and worse. Dean would probably start to give himself away anyway. He was feeling the weight, the toll the deal was taking on him more and more everyday.

Tucking a towel tight around himself, Dean headed out to grab his things from the Impala, even if it was December in South Dakota. As soon as he got Sasha alone, he would tell the incubus about the deal. He had to.

Everyone was still in the kitchen when Dean finally joined them. Sasha remained dressed in those tiger-striped zubaz. Bobby looked about normal, though he had rid himself of his customary hat, presumably because he was in the company of a lady—Dean noticed Bobby's hair looked a little more combed than usual too. Shiarra had also obviously gotten up early enough to primp and change clothes. Today she was wearing a dress right out of a Macy's window display, plum purple and low cut.

When Dean took an open seat beside Sasha at the table, the incubus leaned over and whispered, "_Those_ are Manolos," while gesturing towards Shiarra's heels as she busied herself at the coffee maker.

Dean gave the shoes a passing glance. Purple heels had no right to cost more than Dean's sexy as anything muscle car. No right at all. Dean thought it both seemed fitting and ironic that Sasha's aunt was so high class. It suited the succubus, but Sasha was just so down to earth. Sure, Sasha could probably pull off the metro look if he wanted, but he stuck to jeans and T-shirts. And his leather jacket.

Damn. Dean wondered if Sam had gotten around to filling Sasha in on that particularly difficult casualty.

A swift once over of the table had Dean suddenly wondering if he was in the wrong place. There were muffins, eggs, bacon. Then Dean caught a good look of Sam on the other side of the table and he realized his brother looked just as freshly showered as he was. It didn't seem possible since Dean had gone to get ready first.

Sam must have noticed Dean's stare because he immediately said, "What?" all defensive, and already knowing exactly what Dean was thinking, "There are two bathrooms in this place, you know."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "but if the princess beats me at getting ready in the morning I must have _really_ needed that shower." Dean smirked as Sam scowled, and then he reached for one of the remaining muffins.

Shiarra returned to the table with a brand new cup of coffee and placed it in front of Dean. "Black, I assume," she said, taking the last seat between Bobby and Sam.

Dean flicked his eyes up at her, not sure if he should expect the coffee to be poisoned or not. "Thanks," he said, since her look was gauging but mostly non-threatening. Dean looked over the spread on the table again. "You must have had something to do with this. I don't think I can ever remember Bobby cooking this good."

"Hey now," Bobby said warningly.

"It was a joint effort," Shiarra cut in with an actually rather warm smile cast on Bobby, "I do enjoy cooking. But if you think any amount of feminine charm means I couldn't punch a hole through your chest if I wanted…" Shiarra purposely trailed off, smiling over the top of her coffee mug as she took a drink. Dean had a pretty strong feeling it was black just like his.

He had to smirk back at Shiarra, he really did. He knew this game well. He certainly didn't mind playing it a little either so long as it meant she wouldn't be yelling at him anymore. Dean leaned over and nudged Sasha with his arm. "She's a regular hoot and a half, this woman," he said, "Can't imagine why you didn't want us to meet up sooner."

Sasha's cheeks flushed a little at that. "So anyway…" he started, jumping in quickly to change what he must have assumed was a dangerous subject, "I've been filled in with pretty much everything I missed. Gordon. The fact we're in South Dakota suddenly, though that part was pretty easy to figure out on my own. Anything else anyone needs to tell me?"

Poised with his coffee cup up to his lips, Dean almost choked on his next swallow.

Not now. When they were alone. Then he would. Definitely.

Dean tried to communicate that to Sam across the table, who was giving him that pestering evil eye of his. Dean half expected Sam to mojo him over telling Sasha about the demon deal, and almost thought that would be easier since then he wouldn't be able to chicken out. If they could just fix everything before he had to tell Sasha then it wouldn't matter. Dean highly doubted there would be any kind of divine intervention in the next twenty-four hours though.

But he definitely did not want to tell Sasha about the deal in front of his aunt. She'd filet him without a second thought. They had to be alone

"Nothing I can think of," Dean said, since no one else was offering Sasha a reply. He took another sip of his coffee, losing himself in the warmth and caffeine.

"In that case, young man," Shiarra said sharply to Sasha in a tone that said 'mother' in about five different ways, "You should be getting back to bed. You need to spend today resting. The _whole_ day," she said a little louder, since Sasha had clearly been about to protest.

"So I take it that means you'll be sticking around?" Dean prompted, not that he was surprised.

Shiarra batted long lashes at him. He wondered if she actually wore makeup or if succubae were naturally that flawless and beautiful. Dean banked on the latter. "I won't be inconveniencing you another night, if that's what you're asking," she said, more like a challenge really than a reply, "But I will be staying the day. There is no reason Sasha shouldn't be entirely fine now, but I want to be sure. You can mill about on the couch if you want, dear," she added to Sasha, "But I still want you resting. Humor an old woman, will you?"

Dean sort of wanted to laugh at that. Shiarra looked twenty-five just like all adults of her kind, and also just like Sasha who was her much younger nephew. It was strange hearing so much class and experience coming out of the mouth of someone who looked younger than him. He wondered how old Shiarra really was, but Dean knew better than to ever ask a woman her age.

"Now…we need to have a talk," Shiarra said, and it took Dean a moment to realize she was speaking to him.

Swallowing thickly around his newest muffin, Dean tried to act unconcerned with the clip to her tone. "_We_ need to have a talk?" he repeated, "And that would be because…?"

"We need to have a talk…privately," Shiarra said rather than explain herself further.

Dean could only assume this meant he had a very limited amount of time to live—and not because of the deal. He glanced at Sam who simply shrugged, Bobby who was staring at the food on the table and probably still trying not to think about what he walked in on between Sasha and Dean earlier, and Sasha just looked, well, Dean would have to say scared, and that just couldn't mean anything good.

Rather than think up any new ways to get under Shiarra's skin, Dean decided going along with things was probably smarter. He nodded to the succubus and stood up, taking his coffee with him. Nope, this wasn't awkward. Dean just felt like one of those hicks who gets 'a talkin' to' by their girlfriend's father with a shotgun.

On their way out of the kitchen Dean heard Sasha's voice rise a little as he said, "_What_ about my leather jacket?" and Dean could have kicked Sam for choosing just then to tell Sasha about that. Then again, Dean was also kind of glad he wasn't in there to see the crushed look on Sasha's face.

"Okay, can we just get this over with," Dean started in as soon as they were far enough away from the kitchen to be overheard, "You obviously don't like me very much, and I won't lie, the feeling's pretty mutual. But if you think you can tell me—"

"I'm not going to tell you to stay away from my nephew."

Dean stopped long enough to avoid tripping over his tongue and managed a, "What?"

Shiarra sighed. She tossed Sam's abandoned sleeping bag off of the couch and took a seat, indicating with a flutter of her hand that she wanted Dean to join her.

Rather than risk incurring the succubus' wrath when it seemed she didn't currently have it out for Dean, the tired hunter chose to take that offered seat. Holding his retained coffee mug in both hands, Dean leaned forward on his knees and regarded the succubus. She had an expression that Dean knew he often wore himself, when he didn't mean to look mistrustful and challenging but couldn't help it.

"I'm listening," Dean said quietly when Shiarra just continued to stare at him.

Shiarra took a breath and Dean realized for the first time how young she could look despite the age in her eyes. "You saved Sasha's life," she said without ceremony, "And not just because you acted quickly to bring him somewhere safe and call me. But because you care for him, even being a hunter and knowing what he really is. You don't understand how hard that is for me to…accept. You see how easy it is to love that boy? It's not an incubus trait. It's a _Sasha_ trait."

Dean almost snorted. He had figured that out a long time ago. He also understood what Shiarra was saying, the part Sasha always managed to conveniently leave out. "He had a lot of friends before he became a hunter, didn't he?"

"Every one of his kind turned on him for becoming a hunter," Shiarra said, confirming Dean's question without actually answering it, "And yet hunters discover he is an incubus and…don't. You just…care for him regardless. Maybe finding it so difficult to believe that does make me a hypocrite. Or maybe it's because I saw how easy it was for my kind to dismiss him that I figured why should yours be any different."

"The thing is," Dean couldn't help but interrupt, "I can't help thinking you knew that potion thing was going to work all along. Otherwise, I'm guessing you wouldn't have been nearly as…_nice_ about everything. Am I right?" Dean said with a smirk.

There certainly had to be something about the succubus that wasn't all bad because when she smiled back at Dean it was entirely filled with humor and without any of the usual malice or distaste to mar it. "I apologize. But I will not take back any of what I said last night when we were alone."

"Good," Dean said, "Neither will I."

Blue eyes looked Dean over, calculating but not at all unpleasant. "Make sure he continues to call me from time to time. Or you'll be hearing from me much more often."

Dean took that for as much of a warning and a promise as he did a certain kind of blessing. He nodded and could only hope that when all was said and done, regardless of how his year ended, that Shiarra wouldn't think to ill of him.

It was only a few minutes later that the succubus called Sasha into the living room to take the couch. Dean noted that Sasha did seem more fatigued than usual and wasn't as steady on his feet as he tried to pretend. It made perfect sense considering how close the incubus had come to dying.

Considering the way everyone gathered in the living room with Sasha, Dean was pretty sure that getting his friend alone wouldn't be happening any time soon. He couldn't say he minded all that much either. Sasha looked so content wasting the day away with all the people he cared for most in the world. What right did Dean have to ruin that?

Shiarra completely forbid the hunters from talking shop while she was there, though Dean was almost certain that Sam's laptop screen would not be displaying Solitaire or Hearts if he glanced at it. The group shared lunch and eventually dinner too. Sasha fell asleep for about an hour during the afternoon and woke up looking and feeling even better, just as he did every minute that passed. And if Dean didn't know any better he would swear Shiarra was flirting with Bobby. He didn't take it seriously—doubted Bobby did either—but it certainly brought a little extra light to the older hunter's eyes.

Dean remembered what Sasha had told him about Shiarra's methods for hunting, something she had passed along to Sasha as well: forming a symbiotic relationship. Finding people who needed to be needed and giving them that. As long as the succubus-hunter flirting and seductive looks remained from afar Dean decided maybe Shiarra wasn't all that bad after all. Bobby could talk about the years he lived before any of the young hunters in the room were born and Shiarra was right there with him. Dean would have to remember to ask Sasha later how old Shiarra really was.

As the night grew late and there was less and less for them to distract themselves with, the conversation eventually turned to Deklin Kelly. Bobby had known him longer than anyone else, of course, but Shiarra had the information from those few missing years before the hunter's death, including the story of how Deklin and Sasha's mother met.

For the first time Dean caught wind of Sasha's mother's name. Solaris.

"No, it was a werewolf," Sasha argued happily," interrupting liberally whenever he disagreed with Shiarra as she told them of Solaris and Deklin's first encounter, "I swear it was a werewolf. It's in Dad's notes."

"Fine, fine," Shiarra conceded, "A werewolf. So as I was saying, if my sister's story is to be believed, they were enjoying perhaps thirty seconds of afterglow before the thing came crashing right into Deklin's hotel window, having followed them there."

"I still can't believe Deklin Kelly slept with a strange woman he'd just met in a bar," Sam cut in, slouched in one of the cushier chairs.

The whole of the group cast him incredulous looks, Dean especially.

"What?" Sam said in his defense, "He was supposed to be one of the best hunters that ever lived, and he sleeps with a succubus completely unaware? Who to him would have looked half his age. Not that…there's anything wrong…with sleeping with a succubus," he threw in lamely, since Shiarra was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

Apparently, the kicked puppy look worked on the succubus because she simply smiled and shook her head. "Believe me, Solaris could be quite persuasive. And Deklin was just her type. She wouldn't have taken no for an answer. And do keep in mind, dear, that she was also unaware of his status as a hunter. So you could call them…even."

"So this werewolf busts in…" Dean prompted. He was enjoying this story and wanted to hear the rest of it. He liked knowing he wasn't the only hunter who could be distracted by a sexy body and come-hither smile, especially when the example was Deklin Kelly.

"Well," Shiarra continued, "The sudden uncovering of Deklin's arsenal gave away that he was a hunter fairly quickly, as well as his generally rational approach to fighting off a werewolf. And then of course the appearance of claws and fangs gave away my sister since she rushed in to assist him."

"This is the best part," Sasha whispered to Dean, who was sitting on the floor leaning back against the bottom of the couch so that if Sasha wanted he could have tried all sorts of tell-tale things—running his fingers through Dean's hair being one Dean almost expected—but the incubus refrained much to Dean's relief. And possibly Bobby's relief as well. Dean really hoped they never actual _discussed_ that.

Shiarra finished the story with a satisfied grin, apparently taking some succubus pleasure in how everything ended, which once again left Sam gaping. "They had sex again? Right after? Just like that?"

Dean laughed so hard it hurt. "Dude, they were still naked. Sasha's mom was hot. Hunting's like the biggest turn on ever. Of course they had more sex." This was why Sam was so uptight, Dean thought. The younger man didn't get laid nearly enough.

The sound of added laughter from behind and around Dean almost made the last couple of days fade away entirely. Dean was just fine with that. He was even starting to like Sasha's aunt. In small doses.

It didn't surprise Dean that Deklin had been completely uncaring at finding out Sasha's mom was a succubus—or at least that she wasn't human if he didn't guess what she was from just claws and fangs—because she had probably just saved his life and helped him finish a hunt. Dean was positive he would have done the exact same thing.

As if having read Dean's thoughts and finding them very pleasing, Sasha did just what Dean had mentally praised Sasha over for resisting—the incubus ran his fingernails up into the short strands of hair at the back of Dean's neck. Dean leaned into the comforting touch and tender scratches. He glanced discreetly at Bobby in a chair across the room but the older hunter was talking to Shiarra. Dean realized suddenly that the succubus was getting up and saying goodbyes.

"I'll be fine," Sasha insisted, removing his hand from Dean's hair and grinning as Shiarra came over to hug him tightly and kiss his forehead. Since Dean was somewhat beneath the succubus as she did this he tried his damnedest not to look up at how her bosom spilled out a little above him. It wasn't easy.

"I wouldn't go at all," Shiarra said, "But if I don't get back to my quarry he'll be running back to his soon-to-be ex-wife in a heartbeat, and three weeks worth of work will go right down the drain. And believe me no one would benefit from that aside from the gold-digging tramp he never should have married in the first place."

Since she was in a room full of hunters, Shiarra was accommodating enough to explain when three sets of eyes turned to look at her warily.

"Far too much drama," she said, "The man just needs to learn that he can do better. Much better. I'm planning on introducing him to a lovely woman at his office once I've…soothed his ego," she said with a discrete smirk that made Dean chuckle despite himself, "All for the best," Shiarra went on, passing a hand over Dean's hair much like Sasha would have and then moving to kiss Sam and Bobby on the cheek in turn.

Both hunters blushed.

"Keep me informed," Shiarra said before turning to the door, "I would prefer not to be called under such circumstances again, but if…any of you…" she said with a bat of her eyes and coy smile at Bobby, "Ever wish to call on me for other reasons, I promise I'll be much more pleasant company. Do take care of my boy," she finished.

Dean didn't miss for a second who that last line was mostly directed to. It made a lump rise in his throat, like he had added both a burden and a gift to his life with equal weight that entirely canceled each other out and left Dean feeling…very confused. He was glad Shiarra was leaving and that it was late. Not late enough to normally call it a night, but after the past few days, Dean was definitely more weary than usual.

Once Shiarra had gone it didn't take long before Bobby was heading up to bed as well, saying how much he needed to get some actual work done tomorrow but that the boys were more than welcome to stay as long as necessary.

"You can take my bed, Sam," Sasha said, eyeing his own tired body on top of Sam's sleeping bag, "I've been on _your_ bed all day."

"Oh no," Dean said mockingly to his brother, "You might catch some of those horrible incubus cooties. Run away!"

Sam laughed and Sasha knocked the back of Dean's head lightly with a closed fist. "Ha ha," Sasha droned.

"I'll be fine," Sam said, pulling his duffle out from behind the couch where he had dumped it earlier, and rummaging for something to wear to bed, "You're the one recovering. You take the bed. I don't mind the couch. And now Dean can have the pullout upstairs." Sam stopped mid-rummage, clutching a sweatshirt. It was as if he knew he had said something that brought up a lot more than where who was sleeping tonight. He didn't say anything though and Dean was grateful.

Sasha started to get up from the couch, stretching high above his head since he had been forced to kick back all day, and causing those horrible printed pants to ride that much lower. He hadn't ever bothered to pull the drawstring tighter. Dean was still on the floor, watching as Sasha walked a little in front of him, stretching more. The wing tattoos stared back at Dean along with the little bit of lower tattoo that curled around Sasha's hips and then dipped down to disappear beneath the zubaz' waistline.

Just breathe, Dean told himself. Now he could get Sasha alone. Now he could tell him.

"I'm going to bed then," Sasha said, turning back around to smile at Sam and Dean. Dean didn't miss the sparkle in Sasha's eyes, the extra little look, little smile that said _'you damn well better follow'_, which was bad because Dean was supposed to be thinking clearly so he could finally tell Sasha about the damn elephant in the room.

"Right," Dena managed, giving Sasha a nod that answered _'Just give me a minute'_ and promised he would follow just as asked.

Panic gripped Dean's heart as soon as Sasha disappeared into the guest bedroom though. He had already decided he was going to tell Sasha today. He had to do it. He had to follow Sasha in there and ruin everything. Damn it.

Sam pulled out what he deemed suitable clothing for the night and took off for the bathroom. Again he didn't say anything, but he gave Dean a look, a _'you better do the right thing'_ look that made Dean feel guilty when he hadn't even moved from the floor yet.

As far as Sam knew should Dean be gone when he returned—which he would be—Dean was just upstairs getting comfortable on the pull-out. At least that was the story Dean was going to stick to. He still doubted he would survive the next five minutes. Hell, he'd probably end up sleeping out in the Impala if this went horribly wrong.

"Hey. Sasha?" Dean called as went into the guest room and closed the door behind him. Sasha wasn't immediately visible but that quickly changed when the incubus pretty much attacked Dean on entry and pressed him back into the door, kissing Dean nowhere near chaste with deep plunges of his tongue.

Not exactly how Dean expected this to go. "Sasha…!" he tried, pushing on the incubus' shoulders but having little effect on the heavier, larger, and significantly stronger body even when injured, "Hang—! Hang _on_!" A more forceful push finally did the trick, but Sasha remained closely pressed against him.

"I knew you'd come," Sasha grinned, his face already flush and voice ragged, "I was getting so damn sick of interruptions. And _Gordon_. He won the prize—twice. No interruptions this time…" Sasha added with a smirk speaking of a hunger that always made Dean shiver. Hard.

"Sasha…"

"Not listening," the incubus said in a sing-song voice, kissing Dean brief but fierce and then starting a promising trail down Dean's neck.

Dean shivered again. He had to focus. "Sasha, wait. Okay? You have to…listen." Dean doubted he sounded all that convincing when he let out a sudden moan as Sasha kissed all the way up to his left ear and licked the rim. Heat flooded into Dean's gut like a wave. This was bad. "Sasha, please…"

That growl-like purr left Sasha's throat, and since Sasha was still teasing Dean's ear their necks were touching, making Dean feel vibrations travel all the way down his chest. "Say that again…" Sasha demanded roughly.

Fuck. This was _really_ bad. But Dean could handle this. Sasha was just really close to a regular feeding time, and he probably craved a warm body a little more than usual what with the almost dying thing. Dean couldn't blame the incubus for being frisky. "_Please_, stop. How's that?" Dean said, "Coz we…right now we…can't do this." Dean took hold of Sasha's shoulders and once again pushed, finding it surprisingly easy this time to get Sasha to move away from him.

And then there were those puppy eyes, ten times worse than Sam's, all droopy and crushed and crystalline blue. "What's wrong?" Sasha said, his voice so damn small suddenly.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. This wasn't fair. None of it was. "Sasha…" Dean tried, "It's not that I don't…kind of…want to…a whole damn lot…but it's just…well…we need to talk."

Clearly, that was not the right choice of words. Sasha's eyes went wide with fear and ample amounts of fury. "What do you mean? Is it because of Shi? Did she say something? She just worries too much. Don't—"

"No, Sasha. It has nothing to do with her."

"Then is it because of what happened? I know it scared you but I'm fine. Look at me," Sasha said, standing back enough to spread his arms as if to show off how healthy and free of wounds his body was. Of course all Dean could look at was the remains of the scar, faint as they were. "I'm gonna be okay," Sasha insisted, taking Dean's hand and placing it right on top of the scar over his heart, "Steady rhythm. All because of _you_."

_God_. Why did he have to say it like that? Dean tugged his hand away. "Just listen to me for a second, okay?"

"No," Sasha shot back, eyebrows knitting angrily, "I'm done listening to your excuses, Dean. Why can't you just let this happen? Why does it have to be so hard? I almost died!" he said, teeth clenched tight as he stepped in close to Dean's space again, "I thought I was dead for sure. I'd accepted that I was never going to see you again. Or Sam. Or anyone."

"I know," Dean said, hating that this seemed to be turning out even worse than he could have imagined it, "I thought the same thing. That's why I need to—"

"No," Sasha said again, fiercer, more determined with his hands coming up to grip Dean's biceps hard, "I'm done letting you run away from me. We're here now. Tomorrow maybe we won't be. What if this is the only moment we ever get? Don't you ever think about that?"

Dean wanted to cry, scream, something. Of course he thought of that. He thought of that every fucking day and Sasha didn't know _why_.

"If tonight is all we get," Sasha said, almost as if he did know, as if he understood even though Dean hadn't said a word, "Then I don't want to waste a single moment."

Blue eyes glowed, too bright as always and so close to Dean he could see every change of color, every variation in shade. Then Sasha was kissing him again, deeper than before, possessive and demanding, and damn it, Dean couldn't care about the god damn deal, he couldn't get himself to turn away or tell Sasha to stop.

What if there was no tomorrow. That's how Dean had always lived his life. He was a hunter; it just seemed smart. But lately it had seemed so much more important. Sometimes for silly things, like taking an extra slice of pie or stopping to ruffle Sam's hair like he used to when they were both still young. Other times it seemed more even important, like teaching Sam how to fix that clanking sound the Impala made sometimes or allowing a stray hug when Dean just didn't _do_ that.

Right now Dean couldn't care about anything but the moment he was in and it felt so thrilling that he let all the built up anxiety in his body fade. In another second he had pushed Sasha away again, but only so he could flip their positions, pressing Sasha back into the wall and pinning the incubus hard.

Sasha looked stricken at first, like he thought Dean was acting out because of how Sasha had been forcing himself on him, something the incubus seemed perfectly okay with accepting punishment for. But then Sasha must have noticed how the look on Dean's face had changed, because soon he was smiling.

"Let's get one thing straight," Dean said, low and promising, "If we're gonna do this…then I am _not_ going to be some pansy ass little girl about it, ya got me? Dean Winchester doesn't do fainting violet." _Hell_ no.

The smile on Sasha's face turned pleased and wicked as he said, "About damn time," and grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt he crushed their lips together again.

Apparently Sasha hadn't been listening. Dean regained control of the kiss by pressing the incubus back against the wall more firmly, fighting for dominance with an experienced tongue, and jerking his hips just the slightest bit. Sasha trembled in Dean's hold and that was it. No more reservations. This was happening _now_.

They kissed heatedly for some time, right there against the wall, with Sasha, albeit taller than Dean, pinned willingly. The deep probing of tongues, both talented and wonderfully wet, made Dean forget for at least a little longer why he could ever be anxious about doing this with Sasha. The incubus was so damn sexy, every wonderfully male part of him. And Sasha definitely knew what he was doing.

Dean felt the telling presence of weight and heat against his thigh from beneath Sasha's pants. He knew Sasha wasn't wearing anything underneath them; how low they hung didn't leave much room for imagination. Dean felt the heat in his own gut flowing more and more southward too, especially when Sasha's fingers feathered up under his T-shirt—thank God he hadn't worn layers today—and tickled along the muscles of his stomach. Then Sasha was tugging, pulling, and Dean let the cotton lift up over his head and disappear so that their equally bare chests pressed back together, so warm.

Their lips reconnected too, but when Dean broke finally from their continued lip-locking, the heat from Sasha's eyes was enough to burn him. Dean had to admit, he was absolutely willing to stand there and melt.

A gentle push at Dean's chest told Dean that Sasha wanted freedom from the wall, and because Dean was nice like that, he allowed it, taking a few slow steps backwards. Sasha pushed on Dean's chest again, smirking and biting his lower lip. Dean obeyed, taking a few more steps back so that there were several feet between them. Then Dean understood what Sasha meant to do.

The incubus teased his fingers along the drawstring of his pants just as he had done that morning, only this time it was more than a tease. Dean swallowed low in his throat, his heart beating hot and fast as he watched Sasha pull one of the strings out of its bow, loosening the pants just enough so that they fell past slim hips straight to the floor.

Against any will of his own, Dean took in the sight of that enticing tattoo—every last bit of it. It indeed went everywhere, even a little down Sasha's thighs and all the way around…

Dean swallowed again, finding it surprisingly difficult since his throat was so dry suddenly. Those voices that hung out in the back of Dean's mind were screaming at him, but he couldn't care to listen, not when the sight of Sasha made the heat in Dean's gut swell and boil over, pooling down lower and making him ache. Part of him couldn't believe he found a naked man that much of a turn on, but enough of Dean saw it as him being turned on by _Sasha_ and he stopped questioning.

"You're way too fucking beautiful for your own good," Dean managed, his voice rough and shaky, "And I've _never_ said that to another guy. Believe me."

Sasha laughed. God, it was so amazing to hear that sound after thinking he had lost it forever, even Sasha's laugh made Dean tremble a little. "I'm glad you think so," Sasha said, just as ragged of voice as Dean was, all trace of any anger banished. The incubus stepped out of his discarded pants and slowly made his way back to Dean.

Dean recognized that look, all confidence and hunger. That was the look Dean usually wore when he was seducing his latest conquest at whatever random bar they happened to be at. He hoped he had that look now, at least to hold true to what he had promised and not be a girl about this.

Still, he knew his breath hitched when Sasha reached him, toying at the waist of his jeans with a whispered, "Your turn."

How was it that Dean could feel so small suddenly? Sure, Sasha was taller than him, but Dean was all about dominance and forceful play in the bedroom. He'd tried everything. _Almost_ everything. And he was good at everything he did. Dean knew his butterflies had nothing to do with Sasha being an incubus either. He could best an incubus, damn it. It was just that this was…_Sasha_. And that made everything different.

Dean felt pressure as his jean button was undone and then heard the slow separation of metal teeth as the zipper went down. All the while he stared up into Sasha's eyes, those too blue eyes, and the way Sasha looked at him, hungry, heated, and penetrating as it was, made Dean feel stronger. He could do this. Because he wanted this. Because he was Dean Fucking Winchester and if there was one thing he did particularly well other than hunting it was…well…self-explanatory.

Sasha pulled Dean's jeans and shorts down his body in one long, slow movement, crouching all the way down when the jeans reached Dean's ankles so he could help Dean step out of them. Then Sasha was climbing back up Dean's body, and Dean had to say _climbing_ because Sasha's hands found holds everywhere, gently passing along the bandages over the wound on his leg, trailing up his thighs, his hips, his stomach, and then reaching around Dean's back to pull their bodies flush and steal another kiss

There was an involuntary jerk below Dean's waist as certain otherwise connecting parts clashed together. Dean pressed harder into the kiss and pressed his hips forward too. This was definitely different than what he was used to. Dean had never been enveloped before, but that's what Sasha's body did, larger than his own and so possessive. He almost shivered again but Sasha shivered first and it reminded Dean that he had just as much of an effect on the incubus as the other way around. Dean could use that.

Determined to play this out evenly and absolutely refusing to be led along like some timid virgin, Dean pulled enough away while still maintaining their kiss to slide a shaky hand down Sasha's chest…and keep going. He paused at the groove of Sasha's well-defined hip bone, but only for a moment. As Dean's hand passed into coarse hair, he couldn't help smirking.

"Guess you weren't lying about that fire engine red hair," Dean whispered, just about the time his fingers curled around Sasha and squeezed.

A gasp left the incubus that sounded suspiciously like relief and his forehead fell gently against Dean's. A few non-syllables trying to pass for words answered Dean's tease, and Sasha tried to continue kissing with softer, light touches of their lips as if he were unable to function any more than that.

Their foreheads remained pressed together for balance, leverage, as Dean gave surprisingly familiar tugs that pulled something like purrs from Sasha's throat. It wasn't as if Dean didn't know how to do this—all guys knew how to do this. And just as it would be with anyone else, seeing Sasha's eyelids flutter and his breathing build were just as thrilling as being touched in return.

None of Dean's lovers had ever called him selfish.

Dean had to remind himself he was with an incubus though, and as much as Sasha was obviously enjoying Dean's touches the redhead wasn't about to just sit back and revel in the attention without offering some of his own. Sasha's forehead slid away from Dean's, his lips brushing Dean's jaw as they made their way back down Dean's neck. This time Sasha kissed right up to Dean's ear and bit gently just below it, liking at the skin and beginnings of little hairs.

Multitasking was a not a problem for Dean but Sasha's tender bite made him falter just a little. He enjoyed the feel of Sasha in his hand, hot and slick as he passed his thumb over the slit and Sasha shivered in his hold again. Dean wanted to keep pulling out those reactions again and again. He loved those strange little purrs, loved that animal nature in Sasha that made him want to bite and growl.

Then Sasha was moving to return the favor even more, his larger hand starting at Dean's thigh and trailing up and inward until the two hunters had mutual holds of each other that made Dean gasp just as Sasha had. _That_ was different. Sasha's hands were bigger than Dean's, bigger than any that had ever touched him so intimately. It was almost intimidating, but Sasha proved very quickly how well those soft fingers could move.

Dean wouldn't be able to last very long on his feet. His knees were already shaking, and it was not any easier to stay steady with Sasha's hands on him and those lips pressing into his neck, nibbling lightly. They needed to get to a flat surface.

It didn't surprise Dean at all that Sasha seemed to read his mind, pulling slowly away, achingly with the way his hand slid from Dean's skin, and then Sasha was backing up to the bed and lowering himself onto the mattress. The whole thing was the very definition of come-hither, _'come and get it, take me'_, that Dean fairly forgot how to breathe. Did Sasha have any idea how frustratingly perfect he was? Pretty face, red, _red_ hair, eyes that managed to glow and look hazy with lust at the same time, and all that pale skin—bare.

Dean wanted to run his tongue over every curve and dip of Sasha's tattoo. There was no question now; he had definitely lost all control of his body. Dean was wonderfully hard and Sasha just looked so inviting. The incubus was a master at seduction after all, and Dean ate up every heated glance and twitch of Sasha's muscles. If there were pheromones involved then they were only the normal kind, the kind that peaked Dean's interest enough for him to forget everything else but still left him to his own devious thoughts and devices.

Joining Sasha on the bed was just the logical thing to do, so Dean went forward, sinking down into the mattress with Sasha beneath him, rubbing their hips agonizingly together and going in for another kiss. Dean stopped just before their lips could touch though, suddenly nauseous.

"What's wrong?" Sasha breathed, concern overtaking desire for a moment.

Dean pushed up and started to get off the bed. "We can't do this," he said.

Sasha followed immediately. "Dean…?"

"I know it's just a guest room but…it's still Bobby's bed," Dean finished, shuddering at the thought, "Creeps me out."

The anxiety on Sasha's face instantly melted, leaving behind the closest thing possible to a laugh without there actually being sound. Sasha stepped into Dean's body, chests touching, erections passing each other teasingly. "The floor?" he suggested right into Dean's ear, his breathy voice hot on Dean's skin.

Whatever amount of arousal Dean had lost thinking about using a bed of Bobby's quickly found its way back at Sasha's words. He reached for Sasha's hips and pulled. Fuck, he loved the electricity that caused. "Floor's good," he choked out and immediately crumbled, pulling Sasha down with him until they landed rather hard in a heap of naked flesh on the carpet.

Sasha laughed too loud and Dean, despite laughing as well, shushed him. "Sam's out there, remember?" he said, even as he was positioning Sasha onto his back and climbing on top of the incubus' body. It had been so long since Dean had actually had sex, he had almost forgotten how good skin against skin felt. Dreams couldn't compare.

"Then shut up already and kiss me," Sasha grinned, reaching up to take Dean's face in his hands and pull their lips together. This kiss was slower, light flicks of their tongues, little nibbles on the flesh of their lips, and harsh, heavy breaths they couldn't quite catch.

Dean's hips jerked against Sasha's—they kept doing that—and he felt a moan building. It got lost between their mouths but it had Dean quivering. He needed to touch Sasha, found himself running his hands down Sasha's arms, over his chest and lower, loving the way Sasha's stomach dipped when breathed as if Dean could fall right into him.

Everything was smooth hard muscle, the softness Dean was used to with a woman still present in Sasha's skin but still so very different. Dean reached between Sasha's legs again as he had when they were standing, a knee firmly planted on either side of Sasha's hips now. Dean watched Sasha's reactions like they were artwork, the way the incubus pressed his head back into the carpet, mouth slightly parted, his neck so long as it arched. Dean wanted to lick it, so he bent down and made a wet trail from the dip in Sasha's throat all the way up to his jaw line. Again Sasha shivered. _Sasha shivered._ It more than made every second of this worthwhile.

When Sasha pulled Dean down into a kiss again, desperate, seeking to meet mouths with too strong hands at either side of Dean's face, the grip Dean had on Sasha got lost but the pressure of their bodies tight against each other made up for it. It was all so different, but Dean felt more than fine, that twin heat between their bodies making him want so badly that he was using his knee to spread Sasha's legs apart before he knew what he was doing.

In no time at all Dean was between Sasha's thighs, sliding a hand underneath one of Sasha's knees and lifting the leg completely to better…

Dean realized what he wanted, what he meant to do with somewhat of a shock. He knew what he wanted but he wasn't sure if there were some kind of rules to follow he didn't know yet. Was this okay? Did he need to ask permission? Did they need to flip a coin or something?

"_Dean_…" Sasha mewled, bucking his hips off the floor and staring at Dean with half-lidded eyes and labored breathing. If Dean did need some kind of permission to go further then that was definitely it.

This Dean had done before. With _girls_. But it still counted. He knew how the mechanics worked, knew how to make it easy, make it feel amazing. Usually, if a girl was into this position he would prepare her with one hand and let the other tease her body somewhere else, helping distract her from the first few stretches that could sometimes pinch. Dean did the same as he began to prepare Sasha, but more to distract himself. If he thought too hard about this he just knew he'd start to choke up.

So Dean's free hand slid up Sasha's stomach, seeking out a beginning tip of the tattoo, and then he began to trace. Lightly with just the tips of his fingers, Dean followed the curving tribal lines of the tattoo, around Sasha's hips, down his thighs, coiling around his hard length where Dean curled his fingers again and pulled.

More of those purrs left Sasha's throat and the incubus' eyes nearly rolled back into his head, like he was soaking all of it up, drinking all of it in—Dean's touch, Dean's eyes on his body, Dean affection. Then Dean realized that was probably exactly what Sasha was doing. Feeding gently off every sensation and every reaction Dean had. Between them was a circuit, flowing with energy and passion that pulsed through Sasha and gave him everything he needed to survive. There was something so fulfilling about being that for the incubus that Dean couldn't wait any more. He pressed himself to the entrance he had been stretching and slowly pushed in, careful, even though he knew there was no way he could hurt Sasha from hasty preparation.

Sasha's eyes fluttered open again, a weary but satisfied smile on his face that seemed to say _finally_ and Dean couldn't blame the incubus for that at all. He felt it too, how much he had wanted, needed this.

It wasn't hard to find a rhythm with how Dean leaned forward and Sasha brought his legs up to curl around Dean's back. Dean's knees would have rug burn by the end of the night but he hardly cared about that now. The way Sasha's heels dug into the small of his back and lower where his tailbone fell to soft flesh, pressed them together even tighter with every thrust Dean made.

For a few moments Sasha's eyes were closed, his hips answering every movement of Dean's. But suddenly they opened, wide, flashing, and Dean realized they were incubus red as if Sasha could barely hold himself together.

Everything was so perfect, so fitting and right, that Dean couldn't help leaning close to Sasha's face to steal a hasty kiss and whisper, "Your incubus is showing."

A laugh choked out of Sasha immediately, and he must have known what Dean meant or could feel when one of his incubus aspects was visible, because he said, "Shut up," and stared right at Dean, unblinking.

"Thought you said…you…weren't usually this careless," Dean said, trembling from trying to keep his thrusts slow when half of him wanted to go for broke already and just end it.

Again Sasha managed something like a laugh. "I'm not," he said, head still pressing back into the carpet and the heels of his feet digging even more into Dean's lower back to pull Dean in deeper, "It's just…_you_," and Sasha's mouth fell open as he said that, revealing fangs on his eyeteeth that glistened in the light.

Oh yeah, Dean had lost all control of his body, his mind, everything, because with Sasha's eyes like that and the fangs…_Jesus_. Dean didn't know why the incubus parts turned him on so much, but they did, and his pace picked up. They had waited so long, come so far, cheated death and managed to find something like a relationship. Deep down Dean felt like…they'd earned this.

Dean sensed it coming, saw the signs in Sasha's face as the incubus' eyes clenched and his features twisted. To help things along Dean took Sasha in his hand again, and it only took a few good pulls before Dean felt heat pour over his fingers. There was just something so satisfying about getting the incubus to cum first.

Dean must have smirked or done something to look particularly pleased, because Sasha redoubled his efforts to pull them tight together, shifting his hips up into every jerk. His hands held onto Dean's biceps, squeezing too tightly, and soon after Dean was done, pulling out just before the same heat left him, leaving a little pool on Sasha's stomach.

For a moment there was only the sound of their breathing, harsh and loud around them. Dean looked vaguely around the room and found gold—Sasha's towel having been discarded after his morning shower on the floor, and within easy reach. Dean grabbed it with a sticky hand and wiped it clean, then swiped the towel over Sasha's stomach in a single movement before tossing the towel aside again.

Reality started to catch up, slow and creeping, making Dean's arms shake from having held him up whenever he wasn't touching Sasha. His thighs quivered too, though not nearly as much as Sasha's as the incubus uncoiled his legs from around Dean's back and placed his feet on the floor again.

Dean wanted to collapse forward, to just fall on top of Sasha in a contented heap, but he was too hot and falling off to the side sounded a lot better. He did so, landing just next to Sasha as they tried to still their breathing. Soon after Dean began to feel Sasha's eyes on him, blue again and smiling.

"So…is this where you freak out on me again?" he asked calmly.

Dean turned his head to look at Sasha. It was nice being eye to eye like this, which Dean realized had to mean that Sasha's legs were currently sticking out a lot further along the carpet than his were. "I'm not…freaking out," Dean said.

His only response was a single raised red eyebrow.

"Okay," Dean admitted, "Maybe just a little." He broke into a grin and laughed lightly, bringing a hand up to rub over his face and scrub back into his damp hair. "Fuck," he said, peeking at Sasha from between fingers, "Did we really just do that?"

"Yeah," Sasha replied, softly and still smiling. He reached across to grab Dean's face in his hand, "We did," he said and pulled Dean in for a soft, slow kiss.

Dean's heart was beating so hard, so wildly, but he wasn't freaking out, not really, not the way he might have once before. He drunk in Sasha's kiss and wanted more. So much more.

Teasing lightly with a swipe of his tongue at Dean's lips before pulling away, Sasha said, "_Now_ can we go up on the bed," with a slight, purposeful whine.

"Wuss," Dean just had to say, but he obliged, getting achingly to his feet and turning to stare at the bed. He was pretty sure he would feel okay just laying on it. Of course in the next second he found himself tackled down on top of it from behind by a near giggling, deliriously happy incubus. "Freak!" Dean laughed back, though he tried to keep his voice low, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Sasha stopped his attack sprawled halfway over Dean and just grinned.

Shaking his head at his…much more than friend…Dean managed to turn over and sit up a little, even with Sasha's body covering so much of him. This awarded him with the full sight of Sasha's backside and the discovery of something he hadn't noticed until now.

"Do you have a tattoo?"

Sasha blinked at Dean like he had lost his mind. "Uh…duh?"

"No," Dean said, trying to lean over Sasha's back to better see, "An actual, you weren't just born with it tattoo. Is that a…four leaf clover?"

Recognition dawned on Sasha it seemed, because the incubus suddenly really wanted to turn over again.

"Oh no you don't," Dean said, holding Sasha down. He knew any amount of success would only be because Sasha allowed it, but that didn't deter Dean at all, just so long as he got what he wanted. "Are you a _girl_?" he teased, since there definitely was a little clover tattoo on Sasha's ass where Dean never would have been able to see it until now.

There was high probability the incubus was blushing. "I was eighteen. In Canada. And drunk!"

Dean barked a laugh.

"I am Irish. Kinda. On the human part of my dad's side anyway. Shut up," he said more forcefully, even though he was still grinning like crazy, "You weren't supposed to ever notice. Jerk."

Dean had to refrain from retorting with his customary 'Bitch'. "If you expected sex at any point, how did you think you were going to hide it?"

"Dumb luck?"

Dean laughed again.

He allowed Sasha to move off of him so that eventually they situated themselves lying side by side on the bed. Dean generally liked being naked, and considering they had just had sex on Bobby's guest room floor, he was pretty sure he was no longer embarrassed being naked in front of Sasha. Next to Sasha. With Sasha naked too.

Staring with the incubus' toes, Dean cast a long slow look up his friend's body. Nope, nothing he didn't like. That was amazing within itself.

"So…what…does this make us exactly?" Dean prompted, smiling crookedly now, "Coz if you think I'm introducing you as my boyfriend to _anyone_…"

Another chuckle escaped Sasha's lips, his fangs gone, his blue eyes sparkling, and still absolutely beautiful in whatever form. Actually, Dean might be willing to say Sasha was much hotter than normal right now with his hair tousled and a little sweat on his skin. "We don't have to call ourselves anything," Sasha said, "It's thinking things have to change that'll mess with you. Besides, hunter life or not, I'd like to think we have plenty of time to figure that out, even if I'd never want to waste a single moment I have with you."

Sasha smiled, so sweetly, so wide, but his words clanged like a gong in Dean's head and everything slowed. Plenty of…

_Time_.

Every feeling of good will and happiness in Dean fell away so quickly, he thought he might throw up. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He had done the very last thing he had ever wanted to do to Sasha. And he hadn't even cared.

"Dean…?" came Sasha's voice, sounding strangely far away for being right next to him, "What's wrong?"

Everything, Dean thought, and he didn't know where to begin. He sat up, wishing the weight of it all would just leave him alone, but it felt all the more heavy as Dean sat there, taking in everything that had just happened. "I'm the biggest asshole in the world," Dean grumbled. How could he think any other way? He turned and Sasha had sat up next to him, all concerned for him, worried for _him_. "Don't hate me. No, wait. _Hate me._ It'd make it easier."

"Dean, what are you talking about?"

Painfully, Dean turned his eyes away, because he didn't think he could look at Sasha when he said this. "Sasha…there's something I have to tell you."

THE END OF ARC 3...tbc right here yet again with ARC 4!

A/N: Okay, maybe I AM a cold-heartless bitch. But I'll have you know that originally that was going to be THE END of the FIC. Of course that was months ago and I have three more arcs planned, along with threats should I ever try to abandon Sasha. Understood, my adoring and dangerous fans!

Also, may it be noted, that YOU DO NOT GET TO SEE THIS CONVERSATION. The next arc starts five days later. hehehe. So if anyone wants to take that plot bunny and write the convo, feel free, just make sure it ends with Sasha stepping out to get some air.

You're amazing, wonderful, loyal, and should be HAPPY you finally all got your sex. Good? Overall comments about the longest chapter yet? Thanks again!

Crim


	24. ARC 4: Recovery, PART 1: Aftermath

Arc 4, Part 1: Aftermath

--

Five days. It had been five fucking days and Dean was running out of things to fix on the Impala. He had already switched the tires out for something more suitable than the ones they stole back in Danville. He had tightened so many things that were supposedly loose it was becoming a compulsion. He had even tended to a barely visible scratch in the paint job. Twice.

Needless to say, Dean was running out of reasons to keep to himself and out of excuses keeping him distracted. He hadn't even raised the car this time when he laid back on the roller and disappeared under the carriage to check for…something. He just stared at the metalwork, intricacies he knew better than his own anatomy, and tried to forget that what was really broken had nothing to do with his car.

"Dean?"

It was easy to ignore Sam's voice; Dean had been doing it for almost a week.

"Dean, how long are you going to hide under there? Will you just talk to me?"

No. Dean didn't want to talk. Talking about this wouldn't change anything. Dean just wanted to be left alone. _Leave me alone_.

But apparently five days was Sam's breaking point, and despite any patience he had had up until now he was done giving Dean space and time to deal with this. Suddenly, there was a strong grip on Dean's ankles and Sam pulled, rolling Dean back out into the open. It was snowing, soft fluffy flakes falling consistently. Dean hadn't noticed until now. He wasn't wearing a god damn jacket and he hadn't noticed the temperature had dropped low enough to snow.

"It's been five days, Dean," Sam said, as if Dean didn't know, as if Dean hadn't been counting the minutes, "When are you going to tell me what happened? Even Bobby's going out of his mind."

"Not your business," Dean deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with the figure hovering over him. The younger Winchester had released Dean's ankles so Dean got to his feet and kicked the roller at Sam—unintentionally of course—so that Sam scrambled backwards, even though it hardly would have hurt had the roller hit him. "I gotta check something," Dean said lamely, opening up the driver's side door and climbing inside. He'd start up the engine and pretend he was listening for something, pretend he actually cared about his fucking car right now.

Dean realized he should have locked the door about the time Sam slid in next to him. "Not my business?" Sam repeated coldly, the inside of the car too quiet since Dean hadn't started up the engine yet, "So it's not my business you're a walking zombie lately? Not my business you've shut off all week and won't talk? Not my _business_ that it's been five days, Dean, and we haven't seen or heard from Sasha once?"

The following dramatic pause was enough to make Dean choke.

"Dean, what the hell happened between you two?"

_I screwed everything up_, Dean thought, what more was there to say. But he couldn't explain the details to Sam. Not yet. Not when he was waiting for Sasha to suddenly just be there again. "I told you," Dean said, eyes forward and hands gripping the stationary steering wheel.

"Right," Sam scoffed, "He said he needed some air and never came back. Coz he'd just do that." Hazel eyes bore into the side of Dean's face. "Where's the missing scene, Dean? What aren't you telling me?"

Why did Sam have to pry? Why couldn't he just leave things alone? "It doesn't matter," Dean breathed, too much like a whisper. Too much like anguish.

"Doesn't matter?" The world closed in on Dean just a little more every time Sam repeated him, closer than the walls of the Impala so that Dean felt trapped. "Dean, Sasha _left_. He won't answer his phone. Not for any of us. The last person who saw him was you. The only person he might have said something to was _you_."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He could see the white of his knuckles and he wanted to squeeze so hard they'd bleed. _Shut up_, he wanted to say. _Just shut up._

"People don't just leave, Dean," Sam pressed on, not listening to Dean's silent pleas, "Not without a reason. I don't understand why you can't just tell me."

That's why, Dean thought, because you don't understand. You can't.

"It's not just you, you know? You're not the only one who cares about him. I want him back too. He's my friend too."

God damn it, Sam , shut up!

"I don't want to have to force you, Dean, but I will," Sam warned then, a brutal promise, "You know I can. If you don't tell me what happened that night, I swear to _God_—"

"We slept together, okay!"

Now Dean really wanted to turn on the engine if only to banish the silence that followed, but he didn't think he could pry his hands from the steering wheel, even if the key was already in the ignition. He closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip a little more.

"That night," Dean clarified, his voice softer, hollow, "We slept together."

"You…you mean…" Sure, _now_ Sam had trouble speaking, "You mean…you—"

"Fucked. Had sex. _Yes_," Dean growled, turning to face Sam for the first time with a narrowed glare.

At last Sam looked cowed. "Oh," he said, and now it was his eyes that turned away, unable to look at Dean, "Wow. Okay. And…you think that's why he—"

"No, I _don't_ think that's why he left," Dean cut in. His right hand finally released the steering wheel, coming up to rub at his eyes as he said bitterly soft, "The part where right after I said, 'Oh, by the way, I'm going to Hell in a few months,' might have had something to do with it."

"Dean!"

See, that was why Dean didn't want to tell Sam. He knew the lecture he'd get. Knew every word.

"What could possibly have possessed you to think _that_ was the right time to tell him?"

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Dean shot back, rehearsed replies at the ready. It was almost liberating to finally have this fight, as if it was the last step, the last page in the book before Dean tossed it into the fire. "I went in there to tell him," he said, "Just to tell him, that's all. Then…things just got carried away and I know I should have stopped it but I didn't. Afterwards, Sasha started…he started saying stuff like, 'We have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us,' and all I could think was no, I don't have time. I don't have any time." Dean's voice cracked a little on the last of that and he hated it so much he wanted to scream. Instead he spoke on. "I couldn't just leave things like that. I had to tell him. I had…I had to tell him." Dean almost hadn't noticed that both his hands were on the steering wheel again and although he was staring forward he was seeing nothing but that night.

This was the very chick flick, Lifetime movie moment Dean hated, but he couldn't avoid it. That's why he teased Sam instead of coddled him. Why Cassie was the only girlfriend Dean had ever had and he used to have no intention of making that mistake ever again. Dates singular, one night stands, getting and taking what he wanted and then walking away—years of that had saved Dean from having these kinds of moments. But Sasha had ruined Dean's plan and Dean hated it. He hated that he'd been given another chance just to mess up all over again. And for the same reason too.

Because he waited too long to tell the truth, and Cassie—now Sasha—couldn't accept it.

"I…I just can't believe it," Sam was saying, and Dean only tuned in again because Sam wasn't yelling at him anymore, "I can't believe Sasha would leave, even for that. How did it happen?"

Dean let out a great sigh and leaned back, peeling his fingers from the steering wheel painfully. This is the part he had been dreading most because it meant having to relive too much. "Just how you think it happened," Dean said, wanting to get through this part quickly, "I told him. He freaked. We fought. He left. He never…even yelled at me. Just all these angry statements thrown in my face about how I should have trusted him, should have told him sooner, and I couldn't…say anything about any of it because he was right. He really did say he just needed air. I could tell he was still pissed but I didn't think…I mean he wasn't in his right mind. He put on _my_ jeans and T-shirt, grabbed _your_ jacket you'd left in there. That's how I knew he had his cell. It was still in your god damn pocket." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face again. He felt only half awake. He hadn't been sleeping. He wished he was sleeping now, wished he was dreaming.

"It doesn't make sense," Sam said, "I can't believe he'd leave. No matter how angry he was or not thinking clearly, he wouldn't just leave."

Dean scoffed. He had been trying to tell himself that for five days. "Yeah? Well apparently he would."

Ten minutes passed, maybe more, with just them sitting there side by side in the Impala surrounded by quiet. Eventually Sam reached over and tapped the key ring still dormant in the ignition. "Keys to the Impala were in the jeans Sasha took, huh?" Sam said, and not at all as a question, "This is the spare."

"Yeah."

"Can't believe he'd do something like that to you."

"Bet he couldn't believe I'd do what I did to him either," Dean countered.

Sam didn't have a reply to that.

"I know we can't keep doing this," Dean admitted, "Sticking around here, waiting for him to show up. We have a job to do. All those demons. All those hunts. We have to…we have to get back out there. But every time I think about leaving without him…"

"You find something new wrong with the car?" Sam smiled. It was a small pitying smile and Dean was pretty sure it pissed him off but he couldn't bring himself to get upset.

Things were tough. Things were miserable and unfair. It was Dean's cue to crack stupid jokes and shrug the whole thing off. He managed to do that over the deal for his own soul, the promise that he was going to Hell for fuck's sake, but he couldn't even muster a twin smile to offer Sam knowing Sasha was still gone.

Sasha once told Dean that he hated when people left just as much as Dean did. So how could he do it himself? How could he just walk away? Or fly or whatever Sasha did that made him just suddenly gone that night when Dean finally went outside to see if he was okay.

"It's like I'm waiting to wake up, ya know?"

"I know," Sam said, and he said it with such experienced sorrow that Dean could have kicked himself for being so weak. Of course Sam knew. Sam knew better than he did. Sam knew real loss of a love he had had for years, planned to marry, and then watched go up in flames above his bed.

Dean didn't even know what he felt for Sasha, but he knew that whatever had been there was gone now and he ached to feel it again. "I keep reaching for my cell," Dean explained with a choked laugh and crooked smile, "Thinking…just _maybe_—"

The familiar notes of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" rose up from Dean's pants—his current ring tone. Dean instantly froze. His phone hadn't gone off in days.

Sam nudged Dean and said his name at least three times before Dean finally dug into his jean pocket and pulled out his phone. _'Sasha's cell'_ blinked at Dean miraculously. "Holy shit…" Dean breathed. What was he supposed to do?

"_Dean_," Sam said, the connotation of _'pick up the damn phone'_ clearly present.

So Dean did, forcing himself to be calm despite the erratic pattern of his heartbeat. "Sasha?"

"Dean?"

Oh fuck it. "Dude, where the hell are you?" Dean practically shrieked into the phone, "Are you trying to kill me sooner? You don't just fucking _leave_. I was wrong, I know that, a low as dirt, shit fucking bastard for not telling you about the demon deal sooner, but you don't…you don't disappear like…like…" Dean didn't know how to finish that sentence, but he didn't get the chance to anyway as Sasha's voice came small and unsteady again from the other line.

"Leave…? Dean…I wouldn't leave. I'd never…never just leave." Sasha sounded so strangely young, like he was crying without tears, like he was trembling, like he was…hurt.

"Sasha? What's going on?" Dean pressed, his heavy emotions falling prey to sudden urgency. Something was definitely wrong.

"Dean…?" Sasha said again, like it was the first time, like he wasn't sure if he was talking to Dean at all and he was terrified, "I…I don't know where I am. I'm so…I'm so tired. Dean…?"

"I'm right here," Dean affirmed, feeling so scared himself now as he lifted his eyes to Sam for some kind of reassurance. Sam's eyes were filled with terror too. "Sasha," Dean said firmly into the phone, "What happened to you? Are you okay?"

There was a long pause, too long for Dean to bear, and then the exhale of breath before someone spoke over the phone was so obviously different and steadier than Sasha that Dean couldn't help feeling panicked. "I'm afraid your friend is a little…unwell," said a new voice, and Dean knew he recognized it but he couldn't place from where.

"Who are you?" Dean growled, so angry now but still scared and everything else besides that he was grinding his teeth hard enough to hurt, "What did you do to Sasha?"

Sam's eyes were wide with that same panic as he leaned across the seats to bring his ear closer to the earpiece of the phone, listening along with Dean with their heads close together.

Five days, Dean kept thinking. Five fucking days.

"That was quite an impressive show you put on for us that night," the voice continued, ignoring Dean's angry questions, "The incubus hasn't been too forthcoming about your brother's powers so I've had to be a little…unfriendly. I've seen enough now from our encounters though to know that Gordon was right."

"Gordon?" Dean repeated like a curse and Sam looked almost nauseous. Then realization struck Dean like a blow to the chest. "Kubrick," he all but snarled. The bastard must have followed them from New York. "If you've laid a finger on Sasha, you sick son of a bitch…"

"Your compassion for monsters really is remarkable, Dean," Kubrick said, "Gordon didn't understand it either. The incubus is alive," he added like an unimportant afterthought, "But I don't have to keep him that way. He means nothing to me anymore."

Dean wanted to strangle Kubrick through the phone for dismissing Sasha like that, like trash to be rid of.

"Sam is what matters now," Kubrick went on, "There was barely a scratch on Gordon's body when I found him, but still, no pulse. Do you really believe, Dean, that there can be any underlying goodness in a creature that can stop a person's heart dead in their chest? Or have you willingly joined ranks with the Devil?"

Wonderful. Dean all but rolled his eyes. The bullshit Kubrick was spewing wasn't worth his time to respond to, and Dean was too angry anyway. "Sasha trusted you once, damn it," Dean spat at the phone, "He wanted to trust you. He's never hurt a human being, not once."

But Kubrick didn't honor Dean's words with a response either. "You've lost your way as an instrument of God—a hunter's true purpose," he said instead, "Deliver your brother to the warehouse on Cargile Street at the edge of town. He is the Adversary. He must be stopped."

Dean was so sick of this, of righteous hunters carrying a crusade against his brother that only ever got innocent people hurt. Still, he growled into the phone, "And Sasha?"

"The incubus will live for as long as he's useful," Kubrick said. Then the line went silent.

Almost instantly the phone dropped from Dean's hand to fall uncaringly between the seats and he dived out the door, leaving it ajar behind him. Dean had used his lock picks earlier to pick grit out of the dashboard's crevices—another mindless distraction—so the tools were still in his pockets.

Dean crouched before the Impala's trunk and set to work. A separate key opened it—one Sasha had in the pocket of Dean's borrowed jeans—but the spare had been lost months ago and Dean still hadn't gotten around to making a new copy. He barely heard Sam's door slam or noticed his brother come up beside him as the lock clicked and he threw the trunk open.

It was all there. Sasha's duffle. The guitar. The extra weapons Sasha had added to their arsenal. Dean hadn't brought any of it inside, a joke since Sasha had teased him about leaving everything in the car. Sasha had used an extra toothbrush, used Bobby's shower things just as Dean had, and wore those ugly orange and black tiger striped pants. It hadn't seemed important. Dean had just assumed Sasha took his things when he left since Sasha had the keys to the car. Sasha wouldn't leave without his things. Sasha wouldn't leave. Dean had just assumed. He never assumed. He knew better than to fucking _assume_.

"I didn't check the trunk. I didn't check the fucking trunk!" Dean reared back and kicked the rear bumper as hard as he could. Then again. Again. _Again_.

"_Dean_."

Dean stopped but he wasn't done seething. It was too much too soon. He couldn't almost lose Sasha twice in one bloody week. "We have to go now," Dean said, looking over at his brother with acidic determination, "_Now_." And Dean was off. He slammed the trunk shut again and turned back towards his driver's side door.

"Dean, hang on!" Sam called after him, rushing around to the passenger side again but speaking over the top of the hood to keep Dean from getting inside just yet, "We're playing right into Kubrick's hands. We should at least wait for Bobby."

"Wait for Bobby?" Dean repeated incredulously. He slammed a hand down on top of the hood, leaving a slight handprint from the snow that continued to fall around them. Dean barely noticed that his arms were slick with flakes. "Bobby's two towns away hauling back a wreck for the scrap yard. He'll be hours and Sasha will be dead by then. Kubrick wants _you_. Sasha's just bait. And bait's expendable," Dean finished softly.

The brothers climbed into the car at the same time, their doors slamming shut with a unified resonance. That sound used to spurn Dean on, but now there was a hollow ache where a third door slam should be.

Dean had grown too used to having his family back. He would not lose one of its members again.

"We have a plan?"

Dean turned the key in the ignition and his baby started with a glorified purr. "Plan? Yeah, I got a plan. Get Sasha. Get out. Don't die. With a whole lot of kill Kubrick in between. Sound good to you?" Dean shifted into gear and peeled out. All of their guns were in the trunk. Dean didn't need a fucking jacket. They were doing this _now_.

"That's your plan?"

"Yep."

"Well, it's childish, vague, and suicidally _stupid_."

A slight difference in Sam's tone gave him away only too easily, and Dean waited for the punch line.

"Good to know you're feeling like yourself again," Sam snarked, smiling sideways at Dean in a valiant attempt to make up for Dean's lack of wisecracking.

Times were too serious to let the tensions win. Dean forced an answering smirk and said, "What can I say, Sammy? I aim to please."

--

They pulled up to the warehouse fifteen minutes later. Dean barely had to look up during the drive; he knew this warehouse, having passed it many times. Bobby had even mentioned interest in buying it on occasion to use the space for extra storage. It was empty and had been for years, meaning that unlike a working warehouse or factory, it was filled with large empty rooms and very few hiding places. Either Kubrick was very stupid or he had this planned out so well he didn't need hiding places.

Dean hated to give the guy any credit but he was pretty sure things had to be the latter. There was no telling what waited for them inside, no guarantee that Sasha was even there, but there was enough incentive that Dean just couldn't care that this was so obviously a trap.

"No," Dean said when Sam made to go around to the other side of the building, "We're not doing that again. Kubrick wants us to split up. He wants you alone. We're going in together."

After barely a moment's pause, Sam nodded. The snow had started coming down harder, still light fluffier flakes with little wind, but it was enough that Dean had to blink several times to see his brother clearly through the curtain of white.

Since there was no chance of taking Kubrick by surprise—the bastard knew they were coming—going through the main doors seemed just as logical as anywhere else. Sam and Dean positioned themselves on either side of those double those, pleased as always that this building was on the edge of town because worrying about people passing and noticing their guns was more than a slight annoyance. Dean had an extra piece tucked in his jeans as well as his ankle blade. He had almost grabbed his shotgun but as satisfying as blowing a whole through Kubrick's chest would be it just wasn't practical.

Like practiced professionals, since really that was what the Winchester brothers were, Sam and Dean stormed inside, guns cocked and steady, their eyes darting like soldiers on the front lines to secure all immediately visible areas. Their assumptions about the building had been right—several large empty rooms with only a handful of leftover metal shelving and stray boxes. The main entrance led right into the largest part of the warehouse with the other rooms leading off elsewhere through closed doors. Those doors posed the most threat but what Sam and Dean couldn't figure out was why the main area, so open and bare, held no sign of Kubrick but did reveal the alarming sight of Sasha in a chair in the middle of the room.

The incubus was slumped forward, tied to the chair, and wonderfully unconscious rather than dead if the heavy breathing was any indication. He looked grimy from five days without a shower, and was still wearing Dean's T-shirt and jeans that didn't fit quite right.

Dean wanted to rush forward, make sure Sasha was okay, untie him, something, but it was too easy. "Where's the trap?" Dean whispered to his brother. They remained nearly shoulder to shoulder or back to back as they moved further into the warehouse. Dean looked up at the ceiling, especially the area above Sasha's head but he couldn't see anything suspicious. The walls were just as bare.

"I don't see anything," Sam whispered back, "You don't think he would have…" Sam glanced at Dean warily and Dean saw Sam's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, "You know, attach a bomb to Sasha's chair or something. Booby trap?"

Great, now Dean was even more anxious. But he didn't think Kubrick seemed the pyrotechnic type, not like Gordon back in that shack when he had set up a bomb for Sam. Besides, the chair looked clean, a simple wooden thing Kubrick probably pulled out of one of the rooms. They could see almost all of it, even with how Sasha was slouched.

Inching closer, eyes and ears still perked to every possible sign of ambush and guns still more than ready to take a shot at anything that moved other than Sasha, Sam and Dean eventually were close enough to be sure that there was no immediate danger. There was some kind of table just behind Sasha. On top of it rested Sam's coat that Sasha had taken and three empty vials that looked like they would have held some of Sasha's normal antidote. That didn't make any sense to Dean, but then neither did the fact that Sasha was breathing when the incubus' arms, neck, and face were covered in cuts Dean could only assume were made by iron.

"Jesus…" Sam breathed, risking a moment to stop his watchfulness of their surroundings and reaching for the hem of Sasha's too short shirt. It rose up a little, Sasha's torso being longer than Dean's, and revealed a trail of more cuts that became more and more visible as Sam lifted the shirt up past Sasha's ribs. "Dean," Sam said imploringly. The cuts were everywhere.

Dean had already untied Sasha's hands from the chair when Sasha gave a sudden start and his eyes fluttered open. Sam pulled his hand back and both brothers crouched on either side of the incubus as he came to. Now that he was untied, Sasha started to slouch further and Dean had to steady him with both hands on his shoulders.

Immediately, Sasha tried to pull away, his face contorting with pain.

"No…st-stay away…" he said, his teeth chattering. Sasha's skin felt ice cold to Dean's touch even though Dean was the one who had just come inside from the snow.

"Sasha, it's okay," Sam said, steadying Sasha on the other side, "It's us. Sam and Dean."

"No," Sasha said again, his eyes barely focusing as they turned to each of the brothers, bloodshot and filled with those awful blue veins. The cuts showed signs of the veins too but only in the immediate areas, not spreading out and joining together the way they should have. "You're…you're not…you're not them. I'm…imagining you again."

Hearing Sasha say that, his voice near tears and so childlike, crushed something in Dean. He had to reassure Sasha somehow, had to be certain that Sasha saw him, really saw him. "Look at me," Dean commanded, pulling Sasha's face towards him and trying to find some recognition in the dim blue eyes, "See, it's Dean. It's not your imagination. I'm right here in front of you."

Blinking wearily at Dean's face, Sasha just shook his head. "No…" he breathed again, "How can Dean…find me? He doesn't know where I am."

"Kubrick told us where to find you," Dean assured Sasha, hating the way Sasha spoke as if Dean wasn't crouched right in front of him, "Do you know where he is?"

Again, Sasha blinked slowly at Dean's face, his expression sagging with fatigue and confusion. "He has a name…?" Sasha said, completely sincere in his delusions.

It was more than clear that Sasha wasn't entirely in his right mind right now and Dean didn't know how to respond to that question, so Sam took on the burden, putting a hand on Sasha's knee to get his attention. "Sasha, you know his name. You know him, remember? He's an old…friend of your dad's." Sam paused understandably on the word 'friend'.

Now Sasha was blinking at Sam and he seemed to be thinking Sam's words over as his mind cleared enough to remember. "Gabriel…" he said slowly, his voice dreamy and far away, "Like the angel."

Dean tried not to choke on the grunt that left him. "Kubrick's no angel, Sasha. Now come on, focus. Where is he? We need to find him and take care of things before we get you out of here."

Sasha's eyes drifted up to the ceiling, a million miles away. "Dean…thinks I left him. But he's the one…who's going to leave…"

That stung. It was too much. Dean grabbed Sasha's face in both hands this time, hating himself for the flinch Sasha gave as Dean touched the cuts there, but unable to stop himself. "Sasha, I'm right here. _Dean_. Touching you with real hands, _my_ hands. You feel that, don't you?" Dean was afraid for a moment that maybe all Sasha could feel was the pain of the cuts.

But then those tired, marred blue eyes were blinking again and Dean saw the spark he had been waiting for. "Dean…?"

Sweet affirmation. "Yeah," Dean grinned, so thankful for that small utterance of Sasha knowing him that he didn't care about all the details right now that didn't make sense, "We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Everything's gonna be okay." Dean knew he sounded patronizing like he was talking to some injured little kid, but that was kind of how things felt right now. Sasha was damaged in some way that dimmed his senses and his thoughts, just as Dean remembered from back in Minnesota the first time he saw those veins. "Do you know where Kubrick is?" Dean tried again, slow and direct.

Sasha shook his head.

"Okay," Sam said, squeezing Sasha's knee that he still had a hold on, "Do you know what he did to you? Are all these cuts from iron?"

Slowly, Sasha started to nod. "Hurts," he said like a whimper, "Everywhere. He didn't…want me to…say I'm Deklin's son. But I am…aren't I?" Sasha's eyes turned imploring and desperate as they looked between the brothers again.

"Of course you are," Sam said, so much better at the comforting tone and assurances than Dean was, "But stay with us, okay? If Kubrick cut you with iron then how are you okay? The poison looks like it's working through your body differently this time. Is it like before, just an alloy?"

Sasha shook his head again. "Real iron," he said, "But…but if we drink the antidote…without putting it on the wound…it…slows it down, but still…still hurts. I can…feel it…under my skin. It hurts so much…"

That was it. Killing Kubrick wasn't good enough anymore. Dean wanted the bastard to suffer. Dean had felt empathy for the vampire woman Gordon tortured with dead man's blood. This was worse. This was a man who looked at Sasha as something of a protégé, as an old friend's son and a good kid. Being an incubus shouldn't have been enough reason for Kubrick to turn against him in such a brutal way.

Dean didn't care about the psychology behind it, that Kubrick probably saw hurting Sasha as a way to kill the truth he couldn't accept, that a good friend had been something other than what he thought. Psychology wasn't an excuse. This was Sasha. And he'd been tortured for five days by someone he should have been able to trust.

"Dean, take Sasha to the car."

Dean gave a start, pulling out of his thoughts to stare at Sam as he processed what had just been said to him. "Excuse me? Were you not listening before when I talked about the no splitting up part to the plan? It's exactly what Kubrick wants. Let's just get out of here."

"No. Don't you understand, Dean?" Sam said, keeping his grip on Sasha to help the incubus stay upright but turning to Dean, "Why do you think Kubrick's playing it this way? He knows it doesn't matter if he's here in this room when we find Sasha. Finding Sasha like this, and with the way things have gone before now, he knows we can't just leave. He knows we'll have to go looking for him, right into the rooms he probably has traps in. And he's right. We have to. We can't just leave again, Dean, and wait for something like this to happen _again_. It needs to end now."

"Back up to the part about him having expected us to do this," Dean countered, "You're right, he almost for certain has those rooms booby trapped or god knows what, and you're just going to play right into his game? I don't want to give him another chance to ambush us later, but damn it, Sam—"

"I'm going, Dean," Sam said, standing up and passing his hand over Sasha's hair so that the incubus looked up at him vaguely, "It's me he wants anyway. He doesn't know everything that I can do. I can use that to my advantage. No alcohol getting in the way this time."

"Sam…"

"Dean, I'm going," Sam said again, turning his head to stare down at Dean with a fierce look that made Dean's throat close up because there was an apology in those eyes too, "_Don't follow me_," Sam said, and with all Dean's strength he wouldn't have been able to even as Sam walked away, gun ready, towards one of the closed doors.

As soon as Sam disappeared into that other room, and thankfully no explosion, sound of gunfire, or other telling horror followed, Dean was able to move and think clearly again. He would have to have a very severe talk with Sam about how he was not allowed to mojo him, god damn it, and really needed to stop doing that.

Determinedly, Dean got to his feet and as carefully as he could he helped Sasha stand up as well. Sasha hissed at the hold Dean had on him, touching cuts that had to sting horribly. Most of the antidote was in the trunk, all of what they knew remained of Sasha's stash, but there wasn't time to attend his many wounds. Sam was willingly walking into a trap and Dean was not going to just allow it.

"He said don't follow," Dean said, not necessarily to Sasha since there was no way to be sure whether or not Sasha even understood what was going on around him, "But that doesn't mean we can't try getting to him through one of the other doors. That's just…exploring. Yeah. I'm not following. Hell, I don't want to find Sam. I want to get to that asshole Kubrick first and ram my gun up his ass." And since none of that was a lie, Dean had no trouble overriding the mojo to let him work his way to the door next to the one Sam had gone through and ready himself for the worst.

"Traps…" Sasha said so lightly Dean barely heard him.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. He looked down at Sasha, slumped against him but at least taking some of the weight despite how obviously difficult it was for him to move. "Hey," Dean said as they reached the door, "I shouldn't have moved you. I should leave you here. You'll be safer here."

"No!" Sasha pleaded in a terrified child's voice, clinging to Dean's waist with his free arm while the other was hoisted around Dean's shoulders, "Don't leave me, Dean…please, don't leave me…"

Dean knew it would be stupid to take Sasha, too much of a burden and hindrance on his own abilities with a taller, larger incubus attached to him, but he just couldn't go against those scared eyes and desperate pleas. "Okay, but then you're gonna have to stay focused for me and help. Can you do that?"

Sasha nodded. Having something to focus on seemed to help his mind stay a little clearer.

"Okay. Okay, then…you keep an eye open in case I miss something, huh? And hey, you know anything about what Kubrick's got set up in here?"

"Something…I think…" Sasha said, searching his memories with obvious difficulty, "Something about…wires…and…weapons…and traps."

Well that was a helpful, Dean thought.

"Devil's traps," Sasha finished, and Dean was certain then that Sasha was still halfway to lala land. But he couldn't leave his friend and he couldn't just let Sam walk willingly to his death either, no matter how strong Sam's powers had grown. This was Kubrick's court now.

"Only one way to know for sure," Dean said, holding Sasha as steady as he could on his left side so that his right hand was free to hold his gun. He opened the door with that hand and then kicked it the rest of the way, peering inside. This place was way too big and way too fucking quiet, but the room looked benign enough. "Come on," he said.

Dean felt like he was in that awful 'Cube' movie, where the people were all trapped in a giant cube with smaller cubes as rooms that had traps you couldn't see until they had you. He kept waiting for something to lash out at him, for acid to spray from the ceiling, or something. But not all of the rooms had to be trapped, and luckily Dean was fairly certain now that this room was safe.

"I think they all connect back somewhere," he said, more to himself again. There were two doors to choose from now, the room otherwise empty, and he made the decision to go left since that was closer to the room Sam had gone through.

This room, finally, had some clutter. Not enough that a grown man could hide, but enough to hide traps. Dean entered more carefully, finding Sasha to be heavier and heavier the further they went, which really wasn't surprising. At least some form of remaining adrenaline was keeping Sasha conscious and able to move his legs.

Dean was staring at the shelving, cluttered with old boxes and random equipment, as he moved forward. He should have been looking at the floor, but thankfully Sasha was because they incubus suddenly called out.

"Stop!"

Dean felt small pressure on the front of his foot and instantly pulled back, just as a gun fired into the wall, barely missing them. "Fuck," Dean breathed, looking down finally to see the trip wire. _Wire_, Sasha had said before. Right. "Good eyes, pal. Probably just saved my life," he smiled at Sasha. But Sasha was sinking down a bit and his eyes were fluttering. "Whoa, you okay? Not hit or something, are you?"

"So…tired," Sasha said, trying to keep his eyes open.

Dean couldn't imagine Sasha had gotten any actual sleep in the past five days. "I know. Just a little longer. Then we'll get back to Bobby's, patch you all up, and we'll all take a vacation somewhere, okay? All of us. Vegas or something, huh? Make some easy money. Lots of food. Big hotel room beds." Dean grinned crookedly at that.

So did Sasha. "Tease," Sasha said in something of a tired hiss.

"You know it," Dean grinned wider. He much preferred having a flirty Sasha to a half-dead delusional one. "Sam's gotta be further through now. We have to catch up. Come on." And Dean dragged Sasha forward, stepping over the wire in case it was set up to fire again somehow, and working further into the room. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary and there was only one door out.

They reached that door and once again Dean turned the knob carefully, and then kicked it open. This next room was dark and it made Dean nervous. There was no way to know what lay inside. Dean entered slowly, trying to keep Sasha blocked by his body somewhat in case anything unexpected came. Dean drug his feet across the floor, testing it for wires. He found one a foot from the door he had just walked through and carefully stepped over it, helping Sasha do the same.

"See, this isn't so bad," Dean said. He could almost make out another door ahead of them already and was more than ready to get out of the dark and find some reassurance that Sam was still okay. "I guess Kubrick's not as good as I—" Dean cut off, feeling slight pressure on his chest this time where he couldn't have thought to watch out for a wire in the dark. Something clicked in the distance and the only thing Dean could think to do was push Sasha down to the ground.

The next thing Dean knew he was flying back to land halfway between this new room and the one they had come from, lying in the doorway with a great searing pain throughout his chest. That wasn't a small firearm he had heard go off. That was a shotgun. The very impractical thing he hadn't brought along himself.

At first Dean thought he must be in shock. There had to be a hole right through his chest and he was already halfway to being dead. But as Dean took slow, pained breaths, he could still feel his chest stinging in several places and he knew that most of it still had to be there. If the shotgun had been positioned far enough away, he would still be in pretty deep shit, but it wouldn't be a gaping hole, just a spattering of pellets imbedded in his skin.

Dean risked a look, staring down his body. There was too much blood already and his hands were shaking as he ripped it away using the holes that had been made. They were small holes, Dean noted, trying to take comfort in that, and when he could finally see his chest it was the same, tiny little holes deep enough that Dean couldn't see the pellets that were stuck there.

He could survive this, that's all Dean cared about. He had to get up, much as it hurt, much as he was bleeding; Sasha and Sam needed him.

Then suddenly Dean felt hands, soft, trembling hands climbing up his body and pressing finally into the wound. "Dean…?" came Sasha's scared little voice, the sight of him following soon after out of the darkness as he scooted into the doorway next to Dean and tried to help stop the bleeding. "No, no…" he chanted, "No, no, no…you can't leave. If you're real…then you can't leave me. Please…"

"I'm real," Dean said, and he wished his voice didn't sound so choked and broken, "And I'm not…going anywhere. We have to…we have to help Sam. You have to help me get up."

Sasha shook his head furiously, despite how slumped his body looked and how tired his eyes still were. "Have to…stop the bleeding. You're hurt."

"I know I'm hurt," Dean said as soothingly as possible, "But we don't have time to…" Dean trailed, staring at Sasha's dirty, too small shirt, that was really Dean's shirt, "Hey, you want to help?" Dean said, thinking surprisingly clearly for just getting shot by a fucking shotgun.

Wounded blue eyes looked at Dean with desperate devotion.

"You can use your shirt…to tie around the wound…and stop the bleeding. You'll have to tear it."

Sasha didn't even pause to think. He lifted his hands from Dean's chest and dug into the cotton of his shirt with sudden claws, tearing it down the middle easily. Dean wondered then why Sasha wasn't in his incubus form completely, since holding the glamours had to take some kind of effort, but he figured whatever was messing with Sasha's brain messed that up a little too, and he didn't question it. Besides, half carrying a full incubus while he was shot would not be any easier than half carrying another guy at full strength.

Dean hissed through his teeth, biting back a cry when Sasha tied the torn T-shirt tight around the wound. It would do well enough until they got the fuck out of here. But they had to move. Too much time had passed already.

Getting to his feet wasn't easy, not when it was like the blind leading the blind with Sasha trying to help him. But stupid as Dean was, a few shotgun pellets were not going to slow him down, not when his brother was still walking into a trap.

Dean knocked the shotgun away when they reached it, propped up in front of the door that led out of the room. There was light peaking through the crack underneath the door, and it was all the encouragement Dean needed.

This next room was brightly lit and much larger again, almost as large as the main area at the front so that Dean knew they had to be clear on the other side of the building now. All of the doors led here, like some fucked up fun house, and to Dean's great pleasure Kubrick was at the center of the maze, waiting patiently in the middle of the room with nothing but a handgun.

Dean may have lost his other gun when he was shot, but he still had one tucked into his jeans and he pulled it just as Kubrick aimed his. Dean didn't care, he would have just fired and been done with it, consequences be damned at this point, if Sam hadn't just then burst forth from one of the other doors.

Kubrick turned on Sam immediately, but naturally Sam had his gun ready too. Dean breathed relief that Sam didn't look like he had met the same fate with a shotgun shell, though the younger Winchester's leg was bleeding a little.

"This couldn't have turned out better if I'd planned it," Kubrick said, amazingly lowing his gun then and casting a smug grin at Dean, "Look for yourself now, Dean. See what Gordon wanted to show you. The truth about your brother." Kubrick turned back to look at Sam, calm as anything.

Hazel eyes met across the room. Dean had no idea what Kubrick was talking about, but then his eyes drifted lower and he saw what was drawn on the floor. In front of every door leading into that final room was a devil's trap. Dean and Sasha were even standing in one.

As Sam glanced down to discover the same thing, that he was standing in the middle of a devil's trap too, it was understandable that he rolled his eyes before directing them back onto Kubrick.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam snarled with an almost laugh attached to it, "When are you people going to get it? I am not a fucking de—" As Sam spoke he walked forward, but his words cut off only too quickly when he met an invisible barrier at the edge of the trap.

Dean felt the air rush out of his lungs.

Kubrick beamed.

"Demon," Kubrick said, as if he was finishing what Sam didn't get to say but in affirmation instead, "I understand, Sam, if even you didn't truly know it until now. Your seeming innocence is what swayed Bobby Singer and so many others, I imagine. But even if you don't want to believe it yourself, you have to see it now. You're not human anymore."

Dean forgot his own wounds, forgot the weight of Sasha at his side, and just walked, kicking the paint of the devil's trap to break the circle in anger as he went, and making it out of his own devil's trap easily with Sasha pulled along after him. His eyes didn't move from Sam's as his brother tried unsuccessfully again and again to leave the trap, every time coming up against that barrier that held him prisoner.

It didn't make sense. Sam wasn't possessed. Dean had seen Sam walk through devil's traps before. Even in Lincoln when they faced the Seven Deadly Sins, surely Sam had passed through several traps when they made them and afterwards. But then Dean couldn't remember if Sam had walked through one when they were in Ohio. In fact, he was fairly certain Sam hadn't gotten close enough to the ones they used. But what had changed? What was different now after all this…

Time. After how much more Sam had used his power everyday.

"You understand now, Dean," Kubrick said as Dean drew closer, unafraid because Dean had lowered his weapon too, staring so much more at Sam, "He is not your brother anymore. His powers taint him, give his soul over to the Devil himself, manifest as man, the Adversary—"

"Shut up," came a low growl, like Dean had never heard from his brother before. Sam's eyes were shimmering, the way Dean remembered from Minneapolis before Sam's TK bent over all of those signs, and from every other time Sam had used his powers with and without complete control.

"You must be stopped," Kubrick said, ignoring Sam's growl and glare as he raised his weapon again to point squarely at Sam's chest.

Dean couldn't move, knew he didn't need to, but still, he did not expect what happened next.

Kubrick cocked the hammer but he didn't fire. Instead, his hand began a slow curve back towards his own temple while Sam's eyes seemed on fire as they stared at Kubrick with death in their gaze.

"You're right," Sam said, his voice too low, too dark, "But not by you."

The gunshot startled Dean, the gore on the wall, the sight of Kubrick falling and then just there, dead on the floor. It was so brutal, so sudden and heartless. Dean couldn't breathe, and he felt Sasha tense and clutch him tighter.

"Dean," called Sam's voice, still low, still dark, but with something else, something that sounded like Sammy, dripping with anguish and apology.

Dean looked at his brother, his brother, Sammy, damn it, even if he _was_ caught in a devil's trap. Those eyes were his brother's eyes, the same eyes as the ones Dean dried when Sam skinned his knees as a kid, the same eyes that glared at him when the teasing went too far, and laughed with him, and looked at him with understanding no one else could ever grasp. Dean knew the words would come before Sam spoke them and he couldn't bear it, couldn't bear that Sam wasn't going to give him a choice.

The words landed like lead on Dean's ears, unforgiving. "Dean," Sam said again, "_Shoot me_."

tbc...

A/N: Ack! I SWEAR the next chapter is not a cliffhanger. Really! Anyway, deangirl1 has made me really want to write that missing scene now, but I still think i'm going to make a contest official. I implore you, dear readers, to try your hands at writing Dean telling Sasha about the deal. You should have enough information now to do well. Please, I know personally that some of you are very good writers, so don't be shy. I'll give you the weekend. Come Monday NIGHT let's say, I'll judge the entries, and the winner can request any scene they went involving the boys and I will write it for them. If I think it fits into the fic, I'll fit it in, and if not, I'll still post as a random scene for everyone's enjoyment. Sound good? Go nuts! deangirl1 has already handed in her entry but can make amendments if she so chooses and send it again.

On a side note, folks, I'm going to be at Anime Detour in Bloomington, MN this weekend if any of you are going. I know this isn't my usual anime crowd for readers, but I figured I'd try my luck anyway. I'll be dressed way too sexy as Ivy from Soul Caliber. My honey says he'll have to beat off the fanboys with a stick. Should be fun! Love you guys!

Crim


	25. Part 2: Mistakes Made

I lied, I didn't fit in a flashback of the Sasha/Dean fight, and I'm fine with that. It just didn't work. Also, the contest for writing the 'Dean tells Sasha' scene has been extended to Sunday to accomodate a new reader. Please feel free to still enter. Remember, I'll write a scene for you of whatever you want between the charcaters, with the potential of it being canon to the story. Anyway, enjoy!

Part 2: Mistakes Made

--

Dean's hand started to lift of its own accord. He still had the gun he had been pointing at Kubrick—hammer ready, fully loaded. Sam's command was extreme enough that Dean retained full consciousness of what he was doing despite having no control over his traitorous limb. It made it so much worse. Dean tried to fight Sam's message of control but Sam's intent had never been stronger.

There were only a few yards separating them. Dean wouldn't miss.

_No_, Dean screamed inside his head, _don't shoot! Stop! It's Sammy!_ But Dean's arm wouldn't listen. It continued to raise, his finger tight on the trigger, the gun leveling and aiming right at Sam's head.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, so sorrowful and obviously Sammy through and through—regardless of any darkness—that Dean knew this was crazy, knew this could never be the answer, devil's trap be damned.

Sam closed his eyes.

Dean's mind-controlled hand squeezed the trigger.

The force of the gun firing made Dean gasp. Or maybe it was the impact of suddenly being on his back, flat on the floor with a too heavy weight on top of him. Dean strained to focus his eyes. His chest was searing and the world wouldn't stop spinning around him. Slowly, he began to make out blue veins and a pale neck that was covered in cuts.

Sasha.

Dean's gun was sandwiched between them. With no other easy or obvious way to stop Dean, the incubus had simply thrown himself on top of him, catching the bullet with his own body.

Distantly, Dean heard Sam calling to them, but right now the last person Dean was in the mood to listen to was his brother. Instead he searched frantically in his brain to remember what bullets were in his gun. They had come here to fight a human; type of bullets weren't a priority. They had just grabbed guns and loaded them.

Silver, Dean told himself, hoping it wasn't just wishful thinking. He thought maybe the bullets in his current gun were silver, and in that case they wouldn't do anything to an incubus.

"Sasha?" Dean said, pushing his friend's body carefully to the side and off of him. That wasn't just for Sasha's benefit either; Dean could hardly move after the aggravation the impact had caused to his wounds. He had completely bled through Sasha's T-shirt and the world was growing hazy. He had to focus. "Sasha?" he said again, lifting up to look down at his friend.

Bloodshot and heavily veined blue eyes blinked up at Dean. The bullet would have gone all the way through but as Dean looked at the wound in Sasha's stomach he saw the skin slowly closing up, leaving Sasha no worse than he had been before.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean choked out.

Sasha pushed himself up a little as well. "Had to…stop you. Can't…can't lose either of you. Can't…just c-can't…"

Dean knew the feeling. He looked up past Sasha to glare at Sam who they were much closer to now. At least Sam looked stricken and ashamed, having finally noticed just how hurt both Sasha and Dean were and staring worriedly at Dean's blood-soaked chest. Sudden movement caught Dean's attention though, and he looked back at Sasha to find the incubus starting to crawl and scramble over to Sam.

"Why…?" Sasha was saying, his face anguished as he moved, speaking furiously to Sam, "Why would you…do that…to Dean? To me? Dean…s-sold his soul for you. How could you…toss your life away…like that means nothing…?"

Everything Dean wanted to say to Sam, Sasha was saying for him, and the words seemed to wound Sam just as much from one of them as from the other. "Why?" Sam repeated bitterly, his face contorting into pained anger again, "_This_ is why!" he said, slamming a fist against the invisible barrier at the edge of the devil's trap, "I thought I could control it…but I was wrong. I had it right in the beginning. It's only a matter of time before…there's no Sam left. There's demon blood in me…I always knew that…and it's winning."

"Demon's…blood?" Sasha said.

He had reached the devil's trap on stumbling feet and finally collapsed inside of it to land against Sam, completely at his body's limit after pushing himself so hard. Sasha looked up at Sam, both clinging to each other for support. Dean could only see Sam's face entirely, and it was twisted with turmoil.

"I have more demon blood in me than you…Sammy."

Dean gasped as Sasha pushed Sam forcefully away from him and fell, barely catching himself with his hands as he hit the ground hard. Immediately, Sasha lifted one arm up and struck out towards the trap's edge. He met the same barrier as Sam had.

At first Dean was confused. He looked over his shoulder at the devil's trap he and Sasha had been in together. The marred paint was clearly visible where Dean had kicked it. He had broken Sasha free from the trap without even realizing.

"S-See…?" drifted over Sasha's small, trembling voice. Dean looked back and saw that Sam had crouched down next to Sasha, the ship-at-sea turmoil in his eyes ever strengthening. "Demon blood…doesn't mean dark," Sasha said, "It doesn't mean…evil. You choose that yourself." Sasha reached out to clutch at Sam again and Dean took in those hurt and pained profiles like a morbid picture. "Unless…you want Dean to shoot me too?"

Sam's eyes clenched tight against Sasha's words and a choked sound left him just as the first few tears streamed down his face. "I'm sorry," Sam said like a deeply held breath, pulling Sasha's fragile body into a fierce, enveloping hug, the two of them crumbled there inside a devil's trap neither could escape, "God, I…I'm so sorry," Sam sobbed again, his hazel eyes opening and lifting to look at Dean and include him as well, pleading silently with those same words.

_Not good enough_, Dean thought, and he hoped his own eyes said that clearly. He struggled to push up onto his feet. His chest was on fire and his steps swayed when he finally began to take them.

Dean approached the trap slowly, a hand pressed into his now freely bleeding wounds through the T-shirt, his gun forgotten. Sam stood up when Dean reached the trap, like he knew, leaving Sasha on the floor. Breaking eye contact only for a moment, Dean released the seal of the trap by kicking his foot through the paint. Then he reared back, and though Sam expected it, though Sam was ready for it, he still looked a little stunned when the blow struck.

Dean punched Sam clear out of the trap on the other side, knocking him back against the frame of the door behind him. "_Never_…pull shit like that on me again," Dean said with a voice like ice. He stepped into the trap, snarling unforgivingly at his brother. "You…don't get to…choose for me. You…you don't…you have…no…" Dean started trailing, feeling the energy falling out of his body suddenly like rain.

Like blood.

The world fell to darkness and Dean cringed as his body hit the floor. Dean shouldn't have even moved from the spot he was first shot at let alone pushed on carrying a friend, and then gone so far as to punch his brother, deserving as Sam had been.

Dean's vision was dark but he was still half-conscious, aware of hands rearranging his limps more comfortably and speaking soothing words. Dean heard both Sam and Sasha's voices drifting in and out around him. "I'm…fine…" he tried to say, but he wasn't sure if it came out loud enough to be heard.

He couldn't be in shock. He wouldn't allow it. He still had to yell at his brother for being a damn idiot and a selfish bastard. Just like big brother, Dean thought dryly, but he didn't care how true that was. He would never shoot Sam. He didn't care. Never, never, _never_. Fuck that long ago promise.

"Sammy…?"

"Dean, it's going to be okay!"

"S-Sam…?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm right here," Sam's voice said, so close Dean imagined he felt his brother's breath on his cheek.

"Y-You're a…f-fucking asshole."

Dean could have sword he heard Sasha laugh strangely at that but it was too far away to be sure. Then the sound went from dim to nothing and Dean welcomed the peace of the first deep sleep he had had in weeks.

But it wasn't deep enough. Time jumped just as Dean remembered from the night Sasha woke up from his coma. Occasionally Dean would wake up enough to be aware of people or places around him, and he tried to keep track, to notice the passage of time, something.

He wasn't in the warehouse anymore, but leaning against a warm body with his baby's leather seats beneath him. It was Sasha's body—Dean could feel the cuts on Sasha's arms as he tried to hold Dean even though he was shivering and so weak. Sam must be driving, Dean thought.

The next thing Dean knew he was being lifted by strange hands and placed on something firm. New, unfamiliar voices drifted in and out of his hearing. Sam brought him to the hospital.

Vaguely, Dean remembered trying to talk to Sam, to find Sam's voice among the strangers, and he told his brother to go back to Sasha, help Sasha, the doctors would take good enough care of Dean. He hoped he actually managed to speak those words, he hoped he had actually said them to Sam, and god damn it, he hoped Sam listened. Doctors couldn't help Sasha; Sam could.

The lights were still out, as Dean liked to think of it, when the nurses or doctors or whoever tried asking him questions. He tried answering them, but doubted he was very successful. After that his next sleep was long and comforting, drug-induced, which Dean didn't mind one bit. When he woke up after that he knew it had been a long time but finally he was able to focus again.

Naturally, the light hurt his eyes a little since he had been in darkness for who knows how long, but the fact that he was opening his eyes at all made it bearable. Dean took stock of everything very slowly. He was indeed in the hospital, a little one since it was South Dakota. It was daylight, sunny even, so Dean knew he had at least slept through the night. He wasn't in pain, which meant he probably had a morphine drip and that was just fine. He had a single room and there weren't any voices. But there was pressure, soft warm, heavy weight that Dean could feel all the way down the left side of his body. Hospital beds were small, but Dean had company anyway.

Dean smiled, moving the fingers of his left hand and finding a T-shirt covered back. Sasha was curled into the crook of his arm, Dean knew that even without the sight of crayola red hair on his chest. How the incubus had managed to snuggle his way into bed with him—on top of the covers, but still—was a mystery Dean didn't mind one bit.

"Can't…believe you don't…hate me," Dean whispered, giving his best attempt to pull Sasha closer in some form of a one armed hug, "I messed…everything up so bad."

"Yeah, you did" came Sasha's voice unexpectedly. Dean had thought the incubus was asleep. "But what kind of friend would I be…if I didn't at least try to forgive you?"

That too red hair moved as Sasha lifted his head and Dean saw beautiful, healed, sparkling blue eyes. Sasha's face looked perfect too, free of any cuts and completely smooth. No scars. Dean was so grateful for that. Not because he wouldn't find Sasha attractive otherwise, but because he would never forgive himself for being the reason Sasha was marred.

It was his fault. All of it was. If only he had told Sasha sooner. If only he hadn't assumed Sasha left and realized instead that Sasha would never just leave. 'If onlys' piled up on Dean everyday but these new ones especially stung.

He loved having Sasha against him, warm and comforting and solid. He loved just having Sasha with him. He loved stealing kisses and being ridiculous together, especially when it annoyed Sam. He loved their conversations. He loved the way Sasha made his family whole again. He loved that night they spent together, the passion and the heat that lingered before everything went to hell. He loved…

He…_loved_…

Dean swallowed deeply, feeling strange, unwelcome tears rising to the surface. He fought them back down, clearing his throat with a strained smile. "Hey," he said, not knowing how else to begin.

Sasha returned the smile and everything about it was peaceful and wonderfully adoring. "Hey," Sasha said back, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot in the chest with a shotgun?"

Sasha snorted. "Funny story about that," he said with a grin.

An answering laugh built in Dean's throat but he knew it would hurt too much to release, regardless of the wonders of morphine. "What about you?" he asked instead. Sasha looked okay, but those cuts had covered every inch of his upper body.

"Good as new," Sasha said with a smile.

Dean didn't buy that for a second, narrowing his eyes to better fish out the truth.

"My whole body aches," Sasha admitted in a breath, "But I'm okay. After Sam got you settled here he came back to the car to help me with the cuts. It took forever and used up most of my remaining stash of antidote, but really I…I'm okay."

It wasn't that Dean didn't believe Sasha, the incubus just sounded so sad, like he was leaving out important details that hurt too much to speak aloud. Dean didn't have to guess what those details were. He knew. "Sasha…I…I know I can't ever make this right, but…if I _could_…everything, telling you about the deal, letting you go that night, thinking you'd left, leaving you to that…that _psycho_…"

"Dean," Sasha interrupted softly, his body still comfortably fitting against Dean's and his head lifted to look at Dean with sorrowful affection, "Can we maybe…skip all this…and get to the making up part?"

Okay, it was highly possible the morphine had gone to Dean's head. "You're not going to yell at me?" he asked, almost entirely serious. He had expected another row. At least a small quarrel.

"Do I need to yell at you?" Sasha said with a quirked smile, though it wasn't really a question because he didn't wait for Dean to answer, "You know you were wrong. I know you're sorry. It's a big, horrible mess and there's nothing we can do about it, but damn it, I'm going to try. I'm not going to let you get away so easily." Sasha's smile twitched and his eyes lowered to the sheets pulled up over Dean's chest. "I've done lonely. I don't want to do it again."

Everyone leaves. Dean had learned that the hard way, and so to protect himself he became one of those people. No attachments. None other than Sammy. And Dad. Okay, so that hadn't worked out too well either. You can't go through life without any attachments, Dean knew that, he knew he could always potentially lose what he loved and hurt all over again. Sasha knew that too and took those same risks.

How much harder had it been for Sasha being an incubus, having to pretend he was happy and charming and desirable when he always knew he would have to leave in the morning and be left with nothing all over again?

Dean wanted to keep apologizing, to say a million 'sorrys' that couldn't ever be enough and hold Sasha tight like this for as long as it took to make everything okay.

Glancing up for a moment, Dean's eyes caught sight of a calendar on the hospital room wall and he couldn't believe where all the checked off days led to. He did the math in his head to make sure, starting with Sasha's birthday, and there was no denying it.

It was Christmas Day.

Fuck, their lives sucked.

"I understand…I understand why you couldn't tell me," Sasha was saying, tears in his voice though Dean couldn't see Sasha's eyes anymore since the incubus had laid his head back down on Dean's chest, "I was just so angry. At the situation, not you. Okay, so maybe I was a little mad at you too," Sasha added with a choked laugh, "But I do understand. I'd have to understand…since those same reasons…are why I've kept something from you."

Wait. What was that? Dean stared at the top of Sasha's red head, wanting to see blue, to understand what Sasha meant, but the incubus didn't move.

"It's nothing looming in the future like the demon deal," Sasha went on, snuggling in closer and tighter to Dean's body, "But I have to tell you. I don't want there to be any more secrets. I don't want to risk screwing this up over stupid things, even though I…I don't know what you'll think of me once you know."

Dean tried to remain calm. Whatever it was, Sasha was probably thinking it was worse than reality. The incubus wasn't quite as much of a drama queen as Sam, but he still had a tendency to blow things out of proportion when something weighed on his conscience. Dean didn't say anything, allowing Sasha to find the courage to say whatever it was and stroking small circles over Sasha's back so the redhead would know he was listening.

"You can't imagine what it was like," Sasha started, "The way my friends…the way everyone looked at me after I said I wanted to be hunter. Shiarra said she wouldn't allow it. People I'd grown up with and known all my life wouldn't even talk to me. I just…I couldn't stand it. I had to get away. I…I ran away."

Something told Dean that this point in time was not when Sasha showed up at Bobby's door, or at any of the other hunters' homes. Whatever Sasha was about to tell him it happened before then.

"I was too young, newly matured. I…I needed to feed."

Dean's breath hitched. He could feel—literally _feel_—Sasha's grief and the inevitability of what Sasha was going to say.

"I'd never fed from a human before. We're supposed to be trained by our guardians after the change to learn how to control ourselves. I thought…I thought I could handle it. She was older, seventeen or eighteen I think. It was my first time other than the change, but not hers. We both wanted it, both needed it. I thought it would be okay. But I couldn't…I couldn't stop. I didn't know how to stop. I…I killed her."

There it was, the punch-line Dean had been waiting for but still didn't want to hear. There was no doubt Sasha was crying now. The incubus was trembling. Dean wanted to erase the whole thing from Sasha's mind, but it didn't change anything he felt for Sasha. Of course it didn't.

"Nothing could have kept me from being a hunter after that. Nothing," Sasha said firmly, even though his words were quivering, "When Aunt Shi found me…she knew. And she knew she couldn't stop me from becoming a hunter anymore, didn't even try. I…I had to be a hunter. I had to protect people from creatures like me."

Suddenly, everything made sense. The sadness ever-present when Sasha's shields were down, it was more than loneliness. And Dean hated it. "You're not like the things we hunt," he said, "You don't think that, do you?"

At last Sasha lifted his head and his eyes shone with wetness, tears staining his pale face. The incubus' answer was clear. "I'm sorry I lied to you," Sasha said, timid, as if he was awaiting some awful blow.

"You didn't lie," Dean replied with a smile, small and pitying as it was, "You've never hurt someone because you _wanted_ to. And if you think you're the only hunter with an innocent's blood on their hands then you're an idiot. It happens. Even when we know what we're doing it happens. Someone else of your kind might have enjoyed it, might have let it take them over. _You_ became a hunter." Dean widened his smile and lifted his free hand to brush the hair back from Sasha's face. "A kickass hunter with sexy eyes and pop culture trivia up the wazoo. My kinda guy."

A laugh got strangled in Sasha's throat on its way out, the tears in his eyes erupting in new streams down his face at the great relief Dean had just given him. He was smiling while he cried, so Dean took it as a success. And then Sasha's hands were on either side of Dean's face and the incubus was desperately kissing him. Dean could barely lift his head but he gave just as good back, seeking out Sasha's tongue for those familiar deep kisses he loved so much.

A few of Sasha's tears fell onto Dean's cheeks and he realized Sasha was crying harder as they kissed. When Sasha finally pulled away with a gasp, he was sobbing the way Dean only did in the shower, open and raw. His forehead fell against Dean's and his blue eyes fluttered closed.

"I love you, Dean," he said on trembling lips, "Please don't leave me."

A shock jolted through Dean's body. Sasha sounded so small and desperate that Dean was reminded of being in the warehouse again when Sasha's mind wasn't all there. Dean knew Sasha meant these words though and that scared him so much he couldn't move. In all the times Sam had pleaded about his need to save Dean from the demon deal Sam had never broken down like this. This love was different. This need was different. Dean didn't know how to deal with it.

The hospital room door opened, permitting a pretty young nurse with a clipboard. Sasha immediately pulled away from Dean and started rubbing at his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the nurse said, her feet faltering as her face filled with blushing embarrassment, "I have to check his vitals," she explained to Sasha, smiling in a way that said they had spoken before. Then she turned to Dean and continued her trek to the bed. "Good to see you're awake, Mr. Einziger. Your brother and uncle are outside talking to the doctor. I'm sure they'll be in soon."

Dean took quick stock of those details. Bobby must be his uncle. But was Dean's name _Dean_ Einziger or something else? Maintaining a con required that he know these things. Dean Winchester did not have heath insurance or any working credit cards.

Gentle fingers pushed into Dean's hair and he felt the weight against his side leaving him. Sasha's eyes were impressively dry when Dean looked up, though some redness still betrayed that the tears had been there. Sasha was smiling again though. Dean knew he could handle anything as long as Sasha still smiled at him. God, he loved the touch of those fingers too.

"I'll go tell Sam and Bobby you're awake, okay, Dean?" Sasha said, giving Dean in one simple sentence the very information he needed. Their first names were all their own. Sasha leaned down to kiss Dean's forehead then and Dean flicked his eyes to the nurse, finding her smiling at them as she busied herself with Dean's chart and machines. "No more _accidents_ like this are ever allowed to happen," Sasha added, giving Dean the other bit of info he needed.

An accident. As good of an excuse as any.

Then Sasha was leaving, walking away, but Dean couldn't bear for them to part just yet. There were so many other things to say.

He managed to snag one of Sasha's hands with his own before the incubus could get too far. Dean's breath hitched when Sasha turned around. Damn those eyes. "We're…we're good, right?" Dean said, unable to muster up anything more than that, not with someone else in the room.

Sasha took Dean's hand and lifted it to his lips, making Dean feel so silly in front of a nurse he normally would have hit on, but he didn't care. Not really. He loved those lips. Owned them, damn it. They were _his_. "Yeah, Dean," Sasha breathed against his fingers, "We're good."

The nurse kept this secretive little smirk on her face the entire time after that while checking Dean's IV, asking how he was feeling, telling him that the doctor would go over more of the details like what medications he would have to take, all that. She was really cute—short black hair, dark brown eyes, a sway to her hips when she moved. Dean liked it all. But there wasn't an ounce of him that wanted to do more than smile charmingly at her and enjoy the pretty little package she made.

To be honest, it kind of creeped Dean out. He was in a relationship and amazingly his wandering eyes weren't wandering.

"You know," the nurse said, Keaton, Dean had discovered, as she made her way to the door, "Your boyfriend's a real sweetheart. Didn't leave your side once, right there with your family. He must really love you."

Dean's first instincts were to correct her on the use of the term 'boyfriend', but really, what could he say? The word still sounded off to Dean but mainly because it didn't seem fitting enough. Sasha was his lover and his family and his best friend. There needed to be a new word to encompass all that, one that didn't make Dean blush or feel stupid, or that sounded as vaguely ridiculous as 'partner'.

But since that new word didn't yet exist, Dean decided not to correct her. He just smiled and nodded his head.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I guess he does. Wouldn't put up with me otherwise, right?"

Keaton laughed. "You're going to be fine, Mr. Einziger," she said as she left, and despite any looming devil deals, Dean believed her.

--

Dealing with Sammy was an entirely different matter. Dean barely looked at his brother when the whole group came in a few minutes after the nurse had left—Sam, Bobby, Sasha, and the doctor. The conversation grew tense when the doctor left because anything Sam said to Dean was ignored, Dean's attention remaining on Sasha and Bobby alone. Dean didn't know if Sam had mentioned to Bobby the little 'shoot me, Dean' stunt he had pulled, but judging by Bobby's confused looks, Dean guessed that was a no.

Sasha was the one who finally pushed things, making up some excuse or another to usher Bobby out of the room with him and leave the brothers alone. Dean wished he had the strength to smack Sam upside the head. He almost risked it anyway. He was still so mad, so disbelieving that Sam had even done that. What had the idiot been thinking?

"Dean, will you at least look at me?" Sam pleaded, moving to the chair Bobby had been sitting in that was right up next to Dean's head, "I was scared, okay, and angry, and I know that's no excuse for what I pulled, but—"

"You're right, it's no excuse," Dean said bitingly, his eyes snapping to Sam's with a sharp edge. Fuck the damn puppy-eyes; Dean wasn't giving in to them this time. "You asked me to promise I'd kill you if I had no other choice, _if_ there was no other way, and against my better judgment, I agreed. That does not give you the right to force my hand with your fucking mind powers! I make the choice, not you. I decide when there's no other way, _not you_."

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said without losing a step, his eyes wet just as Sasha's had been earlier, "Suddenly being trapped like that, in a _devil's trap_, Dean."

"I know."

Sam sat up a little straighter and Dean would swear he saw his brother shiver. "How I killed Kubrick too…I keep thinking about it. How…easy it was. How I didn't even think, I just…" Sam clenched his eyes shut like he could make it all go away if he just didn't look. "It's all so easy. The powers. Using them. Sometimes it scares me so much I just want it all to stop, but I can't. I keep needed them to save you, to save Sasha, to save _people_, and what if that's how they plan to get me? Using my weaknesses against me, forcing me to use my powers until they take me over, and I…I…"

"You idiot," Dean growled, leaning forward painfully and reaching over with his hand full of tubes to grab Sam's arm and force those hazel eyes to look at him, "Sasha got in that devil's trap with you, remember? It doesn't hold evil, it holds things with enough demon blood in them to trigger the seal, that's all."

"I know," Sam said, even though he was shaking his head, "But it didn't work on me before, only now. I've had demon blood in me since the night of the fire, Dean. The Yellow-eyed Demon showed me. Why is it different now? The only explanation is the powers. Using them must…amplify it…just like Kubrick was saying."

Fuck. Now, Dean was really getting angry. He increased his grip on Sam's arm and hoped it was enough to hurt. "Do you think you're the fucking Antichrist? _Do you_? Are you going to believe those freaks just because you're scared? To hell with Sasha being in the trap, think about what he said. You make the choice. Only you can choose to be evil. If the opportunity comes and you choose it willingly…I'll kill you," Dean said evenly, even though he wasn't sure he believed his own words, "But damn it, Sam, I know you never would. Because it isn't in you. So demon blood is. So crazy demonic powers are too. So what? You're still Sammy. You're still Sammy," he said again, softer, gentler, his grip loosening and becoming more like comfort, angry as Dean still was. What more did he need to say to get through to Sam?

At least Sam was nodding now, his eyes still wet but not crying, and when he looked, really finally looked into Dean's eyes, all Dean saw was his little baby brother. "I want to believe that, Dean. I do. And if you're right, if that's really what it is…then I promise I won't choose anything but you."

Dean didn't like the way that sounded. "Sam…"

"I'm going to save you, Dean. I'm sorry I was a selfish idiot. But no matter what happens from this point on, no matter what it takes, I swear I'm going to save you."

That still didn't sit well with Dean. For all the things Dean had ever seen, even recently with all the death and pain lined up in a horrible row, nothing had ever scared Dean quite as much as the way Sam said those words.

No matter what happens. No matter what it takes.

Dean didn't want to think about what that might mean.

--

By the time Bobby and Sasha came back into the room, Sam and Dean were bickering casually like usual, and though it would take a while for Dean to stop being pissed at his brother, Dean, just like Sasha, kind of wanted to skip all the angst and just get to the making up part already.

"Dean, you're crazy. Do you even actually remember what those Christmases were like?" Sam was saying as Bobby and Sasha opened the door, "They weren't fond memories for me, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean couldn't accept that Sam only looked back on Christmas when they were kids as some form of torture or disappointment. He barely even realized that Bobby and Sasha had joined them again. "Okay, so maybe Dad wasn't always with us, and that was a bust, but…_we_ still had fun, yeah?" Unconsciously, Dean brought a hand up to his chest, remembering the Christmas he told Sam their dad was a hunter and then Sam gave him his ever-present pendant. Dean looked down with wide eyes though when he found the pendant wasn't there.

"Oh yeah," came Sasha's voice, and Dean looked up to find Bobby grabbing for a new chair and Sasha standing beside the bed, fishing in his pockets. Sasha smiled. "I took your necklace off in the car yesterday. I think I was still acting on delusions, but I was afraid the hospital would lose it or something. Here." Sasha produced Dean's pendant from his jean pocket and leaned over the bed to place it back on Dean's neck.

Dean took a deep breath while Sasha was close to him, reveling in the scent he had missed so much. It had been dulled, ruined, non-existent when they saved Sasha from the warehouse. Dean wasn't sure if that was just because of lack of shower for five days or if it was something more incubus-based.

"Now you're Dean again," Sasha teased as he pulled back, "And what were you two arguing about? Christmas? Is it even possible to argue about Christmas? I was down south last year on a hunt. Horrible. I need snow. Silly childhood thing I guess. I was so afraid I'd miss Christmas completely this year."

There, Dean knew Sasha would be on his side. "Sam doesn't want to do anything," Dean said, so glad he had someone else to complain to about this, "I mean, I know we can't do much anyway, I'm not exactly in any shape to leave, let alone go caroling and Christmas shopping, okay? But come on," Dean said, turning to Sam again, "You giant Grinch. Everyone's awake and alive on Christmas. That's not a miracle to you?" Dean knew he was being ridiculous, but he figured that was the only way to get Sam to see his point of view. Besides, Sam owed him so much right now, he couldn't believe his brother would hold out much longer.

And just as Dean predicted, Sam looked like he was about to crumble. "Well, what are you expecting, Dean? Us to steal a tree for your room? Sneak in food? We're in a hospital."

"Well there are a bunch of small trees in the lobby," Sasha said thoughtfully, "I doubt they'd miss them."

"That's not what I—"

"And I kind of already snuck in some food. Or rather Keaton did," Sasha admitted, grinning around at everyone, "Nothing big. She has it in the nurse's lounge for us. I'll be right back." Sasha grinned wide at Dean as he left. The guy was too good to be true, Dean thought. But then, no, Sasha wasn't. Sasha had flaws, Dean just didn't care.

"Sasha!" Sam tried to call after the incubus, but Sasha was gone. Sam let out a great sigh but he was smiling, the first honest smile he had worn all day. "It's a wonder I didn't see this thing between you two coming a long time ago," he said, "You think way too much alike."

Dean grunted at that. "_We_ think alike? Yeah, says Dweedle Dum about Dweedle Dee. Babysitting the overemotional angst twins is just what I wanted for Christmas, thank you." Suddenly, Dean remembered Bobby, and how Sam had sort of just said something about how Dean and Sasha were a thing now. He looked over at Bobby and the elder hunter was laughing lightly to himself. "Hey…Bobby, about—"

"I said I didn't need to know, remember?" Bobby said with a smile, understanding easily where Dean had planned to take the conversation, "I have it pretty well figured out on my own anyway. Bit of shock, no lie there, but…the both of you," he said, indicating Sam and Dean, "seem to have found whatever it was you've been missing since John died. Not that I think of Sasha as John's replacement, coz…actually, that would be kind of unsettling. But whatever happiness you boys can find in this life, being hunters and all, by God, you better take it. It's a rare enough thing to even remember what happiness is when you've come this far. Believe me on that."

Oh there was no doubt Dean did. He just didn't want to have to give up any of the happiness he had found recently. He wanted Sam and Sasha and their hunter lives, just without the ticking clock. He didn't want to leave, but he might not have a choice. And that's what he hated most, why he was still angry with Sam even though they had technically made up—having choice taken away from him.

A very human hate, actually.

"So I figured," Sasha began as he came back into the room a few minutes later, all smiles and carrying a white box, "We may not get Christmas dinner, but that doesn't mean we can't have dessert." Sasha grinned, Keaton, the nurse, coming in behind him covertly with paper plates and plastic forks. When Sasha reached the bed, he opened the box to reveal to Dean a very large and fine looking pie. "Blueberry. Always my personal favorite at Christmas. I…had a feeling you'd like that."

If Dean had ever doubted that Sasha was the right man for him—wow, _man_—then he was an idiot. "Dude, you brought me pie? You're amazing," Dean said, so hungry for that pie it hurt. He hadn't had real food in so long again. He really needed to stop letting that happen.

"Aren't there hospital rules or something?" Sam said with a raised eyebrow, looking past Sasha at Keaton.

"Oh, they're not too picky about things like this," she smiled, "Especially at Christmas. There's only a handful of us on staff today anyway. You boys just enjoy."

Dean had to hand it to smaller towns; sometimes that stereotype about people being nicer was very true. He could tell this wasn't homemade pie, but his nurse had still gone to the trouble of picking something up probably Christmas Even night so her patient and his family wouldn't be completely without Christmas festivities. That was going a step beyond, even if Sasha had asked in his more than likely ridiculously charming way.

Still, everything wasn't okay. It just wasn't. It couldn't be when the deal still existed like a guillotine above their heads—all of their heads. Dean wasn't in this alone, not even a little. But that's why they could pretend, at least long enough to mumble out 'Merry Christmas' and enjoy some blueberry pie, because none of them were alone.

Keaton had returned to her rounds and Dean was about ready to request a second piece of that oh so delicious pie when Sasha's cell phone started to ring. The incubus dug the phone out of his pocket, looking a little surprised, since most of the people who called him regularly were all in one room. But then he was smiling and picking up the line. "Hey, Ellen, Merry Christmas," Sasha said brightly.

They hadn't heard from Ellen in a very long time. Although, Dean wouldn't be surprised at all if Ellen called Sasha just for that Merry Christmas. He watched as Sasha listened carefully, enjoying the way Sasha's features twisted and changed and then lit up again.

"Of course we would!" Sasha said with more exuberance than Dean had heard in a while, "Well, it'll have to be a few days, but to be honest a little vacation is just what we need. No, I know we can't slack, I understand. We're more than happy to lend a hand. Yeah, sometimes I can't believe we're still together either," Sasha said, winking at Sam and Dean, "We'll let you know when we leave. Can't wait to see the new place. Have a good Christmas."

"New place?" Dean questioned when Sasha put down the phone.

Sasha was all beaming smiles as he replied. "They've been rebuilding the Roadhouse," he explained, "Jo's back home helping too. Hunters have been passing through to lend a hand, but everyone's been cleared out for a while now and Ellen needs help finishing up a few things. I volunteered us. I know you won't be able to do any heavy lifting, Dean, but you can relax then and Sam and I can help with the fix-it stuff."

"Yeah," Sam said, apparently all over this idea which was a pleasant change from his usual dissenting, "That'll give us a chance to rest up. And some more time to figure out where to go next. I haven't had much luck lately finding any…leads about demon deals," Sam's voice dropped as he steered the conversation unintentionally towards the worst possible topic, "Anyway," he jumped back in, forcing a smile, "It's great hunters will have the Roadhouse back. That could be a lot of help. There are still so many demons on the loose."

"And I can't believe we haven't seen Ellen since the Devil's Gate," Dean said, "Sure you talked to her, Sam, when she gave us that heads up about Sasha, but that's it. I was starting to think she didn't like us anymore," he added with a mostly mocking pout.

"Well she did call _me_," Sasha grinned, "You're just part of the package now. You coming with us, Bobby?" he said, turning to their older counterpart.

Bobby squirmed in his seat. "I think you boys have been enough excitement for me for awhile. You can stay until Dean's ready, of course, then go on ahead without me. Give those Harvelle women my best though. And make sure you call me _before_ things get crazy next time, will ya?"

Dean wanted to say something smart like 'Well if we knew when things would get crazy, we'd avoid them,' but he was distracted by Sasha laughing, loud and easy. Because Dean knew now how well Sasha could pretend that things were okay even when they really weren't, he wasn't sure he believed it.

Sasha's eyes moved over to Dean, sparkling as true and real as Dean could imagine them, and when the laughter faded and all that was left was a somewhat somber but very loving smile, Dean knew he was looking at reality. That expression was real.

"Speaking of the few women in our lives," Sasha said, jumping back into jubilance, "I better give Shi a call. It's Christmas and it has been about a week, not to mention all that's happened since she left us." Sasha took his phone and made to leave the room for a little privacy.

Dean called after him. "Can you maybe leave out the part where it's all my fault. You know, for the sake of my life." Dean had no doubts that Shiarra would dismember him in a heartbeat if she felt he deserved it.

Walking back towards the bed, Sasha reached out and brushed his fingers through Dean's hair again. It was kind of crazy how much Dean liked that. "It wasn't all your fault," Sasha said, "Well, maybe a little of it was. But the blame for most things is pretty even." Dean didn't miss how Sasha's eyes flitted across the bed at Sam. They shared a look of somber understanding and then Sasha's attention was back on Dean. "We're in this together, got that? So stop trying to be the hero. You offend too many people on a regular basis to pull it off anyway." This time the smile on Sasha's face was pure humor and Dean knew that too was real. "And just think," Sasha said as he moved towards the door again, "After you're well enough to leave, we can head to the Roadhouse and have that vacation you promised."

Vacation. Time was short and the bad guys certainly weren't resting, but Dean still liked the sound of that. He smiled at Bobby and even a little at Sam before closing his eyes and laying back comfortably on his pillow.

_Vacation_, he thought again.

"Halleluiah."

tbc...

A/N: See, no cliffie. :-) I told you. Dean's alias, for those who like little jokes, is the name of the lead guitarist from the band Incubus. Couldn't resist. Also, the con went wonderfully, and I have a treat for you all. I had four commissioned drawings done of Sasha, two as an incubus, two as a human. I will let you know when artist #1 posts them so I can direct you there. I'm still tracking down artist two, but if all else fails, I'll just post the pictures somewhere myself. They're wonderful.

More and more people keep coming to me with ideas of alternate scenes they want to write and whatnot. Please, if you ever get the urge to borrow Sasha, you can, just let me know. It's not that I want to give permission, I just want to be able to read it! Thanks so much everyone!

Crim


	26. Part 3: Miscommunication

Part 3: Miscommunication

--

Once Dean was well enough to reflect back on the past few days and the fact that Sasha had tearfully said the words Dean usually dreaded above all others, it was all Dean could think about.

_I love you, Dean._

Dean didn't say those words. Sure, he said them to Sammy, but usually in an offhanded way that made it easier, casual, not all sappy and sentimental. Dean could barely ever remember saying those words to his dad. The one person he thought he was ready to say them to he had told he was a hunter first. Bad idea. Cassie thought he was so crazy that saying 'I love you' probably would have made things worse. It _was_ worse when Dean saw her again. She knew then that Dean wasn't crazy or lying—ghosts and all those creepy crawly things in the night were and are real—but only because she had first hand experience. She had made it pretty clear that their reuniting during that hunt was a one time thing. She said she wouldn't wait for him, and no matter how Dean looked at their relationship after that, he knew it couldn't have been love. Not the kind that conquers all anyway.

But Dean had never wanted that kind of love—real, boundless, rip your soul out, what's the point of living without it _love_. It was scarier than any creature or demon Dean had ever faced. Scarier than realizing he had the hots for a guy for fuck's sake, and an incubus at that. Scarier than...well, _Hell_.

Dean's one consolation in the whole mess, besides the fact that he, his brother, and Sasha were all more or less healthy and alive, was that he was on three different kinds of medication, the combination leaving him numb and very tired. This meant Dean couldn't drive his baby on their way to the Roadhouse, but it also meant Dean could lie down in the backseat the whole time, slipping in and out of drugged-up consciousness. His sleep was dreamless but every so often Sasha and Sam's voices would drift into his hearing to remind him that he was safe and very much not alone. At least for a little longer.

Having long ago given up trying to fight his drowsiness, Dean was happily falling into a deeper, real sleep just about the time his baby's radio suddenly blared all around him.

_Life is a highway  
I wanna ride it all night long_

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean shrieked, jolting upright in the backseat and actually thankful for once that he wasn't any taller since his head did not make hard contact with the ceiling.

Dean glared up at the front seats. It might not have been all that bad if the radio hadn't so obviously been turned up just to wake him and if Sasha and Sam weren't both singing along as loudly as possible. Sasha's voice Dean could handle, enjoyed even, but Sam had no ear for music.

"What the hell? Seriously, what the hell? Be nice to the invalid. I'm _supposed_ to be resting, remember? Freaks…" Dean added with a grumble.

_Through all these cities and all these towns  
It's in my blood and it's all around  
I love you now like I loved you then  
This is the road and these are the hands_

Sasha continued singing along to the radio, his smile blinding through the rearview mirror, while Sam had thankfully stopped and turned to grin back at Dean. "Time for your meds, man," he said, "Had to wake you somehow."

Oh Dean would so get them both back for this later. He rummaged through the bag on the floor, filled with all the things he needed to recover from a shotgun wound. Dean didn't have to ask which meds he was due for this time; his chest ached. Definitely the Vicodin. "Either of you got something to drink?" Dean asked. He had finished off his soda hours ago.

A plastic bottle was pushed back towards Dean and he blinked at it skeptically. "Lipton Green Tea?" Dean read off of Sam's drink of choice, "You're kidding me, right? Could you be more of a girl?"

Sam grimaced and retracted the offered beverage.

Thankfully, Sasha, who had been driving since Dean was last fully awake, produced a bottle of water, still mostly full. "Thanks," Dean said, but he reached a little too far forward to take the bottle and grimaced when his hand finally grasped it, "Fuck. Definitely time for more pain killers. I can take two of these things, right?" Dean was already planning to take at least two as he unscrewed the cap on the Vicodin and started shaking pills out into his hand.

"Yeah, two's fine," Sasha said, finally breaking off from his loud singing somewhere in the second verse, "Might give you a stomach ache though, and you've been complaining enough as it is." Sasha grinned. It seemed the common thing, to tease whoever was most hurt and recovering, because after all they were just hurt, they would be okay, and teasing that person made the possibility of their death seem further away. The fact that the possibility of Dean's death was growing ever closer, however, just seemed to make Sasha and Sam tease him more.

Dean couldn't have been more grateful. "I could still kick your ass if you wanna pull over, smart guy. I've been close to death more times than the both of you combined, I'd bet, and I'm still ticking. Takes more than a shotgun to take down the Dean man." Dean popped the pills in his mouth and took a long swig of Sasha's water. It was still cold. They must have stopped not too long ago and Dean slept through it. It was a good thing Dean wasn't hungry or that he had to pee, or he would have chewed them both out for that. "Where we at?" Dean asked, looking out his baby's window. The landscape wasn't familiar.

Actually, Dean realized, it did look familiar, just not like the route to the Roadhouse.

"Are we in Kansas? We've gone too far."

"New Roadhouse is just over the Missouri boarder," Sasha explained, "Right smack dab in the middle of the country. Ellen didn't think it would be too smart to rebuild the old one in Nebraska. Too many baddies knew the location. Starting fresh, ya know, but still somewhere any hunter might pass through going from one part of the country to another."

Dean nodded vaguely, catching Sam's eyes when the younger Winchester glanced back at him briefly. It was sort of an unspoken rule that they avoided even driving through Kansas unless they had a job there. Too many reminders of a life not lived. Dean assumed Sam had decided not to mention that to Sasha, or maybe Sam had allowed it on purpose. These days they were facing their demons more and more everyday. Hell, they were hunting demons down. Driving through Kansas should be a cakewalk.

They weren't in Kansas for long anyway. The drive from Bobby's only seemed long to Dean because he was still half out of it, but it was really only an eight hour drive total by the time they reached their destination, just outside of Rushville, Missouri, population less than 300. It was four o'clock, plenty of time to get the lowdown on what they were needed for before they would want dinner.

"I'm not imagining this, right?" Dean said as he got out of the car, hating how slow and careful he had to move to avoid cringing. He glanced up at the building. There were only two cars parked visibly, which Dean assumed belonged to Ellen and Jo. "I know I'm hoped up on some of the best drugs around and all, but…is this place really…" Dean just couldn't say it.

So Sam did. "A renovated Bed and Breakfast?" Sam said with some surprise, "Not exact the second coming of the Roadhouse I was expecting."

"I like it," Sasha shrugged, "A little homegrown charm. Hunters don't get that too often. Might be nice." Fiddling with Dean's keys like they belonged to him, Sasha moved to unlock the trunk and grab some of their stuff. Dean hated it when Sam took control of the car like that but he was too tired to give Sasha a hard time. Besides, he sort of liked the whole not having to carry anything in part of being injured. Sasha and Sam would be put to work while they were here; Dean could relax. He hoped the new Roadhouse had cable.

Dean was reminded of the first time they met Ellen and Jo as they entered the building. It was quiet inside with only the natural light spilling in through the windows to illuminate the rooms. He was almost expecting to get ambushed and made a fool of again by Jo with a gun.

Something Dean took some solace in though was that the inside did not resemble a Bed and Breakfast nearly as much as the outside did. The entire front lobby and check in area had been turned into a bar resembling the old one Dean was used to and very much liked. The place was also huge, which meant there were probably tons of useful rooms downstairs for hunters to relax and gather together, as well as places upstairs to sleep.

"Anybody home!" Dean called, walking a little ahead of Sasha and Sam as they piled their stuff next to the door, "Handsome hunters checking in!"

"Hn," came a huff from a doorway to Dean's left, "Could have fooled me."

Arms crossed over her tank top covered chest despite the cold weather outside, Jo Harvelle sauntered into the main area with a smirk. Dean hadn't seen her in a good while, not since Duluth when Meg-possessed Sam almost sliced and diced her. She looked good though, Dean had to admit. Snug fitting jeans, blonde hair gently curling at the ends like usual. Dean was surprised at how she smiled warmly at him until he realized she wasn't looking at him at all.

"I see one handsome face I haven't seen in a while though," Jo said, her tone considerably different as she addressed Sasha, who came around Dean with a beaming smile and dove right into Jo for one of his all encompassing hugs. Jo's smaller size made the young female hunter completely disappear in Sasha's embrace.

"Hey there, Joanna Beth," Sasha greeted, and Dean almost gasped at Sasha's boldness. The only time he had ever heard anyone call Jo by her full name like that was when Ellen was yelling at her. Dean was rightly surprised then when Jo just smiled wider. "How's the prettiest hunter in the pack?" Sasha added.

Dean wasn't really sure why, but his stomach did a few angry flips. Probably the Vicodin kicking in, he thought.

Jo and Sasha pulled out of their friendly hug finally, but Jo kept her hands on Sasha's arms like they were old friends meeting up again after a long hiatus. Dean knew that was kind of the truth. Sasha had mentioned on the road at some point that he only saw Ellen and Jo face to face once or twice a year and only when he absolutely needed to go to the Roadhouse for something. The Roadhouse itself was a dangerous place for Sasha, filled with hunters and all, one of which at any point might have done something or noticed something that could have given Sasha way. But apparently Sasha had made enough of an impression the few times he crossed paths with the Harvelles that Ellen kept pretty regular contact with him over the phone and Jo was always thrilled to see Sasha again.

Dean hadn't pressed for details, afraid he might walk into an explanation of that time Sasha was close to frenzy and had to feed off Ellen, but he got the feeling there was something Sasha hadn't mentioned about his encounters with the Harvelle women. The way Jo's eyes flitted happily over Sasha's face didn't make Dean feel any better about his suspicions either. The one thing he did know for sure was that unlike Ellen, Jo did not know Sasha was an incubus.

"Almost didn't believe it when Mom said who you were working with these days, Mr. I Hunt Alone and Only Alone," Jo teased, glancing briefly past Sasha at Sam and Dean, "Trying to make me jealous? You said you'd rather face the business end of my Mom with a rifle than hunt with _me_."

"That's because I know you'd distract me too much," Sasha replied, "And you know how easily distracted I am." Dean just knew Sasha was smirking all suggestively, even though Sasha's back was to him and he couldn't actually see it. It made Dean's fingers twitch.

"Right," Jo was saying as she pulled her hands away from Sasha finally to cross them over her chest again, "Distracted having to save the poor, defenseless girl from the big baddies, right?"

Dean snorted, remembering the hunt in Philadelphia for H. H. Holmes, America's first serial killer. "Would he be wrong?" Dean couldn't help saying. Aspiring hunter or not, Jo had still needed to be rescued by the Winchesters.

Sharp brown eyes turned on Dean instantly with that impressive glare Dean somehow always forgot Jo was so adept at giving him. "You saying _you've_ never needed a rescue, Dean?" Despite the taunt implied, Jo's words were very serious. It couldn't be forgotten that Jo had probably saved Dean's life after Meg in a Sam suit shot and nearly killed him, leaving him to the mercy of Lake Superior. "Hey, Sam," Jo added, her smile returning.

It should have been more awkward for Sam and Jo to see each other again, it really should have, but Dean had discovered that Sam, being Sam, had called Jo on a number of occasions after his possession to patch things up, even though none of what Meg had done while she was in Sam's body had been anything Sam could control.

Which meant in the long run that the most awkward award once again went to Dean. At least Jo seemed to have gotten over the whole our dad got your dad killed thing.

"Hey, Jo," Sam was saying, walking around Dean just as Sasha had to tentatively go in for a hug. Jo allowed it, though it was obvious that the contact wasn't the most comfortable thing for either of them. "Where's your mom?" Sam asked when he pulled away, "It's been awhile since we've seen her too."

"Working on one of the upstairs rooms," Jo said, "Probably be done soon. I'm sure she heard you pull up. I suppose I could give you all the grand tour," she smiled, even a little at Dean. Dean wasn't really sure why he deserved the mostly cold shoulder routine. It's not like they were a couple or something that had a falling out. It just felt like that.

"Yeah," Dean said, "Let's get a look at this glorified B and B. Gotta admit I had my doubts, but the bar's pretty sweet." It also looked completely finished. The work Ellen needed help with must be on the other rooms or maybe even only upstairs.

Jo led them over to the bar and slipped back behind it, running her hands over the smooth mahogany countertop. Dean liked the stools, red leather tops and all neatly lined up. The three boys each grabbed one next to each other, leaning over the counter as Jo showed them the bar, just as well stocked as the old Roadhouse, of course.

Eventually, Jo brought them around the rest of what had once been a lobby. There were keys for the rooms upstairs but they kept all that front desk-like stuff behind the bar. It seemed fitting that way and Dean wasn't surprised at all how Ellen had designed things. Dean was also pleased to see that the jukebox still existed and had been placed in an easily accessible corner of the bar, but as Jo brought them over towards it he realized that it wasn't the same machine.

"This is the best part," Jo said, smiling as she walked up to the jukebox and started fiddling with what looked like a touch screen. The design of the jukebox otherwise was like most Dean had seen, but this was in the new technology era. It made Dean instinctively scowl. "Works more like a playlist on a laptop," she continued, "You program in the songs and people can just come over and look up the artists or titles they want by typing them in. Holds as much as the newest Ipod. Much more for variety," she added, glancing over her shoulder at Dean, "If you're not the REO Speedwagon type."

Dean might have flinched if that had sounded like a barb, but strangely—thankfully—it didn't. It sounded more like a gentler tease. Dean could handle that. Maybe things weren't as tense between him and Jo as he thought. Dean hoped so. It wasn't that he hadn't ever been interested he just knew how bad of an idea it would have been. Jo was also two years younger than both Sam and Sasha, which made her seem a lot younger than Dean, at least when Dean was searching for excuses.

Shaking his head to get himself to stop thinking so much, Dean smirked back to acknowledge Jo's tease and took it as a good sign that her expression softened.

"Breaking Benjamin?" Sasha said excitingly, leaning over Jo's shoulder to get a peak at the screen. Jo stepped aside to let Sasha have a go at the jukebox and the incubus started typing in a song title. "Trying to be ironic with the hunter crowd, Jo?" Sasha said. Dean peered at the screen and saw the title Sasha was choosing. He had never heard of this Breaking Benjamin group, but the song 'Dance with the Devil' would definitely be ironic in the hunter world.

"The old crowd needs to learn a few tricks now and again. Well," Jo said, smirking at Dean, "The old crowd _and_ Dean. Don't worry, there's plenty of Metallica in the playlist too."

Dean was reminded of why he was happy he only had an annoying little brother to put up with and not any accompanying little sister. Before he could offer any smart remarks of his own though, Sasha's song started playing over the bar's speakers.

_Here I stand, helpless and left for dead_

Definitely an ironic song choice for the hunter crowd.

"Hey, Jo," Sasha smiled, stepping away from the jukebox towards the blonde huntress, "You know what I love about this song?"

Jo raised a wary eyebrow. "What?"

Dean knew that smirk, that 'I have something planned for you and there is no way you are getting out of it' smirk. "It's a waltz," Sasha said, reaching a hand out to take Jo's arm.

"Oh, no," Jo said immediately, backing out of Sasha's reach and almost plowing right into Sam in her haste.

"Come on," Sasha insisted, making chase, "It's been like three years."

"And I'm more than happy with that so keep your mitts to yourself."

"Am I missing something here?" Dean broke in. He always hated inside jokes or anything that left him out of the loop.

Sasha paused in his advance towards Jo and planted hands on his hips. "I passed by the Roadhouse right around Jo's twentieth birthday and taught her how to waltz. We made a deal."

"A deal?" Dean questioned.

"She told me her dad had this special way of making silver bullets, specifically for catching shapeshifters. I asked for the details and she said only if I'd teach her something in return. So I did."

"It was supposed to be something hunt related," Jo complained, obviously still somewhat sore about the whole thing. Dean wasn't surprised. Jo was a pretty little thing, but she was no girlie-girl. He couldn't really imagine her ballroom dancing.

Sasha rolled his eyes. "You didn't specify. Besides, you know you enjoyed it," he smirked, and this time he moved so fast towards Jo that there was no way she could have escaped his grasp. He pulled her close into a dancer's hold, starting the waltz whether she was willing or not, and singing along as the song, some strange but pretty cool cross between metal and a ballad, burst into its chorus.

_Say goodbye,  
As we dance with the devil tonight  
Don't you dare look at him in the eye  
As we dance with the devil tonight  
_  
Dean backed closer to the jukebox and Sam joined him, keeping themselves from being bowled over by the dancing pair. Jo had looked surprised and dissenting at first, but she couldn't seem to resist that remarkable allure Sasha had that somehow made it impossible not to give in to whatever he wanted. Jo was laughing by the time the chorus moved into the second verse, stumbling a few times but keeping up with Sasha fairly well before long.

The incubus looked very at home in a waltz and Dean thought Sasha looked actually a little silly in jeans, a long sleeved T-shirt, and his spare non-leather jacket when the rest of the package had all that elegance Dean remembered from Sasha's aunt. Dean himself could only pull off suave, not elegant.

_I believe in you  
I can show you that I can see right through  
All your empty lies, I won't last long  
In this world so wrong_

_Say goodbye…  
_

In the end, however, irony was why Dean wanted the song to end, not the fact that Sasha and Jo looked so good together dancing. He could see in the way they moved together, laughing, faltering but still graceful, that whatever there was between them it had nothing to do with romance. He couldn't help wondering though if it ever had in the past.

"Waltzing must be part of the incubus handbook," Sam commented in a low whisper, smiling crookedly at Dean, the jukebox wedged between them both as they leaned back against the wall, "You know, all the skills you need to better seduce your newest conquest."

Fucking hilarious, Dean thought. "You think you're funny?" he said without meeting gazes.

"Gotta take those opportunities to drive you crazy when I can," Sam said, as if he knew, and he probably did, that Dean had really strange feelings buzzing around his gut while watching an almost but not-quite old flame and his still a little rocky new flame dancing.

It was no surprise then that as the song left an instrumental section to barrel one last time into the chorus and Sasha and Jo spun around towards one of the doorways practically right into Ellen that Dean felt a grin spread across his face.

That was priceless, made so much more so by the deathly look of motherly disapproval on Ellen's face, and what Dean could only assume were hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expressions on Sasha and Jo. Dean only wished he had a camera to document this for further blackmailing purposes.

"Hey, Ellen," Sasha said, having instantly released Jo as a hand came up to scrub nervously through his hair, "Just testing out that new sound system of yours. Great setup you've got here."

Dean could practically smell the bullshit.

Ellen's arms were crossed over her chest much like Jo's had been, that calculating look on her face that Dean would readily admit scared him. Ellen was very attractive for a woman old enough to have a daughter in her twenties, relatively long brown hair past her shoulders, and well-fit jeans and a long sleeved shirt to compliment her curves. Dean wasn't fooled by attractiveness though; he knew very well just how deadly beautiful could be.

"Really, Ellen, this place is great," Sam came to Sasha and Jo's rescue, pushing from the wall to approach the others a few yards away, "Out of the way but centralized, bigger, places for hunters to sleep. It'll be great to have a place like this around. We're really happy to help you out."

Bullshit indeed. Dean admired Sasha's charm and all, but Sam still won the award for being the best at diffusing a tense situation.

Ellen moved her gaze from Sasha and Jo long enough to nod a welcome. "Sam. Dean," she added as Dean walked up with his brother. Then Ellen turned back to the redhead with raised eyebrows. "Sasha," she said, also by way of greeting, though there was so much subtext implied that Dean was thrilled beyond belief that he hadn't ever been stupid enough to do something like that with Jo. Maybe Ellen was a little overprotective. Well, she _was_. But Dean still never wanted to cross her.

"Mom…" Jo almost started in, but Sasha interrupted to avoid any of the dangerous places that conversation might go.

"Good to see you, Ellen," the incubus said, "I know we're here to be put to work, not to mess around so…what have you got for us? The bar here looks all set."

Since her message of disapproval had been received, Ellen softened—well, as much as Ellen ever softened—and led the group over to one of the tables to sit down. She demanded a little recap of what the boys had been up to, and it surprised them all how easily they told of their hunts after Minnesota up until recent date while still effortlessly leaving out details that would invite too many questions. Gordon and Kubrick were lumped together as crazed hunters that had come after Sam just because of his growing powers, and who had thus ended up dead. Ellen and Jo knew about Sam's powers, to a very small extent, but although the new plural—powers instead of just the visions as a singular power—made Ellen and Jo both stare for a minute, neither pushed for more information.

The most the boys were able to find out in return was that Jo had still been in Duluth until now and that Ellen had been working on the new Roadhouse. There weren't any other hunters around right now, but those who had helped out so far were spreading the word covertly to the other hunters they trusted. If all went well, the Roadhouse would be back to its old self before long.

"Just got some painting and a little hauling down here, and minor construction on a couple of the rooms upstairs," Ellen explained, "Nothing you boys won't be able to handle. Already finished with the electrical and plumbing stuff. Shouldn't need you for more than a few days, though you're welcome to stay as long as you need. Lodging and food's on the house as long as you're still working. Booze you gotta pay for."

Dean snorted. Fair enough. "And—" he started.

"And the recently shot and injured will be on hunting duty," Ellen cut right in.

Dean understandably blanched. "Uhh, what? Hunting duty? Wanna clarify that?"

"It's a raccoon," Jo said, half smirking.

"Possibly a raccoon," Ellen amended, "Something keeps swiping bits of food, stealing small things, moving things about. I wouldn't pay it much mind if it wasn't so constant, and if it wasn't for a few of the more trigger happy and twitchy older hunters. Sounds too much like a haunting when you just give details like that."

"But I saw it," Jo jumped in, "No bigger than a cat, definitely had fur, and more afraid of me than the other way around, believe me. It's a raccoon."

For some reason the more Jo said that the least likely Dean believed it actually was a raccoon. "So I'm playing Animal Control. Great," Dean said, quickly smiling when Ellen gave him a look, "Couldn't be happier to help," he added, even though he had been hoping to spend most of his time on a couch or bed somewhere watching TV.

"Right then," Ellen said, standing up from the table, "Jo honey, you take Sam and Sasha around to the rooms that need work, give them an idea of what they'll be doing. I'll get Dean settled with their rooms."

Jo nodded and led Sam and Sasha out through one of the doors, while Ellen gestured Dean over to the bar. She slipped behind it and pulled out a glass for Dean as he took the same stool he had sat on before.

"Any preference?" she asked.

"Sadly, it's gotta be coke or something," Dean admitted, "Apparently mixing three kinds of meds and alcohol is a bad idea. Who knew."

Ellen raised a single eyebrow, what Dean took to be as close as the woman got most days to laughing. "Pepsi products," she said.

"Dr. Pepper?"

Ellen nodded, filling his glass from the tap and setting it down in front of him, cold and refreshing at least if not the kind of drink Dean was hoping for. "So," Ellen started in as soon as Dean was taking his first swallow, "You seem to have taken finding out Sasha's secret well enough."

Dean choked a little as some of the Dr. Pepper went down the wrong pipe. "What?"

"He wouldn't still be working with you and so at ease about it too if you didn't know. I met the kid right after he started hunting, about seventeen years old only, and he avoided other hunters like the plague on hunts. Only went to them for advice or info on his father, and even that was as brief as he could make it. Guess you and your brother are a bit more enlightened than I thought."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean said, a little offended.

Ellen didn't even blink. "Your father had a run in with an incubus once, years ago, came to the right conclusion but not without the truth smacking him upside the head a few times first. Figured it would take just as much for you, even with that journal you keep. Glad to know I was wrong. Sasha's a good boy, incubus or not."

"Damn straight," Dean said, taking another drink to clear out some of the remaining soda in his windpipe, "Course it's nice to know you're so…_enlightened_ to," Dean said, trying not to smirk as he thought of the other secret he knew.

Bad idea.

Ellen placed both hands on the counter in front of Dean and leaned into his personal space, gauging his expression, Dean imagined, with hard calculating eyes. She seemed to come to a conclusion then and her eyes narrowed into a glare.

"He told you, didn't he," she said, not at all a question.

Shit. Dean had certainly handled that well. "Uhh…maybe," Dean admitted, "But don't be mad at him or anything, it was an accident."

Ellen was seething and rightfully skeptical.

"It just slipped out," Dean defended again, "I'm the one who pressed for more. Not his fault. And no big deal. You probably saved his life."

"And happily too," Ellen said, challenging, just waiting for Dean to say something smartass so she could ream into him, Dean figured, "No point in losing good hunters over stupid things like that. But I swear if Jo catches even the smallest wind of this…" the way Ellen trailed off was more than promising with her threat.

"I know nothing," Dean said with his own ready promise, then under his breath, "Really, really wish I didn't…"

This seemed to appease Ellen well enough but she still looked pretty pissed. Dean just hoped he hadn't gotten Sasha in as much trouble as he thought. Ellen had already looked upset over that whole waltzing thing, innocent as it had been.

Eventually, Ellen was convinced that Dean was not suicidal enough to bring that topic up ever again, and she started explaining to him more about the 'raccoon' problem. They thought it had a nest or something up in the attic. The building didn't have any kind of cellar. Dean was just supposed to set a trap or something and catch the thing. Ellen didn't really care if the creature got caught humanely or not, just so long as it was gone before any other hunters stopped in for a stay.

Jo and the others were back before Ellen had even started talking to Dean about rooms, which was good since Dean wouldn't have been able to carry too many of their things himself anyway, and he certainly didn't want Ellen to have to do it. She was being hospitable enough, all things considered.

The others were chatting amongst themselves as they approached the bar and Ellen asked Dean, "Rooms? Just us right now so you're welcome to each take your own. Sorry we don't have any down here but the stairs shouldn't be too hard on a chest wound. Three rooms then?" she asked, already digging around for keys.

Dean obviously wasn't thinking very clearly, and he would definitely blame his lack of judgment on the medication later, but before he could stop himself the most mutinous possible words left him. "Nah, two's fine," he said. His heart stopped in his chest the same second he spoke, realization hitting him with how odd that sounded, especially considering the look Ellen was giving him, like she thought he was being a smartass after all. "Uhh…"

"Two?" Jo questioned from behind Dean, sliding onto a stool next to him, "Don't you and Sam get sick of each other? Or do I not want an answer to that question," she snarked.

Okay, Dean could totally use the fact that Jo was teasing him and Ellen thought he was goofing around anyway to steer this disaster back on to a safe track. He was joking. Yeah, definitely joking. Only he couldn't think of anything to say right now to make that sound believable.

Then Dean felt an arm slide around his shoulders as Sasha walked up next to his stool on the opposite side of Jo.

"That's not what he means," Sasha said, smile clear in his voice, and Dean could only pray that Sasha was about to save him, "He means one room for Sam…and one for us."

Yep. Dean could die right now. _Right now, God, please._

It wasn't that Dean cared what people thought of him, coz he didn't, and it wasn't that he was ashamed or anything stupid like that, he was just still a little weirded out by how everything had happened, especially with Sasha saying those _words_ before. Sam was one thing. Bobby was one thing. But now the Harvelles too? Dean was still getting used to the idea himself; he was not ready to explain things to others.

"You wanna run that by me again?" Ellen was saying, all stoic-faced like she still wasn't sure if this was an elaborate prank or not.

Dean glanced up at Sasha's face just above his shoulder and the incubus looked down at him, those damn too blue eyes questioning in a way that made Dean feel like a jackass for hoping Sasha would make up some lie just to make things easier on him. "Yeah," Dean found himself saying, still looking up at Sasha, "Just…two rooms." Dean felt his throat close up on him. This was insane. But he kind of didn't want to care.

"Two rooms," Ellen acknowledged, setting two keys on top of the bar's counter with a clink. If she was still skeptical or at all freaked out by this development she didn't let on even a little.

Whatever anxiety Dean was feeling—and there was no doubt he was feeling a lot—it didn't matter nearly as much as the grateful look that appeared on Sasha's face, like Dean had just made his world a little better simply by being honest.

The incubus grabbed the keys from the countertop and tossed one back to Sam, who was very unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk of his own. They started for the door to pick up their things that were still neatly packed in front of it, and Ellen offered to show them upstairs.

Dean felt a little trapped being left alone in the bar with Jo, who he could feel staring at the side of his face while he tried to ignore it, look forward, and drink his Dr. Pepper. He was almost thankful he was recently shot; maybe it meant Jo wouldn't punch him.

"Sasha?" Jo started when she finally began to speak, "You and Sasha?" her voice was unreadable, "You and the young _male_ hunter Sasha Kelly? I'm just clarifying here in case I've, I don't know_, lost my mind_. Dean?"

"What?" Dean said, trying to remain as cryptic of voice as Jo was, "We hit it off, okay?" Dean still wasn't really looking at Jo even though he had turned his head slightly, but even in his periphery he could see the completely flabbergasted look on the girl's face.

"So let me get this straight," Jo went on, "Before, way back whenever when I thought I was getting all these annoyingly mixed signals, I was really picking up on a…whole other frequency. Is that it? Coz at least that would explain a few things."

It dawned on Dean immediately what Jo was implying and his strong machismo kicked in to defend him. "Whoa there, okay? No other frequency. Sorry for any mixed signals, I'll admit, coz I'm an asshole, but I am _not_…I mean…I'm…well…" Shit. Dean kind of got his foot caught in his mouth there with what he was going to say because he was sort of trapped what with the whole sleeping with a guy thing.

"You're not what?" Jo taunted, knowing Dean well enough to understand exactly what juvenile thoughts were racing through his head, "No offence, Dean, but unless you're full of it or this is some really bad joke, what would you call sharing a bed with a hot guy? Male bonding? Maybe in the literal sense…" Jo mumbled loudly, and Dean suddenly realized she was enjoying torturing him, not just purely upset like he had first thought.

Scrutinizing green eyes looked over at Jo, finally, really looking at her and meeting gazes. She _was_ enjoying herself. "You little brat. You already knew." Dean seemed to come to that realization even as he said the words.

Jo shrugged. "Sasha was afraid I'd hate him or something if I found out some other way, so he gave me a call. Like I would hate him over this. Water under the bridge. Maybe bridge over troubled water really, but…I'm fine with it."

Dean tried to process that. "So…Sasha knew about…" Dean didn't really know what to say, so he kind of did a half-assed gesture with his hand motioning between himself and Jo.

She got the drift and rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I might have mentioned you. This was way before you guys all met though, so keep that in mind."

"And…" Dean pressed on, still finding this all a little unsettling, or maybe just weird, "You're okay with it? You don't…care?"

"Why would I?" Jo said with another shrug.

There was something a little haunted in her expression but more like resolve and acceptance than any real sadness. Dean took that as a good thing. She was smiling, she wasn't hitting him, and now the cat was out of the bag with all the people Dean considered his…friends. It made a few things feel a little lighter.

Then Jo was getting up from her stool and she smacked Dean maybe a little too hard on the back so that Dean hissed with the jolt that caused in his chest. "Besides," Jo said, "An incubus has to eat."

Dean sat up instantly straighter, turning back around to watch Jo walk away. Did he just hear her right? "Wait," Dean called after her, "What…?" But Jo didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge him, just disappeared off into one of the other rooms.

Turning back in his stool to his Dr. Pepper, Dean thought about how damn complicated things got when people weren't honest with others about what they did and did not know. He wished he wasn't in for any more surprises like that. Picking up his glass for a long gulp, he also wished that his soda would suddenly turn into something a lot harder, but he doubted any gods or devils—or Heaven forbid, djinns—were listening.

--

After dinner, which somehow managed not to be awkward and was so wonderfully home-cooked that Dean felt better about all things considered, the group split to start in on a few simpler tasks for the evening. Tomorrow would start in Sasha and Sam's more aggressive work, but there was still plenty of hours left in the day to get a few things done. Dean was hoping he could postpone any raccoon hunting until tomorrow, but Ellen pushed an honest to god raccoon trap into his hand before Dean could try and slip off to his room.

Dean wasn't all that tired, even with a few more doses of his various medications in his system, because he had spent the majority of the morning and afternoon sleeping and to be honest he was kind of restless. That didn't mean he wanted to go foraging about in the attic for some damn raccoon though.

The attic was definitely the last place Ellen had thought to renovate. It was dusty, filled with boxes and other storage, and had only one overhead light that was simply a bare bulb activated by a string. Oh, Dean just loved this idea.

The smart thing to do would be to investigate around a little, see if he could find where the raccoon mostly nested—since the thing would more than likely be hiding—and then set up the trap near there. Dean had some scraps of meat in a baggie to use as bait. Part of him just wanted to set up the trap and get the hell back downstairs. His biggest phobia may be flying but he wasn't too keen on tight spaces either, and the attic's ceiling was so low Dean had to crawl.

"Here, kitty, kitty," Dean whispered under his breath. He felt partially degraded as a hunter; he wasn't part of frickin' pest control, he was a warrior, damn it.

Crawling along the floorboards that creaked in ways that made Dean's stomach flip for fear of falling right through the ceiling to the floor below, Dean squinted through the meager light the single bulb offered him. There was definitely a lot more clutter off to Dean's left, so headed over there. It looked like some of the boxes had been arranged into a fort or something. Were raccoons always that ingenuitive?

Dean was almost afraid the raccoon would still be in the nest when he peered over the boxes, and he really didn't feel like getting his face scratched off right now. First inspection showed no creature, thankfully, but Dean was surprised by how otherwise organized the little nest was. There was a blanket, bits of leftover food and wrappers from candy bars, and a little treasure trove of things Dean could definitely imagine were stolen from hunters. What unsettled him the most was the bowie knife he would have been glad to take as his own. There was also a lighter, a watch, a few necklaces Dean assumed were Ellen or Jo's, and various other sparkly metal things that weren't obviously identifiable. At least Dean was sure about one thing—the Harvelles definitely didn't have a ghost.

Well, Jo had said the thing wasn't any bigger than a cat, so regardless of what it was, the raccoon trap would hold it, so Dean set to work getting the trap situated inside the nest. All of his movement unsettled some of the boxes around him though and he gave a great sneeze when too much dust wafted up around him.

It was then that Dean first heard scuffling. He jerked his head to the right and could have sworn he saw something fury scuttle across the floorboards back behind a few of the more distant boxes. At least it _was_ only about the size of a cat, but Dean was positive it didn't have a tail.

"Here…kitty, kitty…" Dean whispered again, a lump in his throat now. He was at a big disadvantage and again, he really didn't want to have his face scratched off any time soon by some rabid fuzz ball. "Don't run, little fella…I'm your friend," Yeah that sounded convincing, "I just wanna play, huh?" Dean carefully finished setting the trap up and left the bag of meat open. If he could just lure the…whatever it was back to the nest, he still had a chance at capturing it.

Dean wasn't sure if it was better to crawl or crouch, but he figured he would be able to see over most of the boxes better if he was on his feet, so he chose the crouching route, having to keep his back curved to avoid hitting the ceiling. It made his chest ache just a little to be scrunched like that, but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Come on, little guy, Ellen may not care what I do with ya, but I promise we'll just go for a little ride out to some nice patch of woods somewhere. You'll love it."

Dean jerked his head to the left this time as he heard scuffling over in another corner. This thing was fast.

"I'm not here to take your stuff or anything," Dean went on, inching in that new direction, "Go ahead and check. All there." Dean felt a little silly for talking like the creature could understand him, but he had always had a way of attributing anthropomorphic characteristics to things, like his car. She was a living breathing being, Dean believed, and definitely understood him.

Suddenly, Dean heard scuffling from behind him, back where the nest was, and there was a large snapping of the cage door. Maybe the thing could understand Dean; it certainly seemed to have taken the bait.

Slowly, Dean snuck his way back over to the boxes that unclosed the nest and peered over. The trap had been triggered all right, but there was no sign of anything fury and cute inside of it. "Damn it," Dean cursed. This thing was good.

Too good really, because Dean barely had time to turn around when he heard scuffling again just behind him, and then the thing was already latched onto his leg and taking a painful bite. Dean cried out and instantly stumbled forward, falling flat to the wooden floor with an eruption of dust as he landed. Dean coughed and gasped heavily but much more form the eruption of pain through his chest than the one of dust around him. Every one of Dean's wounds had been impacted in that fall. He'd be lucky if he hadn't ripped any stitches, and he definitely wouldn't be moving easily for a while. It hurt so much that Dean could barely shove himself over onto his back.

He took painful gasps, his hand ghosting over his shirt, not wanting to actually touch his chest for fear of making the pain worse. Even if he was fine in the long run, he just knew he was going to get yelled at for allowing that to happen. As if he had a choice.

Suddenly, Dean realized that although the creature was no longer biting, there was still something warm clinging tightly to his leg. There was barely enough light to see by but Dean risked a glance down his body. Dimly, Dean could make out large bat-like ears, sharp little teeth formed into a growl, and round beady black eyes. It was almost entirely covered in fur, more the size of a large teddy bear than a cat really, and though Dean couldn't be sure, the grip on his leg made him almost think the thing had opposable thumbs.

"What the fuck!" Dean cried, shaking his leg furiously. The creature scittered off of him then back into the maze of dust and boxes, and Dean immediately scrambled to his feet and painfully made for the pull-down door and ladder. Maybe it was more scared of Dean than the other way around, just like Jo had said, but it sure had been pissed about Dean trying to capture it. And another thing. That was sure as Hell no fucking raccoon.

Great, Dean thought, grimacing as he landed back down on the floor below, so much for a relaxing vacation.

tbc...

A/N: So many points to the person who figures out the creature before its revealed. Hehehe. There's more fun and bonding ahead. This arc might end up being more than five parts, so we'll have to see. The rest of it will still be at the Roadhouse though. Thoughts? Anyone?

NO ONE, not even the person who asked for more time, or people I complained to about for not entering, sent me a Dean tells Sasha chapter other than deangirl1. So you, my dear, who entertains the masses with kisses when I'm not posting has the pleasure of requesting ANYTHING. Go crazy; I'll write it.

Crim


	27. Part 4: Better

Part 4: Better

--

"Ow! Shit! Would you watch what you're doing! Geez," Dean grit his teeth as Sam finished replacing the last few stitches that had ripped when he fell. Sam was good at this stuff usually, but that didn't mean it didn't sting.

"Stop complaining. You move too much," Sam replied roughly, face close to Dean's bare chest as he sewed, "And you're the one who had to go and pull these things. I'm almost done."

Dean grimaced all the way through to the last stitch. He hated that Sam made it sound like he had done this on purpose. "Yeah, coz I asked the evil teddy bear with fangs to attack me. Did you see the bite in my leg?" Dean gestured down to where Sasha had finished disinfecting and cleaning the bite and was now wrapping Dean's ankle in gauze.

There was a snicker from the doorway and Dean turned his head to glare at Jo. Ellen was on the other side of what they called the first aide room for when hunters came in injured. She had gladly offered up supplies and use of the room when Dean came limping down the stairs earlier, blood soaked through his pant leg and a few places on his T-shirt. At least the creature had bitten Dean in the opposite leg from the one Kubrick had grazed with a bullet not long ago.

Currently, Dean was kicked back on what had obviously been a dentist chair before it found its new home. It worked well enough to elevate his leg for Sasha and give Sam easy access to the stitches.

Blessedly, Sasha had finished with Dean's ankle and came up by Dean's head with his next dose of Vicodin and a glass of water. Dean took the lot gratefully. He was so fucking sore. He hated his luck the last few weeks. "Vacation, right?" he winked at Sasha as he downed the drugs.

"Be honest," Sasha smirked back, "Did you really expect anything less?"

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, enjoying Sam's gentler touch now as the younger Winchester placed clean bandages over Dean's wounds. "Nope. And isn't that wrong somehow? Don't we deserve a break from the nasty, bitey things in life? I'll take a haunting any day. Hell, I'd give another few stitches for that thing to have actually been a raccoon."

"What did you say it looked like?" Jo asked, walking a little further into the room.

"Like Gizmo on steroids," Dean grumbled. He didn't want to open his eyes again just yet. The dentist chair came complete with that annoyingly bright light and Sam had been using it to better see by.

"Gizmo?" Jo questioned, "Like Gremlins and Gremlins 2 Gizmo? Cute, fury Chinese creature that sings?"

"More like a gremlin and an ewok had a love child and it isn't happy about it," Dean said. He put a hand over his face and peaked through fingers at Sasha when the incubus laughed. "I'm serious. Doesn't make it any less scary or vicious. Did I mention the opposable thumbs?"

"Several times," said Sam.

"We thought you'd never shut up about it," chimed in Sasha.

Dean grimaced even though the brunt of the pain had finally started to subside. "Okay, you two need to stop tag-teaming me or we're going to have a problem."

"Tag-teaming you, huh?" echoed Jo, "There's an interesting mental picture."

Bright light be damned, Dean's eyes went wide with the horror of _imagining_ that mental picture, against his will of course, and the next thing he knew Sam and Sasha were holding him down as he struggled to get out of the chair.

"It was just a joke," Jo said, rightfully wary.

That may be, but some of Dean's nightmares didn't make it seem in any way funny. "Can I at least throw something at her?" he grumbled at whichever of the men holding him down would listen, even while he was calming down and letting them still him. "Look," Dean said, softening his death glare at least a little towards Jo, "Whatever. Forget it. Can we concentrate on the baby Hellbeast upstairs?"

"Sorry for the trouble this has caused," said Ellen, having only too willingly stayed out of the conversation until now, "If it had been a raccoon I figured you could handle it. Seeing as how this place came with a few things extra besides needing renovation, I say we leave the thing be until morning. It hasn't attacked before, just now after being disturbed. So I'd be willing to bet it'll stay hid tonight. I'd rather we had a fresher start."

Dean wasn't too sure he liked that idea. He doubted he could sleep comfortably knowing that thing was scurrying about somewhere above his head.

Now that Dean was patched up though, he gladly accepted the clean shirt Sasha handed him and painstakingly pulled it over his head. It was like starting from square one when he was first walking around his hospital room. Dean really hated Evil Gizmo right now.

"Sam and I can finish the room we were painting," Sasha said to Ellen as he and Sam helped Dean out of the dentist chair, "Might as well so we're finished with it. It's not too late yet."

Sam nodded. "Sure. But you," he said pointedly to Dean, "are going to sit, rest, and do nothing. At least for the rest of tonight."

Dean almost grumbled that that was what he had hoped he would be doing on this damn vacation of theirs in the first place. He knew better than to throw anything back in Ellen's face though. Besides, if it had been a raccoon, he would have been able to handle it, shotgun wounds be damned.

As Sasha and Sam disappeared once again to the downstairs room they had been painting, Ellen went upstairs to the rooms she was working on and Jo led Dean to one of the other finished rooms—a lounge complete with comfy chairs and a TV. Dean was glad no one was forcing him to bed. He was tired but not sleepy; his adrenaline was still pumping too high for him to be sleepy.

"For the record, I really did think it looked like a raccoon when I saw it," Jo said, helping Dean situate himself in a cushier recliner, something Dean only allowed because he really was that sore, "And I can lay off with the aggravating you thing, you just make it so easy." Jo smirked, hands on her hips as she stood up straight again next to the chair.

"You really are the little sister I _never_ wanted, you know that?" Dean said, but he was smirking now too, "Can you hand me the remote?"

Jo grabbed the TV remote from the too far away coffee table and plopped it into Dean's hand. "Don't get used to this now. Basic cable. With a dew extras," Jo said, "Might have ESPN."

Dean flicked the TV on and started surfing. "Not much of a sport's guy," Dean admitted. Hunting never left much time for that, especially when he was a kid and had to look after Sammy.

"I think we get Sci-Fi," Jo snarked.

But Dean had struck gold on Comedy Central. "I'm good," he said, basking in the genius of 'Airplane' as the stewardess with a guitar knocked the sick kid's IV out. Again. It was the one airplane related movie Dean liked and for obvious reasons.

Suddenly, Lloyd Bridges' character was upside down sniffing glue and Dean was jolting awake. Apparently he had been sleepier than he thought. The movie was almost over.

Dean's chest didn't hurt at all anymore save its usual dull ache, and when Dean put weight on his ankle as he got out of the chair, the expected sting didn't come. Praise Vicodin, Dean thought, even if it did make him a little queasy. Dean shut off the TV. He had to pee and he really wanted to know what the others were up to.

When Dean came out of the downstairs bathroom a few minutes later and wandered into the bar area, he saw Jo hovering by the jukebox pretending to dust or something equally implausible while actually peering into the nearby doorway. Dean looked around her as he approached and saw that the adjoining room was the one Sam and Sasha were painting. Both of them had at some point removed their shirts and were speckled in white and blue paint.

Dean had to smirk. "You are so busted," he whispered beside Jo's head, pleased that even in a weakened state he had been able to sneak up on her.

To her credit, Jo didn't even flinch. "I can't admire a job well done?" she said without turning. It was more than obvious that Jo wasn't talking about the act of painting.

Dean snorted, but any come back he might have been preparing fell from his lips as he got pulled into the scene too. Sam was only too happily forgotten since there was a clearer shot of Sasha from this vantage point anyway. Dean hummed unconsciously.

Bare chest, flecks of paint, the usual low-riding jeans that were snug in all the right places, and the peak of tattoo curling up from below Sasha's waistline. Dean could see the tribal wings too, painted over Sasha's shoulder blades.

Distantly, Jo's voice filtered into Dean's hearing, filled with humor. "Is it the tats or just that he wears his jeans that low?"

"Both," Dean said in a low voice, not thinking. Jo's snickering brought him back to reality though and he raised an eyebrow at her as she turned back to him. "You asked," Dean shrugged. He still felt weird about the whole thing but there was no point in being coy when everybody knew.

"Yeah," Jo nodded, "But the crazy thing is that you had an answer. So tell me," she said, grinning dangerously now and backing up a few steps to lean casually against the jukebox, "Have you slept with him yet?"

Okay, maybe Dean wasn't quite as comfortable with being open about all this as he thought, especially considering how his _uncomfortable_ laugh poured out of him. "Uhh…what?" he managed, blaming the drugs again for how much his voice shook.

"So that's a yes," Jo nodded to herself, "Guess I gotta hand it to him, Sasha has to be good at what he does to get into the pants of a guy like _you_ this quickly."

Dean's defensive shields rose instantly upon hearing that. "Okay, first," he said, still keeping his voice low to avoid alerting the pair in the other room, "If you think four months is quick then you don't know me. And if you think the only thing Sasha's after is a good meal, tasty as I'm sure I am, then you can just…" Dean trailed. Jo was smiling all self-satisfactorily again. Damn it. "You're bullshitting me, aren't you?"

"Again, you make it so easy," Jo smiled, "Besides, I gotta mess with you. If you didn't get all defensive about this stuff, I'd worry you didn't really care about him. Guess you do." Jo's humor-filled expression turned sincere and Dean realized that even though Jo and Sasha rarely saw each other, she was being the good girl friend to her potentially vulnerable guy friend. He kind of had to respect that.

"So what about you?" Dean said, since he also couldn't help being curious, "Any unresolved issues I need to know about between you two?"

Jo laughed a little, uncomfortably, Dean thought, _maybe_. Although maybe Dean was just imagining things. "I hesitate to even call us friends sometimes," Jo said, "Despite the sociable guy act, he keeps to himself most of the time and is so private that I hardly feel I know him at all."

"You know enough to know he's an incubus, which he _doesn't_ know, by the way. And that didn't answer my question."

The smile on Jo's face was pure guarded confidence. "I foresee no love shapes in your future, Dean. Sasha and I have nothing…_unresolved_." Jo said that last word slowly, lingering on it like a tease. She was really too good at this.

"Wait," Dean said, realizing he still wasn't getting a straight answer, "Does that mean you had things _resolved_ once? Coz I—"

"Hey, guys!" Jo called into the other room suddenly, successfully cutting off any further prodding from Dean, "How about I grab the lowly slaves some drinks? Requests?"

Dean gave Jo's smug smile a glare that promised all kinds of torture they both knew he would never carry out. Dean wondered though if he could justify pranking the huntress sometime and had to smirk at the thought. She'd never see it coming.

Jo slipped around Dean closer to the doorway as Sam and Sasha called back their grateful orders. It was one of the larger rooms they had been painting, another lounge or something Dean assumed, which was probably why Ellen hadn't gotten to it yet.

"Any kind of soda is fine," Sam said, "Thanks."

"Same," said Sasha, "But not diet. Thanks, Jo."

Sasha was finishing the last of the walls with dusty blue paint while Sam was on a ladder finishing a corner of the ceiling with white. Anyone else might not have noticed, but Dean had seen the incubus fatigued one too many times. Sasha blinked tiredly before returning to his wall, and even swayed a little on his feet.

Dean frowned. That couldn't be good. Was Sasha pushing himself too hard? Dean wasn't the only one in need of recovery, after all. It was just easier to forget when Sasha's visible wounds were gone.

"Dean," Jo said, a little impatiently, "I asked if you wanted anything."

"I'm…I'm fine," Dean said, focused too much on Sasha.

"Okay," Jo replied with some exasperation. Then she was gone and Dean went straight into the almost finished room, rustling the plastic tarp as he walked over it.

"It's all still a little wet, Dean," Sam called down, "Be careful."

Dean barely even acknowledged Sam as he passed him, heading straight for Sasha. The incubus turned back to Dean as he approached, smiling warmly, but Dean could see the strain in it. Why hadn't he noticed before?

Glad that the two painters were on opposite sides of the room, Dean kept his voice low anyway.

"Dude, you look about ready to keel over. What's up?"

"Huh? What do you mean? I'm fine."

Dean had grown too used to watching Sasha to buy that; he saw how the blue eyes widened before they became dismissive. "I thought we decided to grow out of lying to each other," Dean said evenly. He knew that particular way of putting it would award him a pained look, but at least he'd get closer to hearing the truth.

"I…I'm just tired," Sasha said, and he did look it, but Dean knew there was more to it than just that and he was pretty sure he knew what it was too.

"Sammy!" Dean called over his shoulder, "I'm borrowing this guy for awhile, okay?" Dean grabbed Sasha by the arm then, took the incubus' paintbrush and tossed it down into the tarp, and hauled Sasha out the nearest doorway into an empty hall.

Sam's amused reply of, "Didn't need to know that!" followed after them but Dean wasn't listening.

The sheer ease with which Dean forcibly moved Sasha proved how much something had to be wrong with him. Dean even managed to push Sasha up against the wall, staring accusingly into a surprised face who's blue eyes were just a little too dim. "Kubrick's stunt did more than just hurt you, didn't it? It drained you. Are you putting off feeding again because of me?" There, Dean had said it.

Sasha's guilty and anguished expression said it was the right guess too. How the incubus had managed to hide this for so long, Dean had no idea. "I…I'm sorry, I…I didn't think it was that serious," Sasha said, "It's not serious. Really."

"Really?" Dean echoed skeptically. He stepped into Sasha's space, a hair left between their bodies, and grazed the fingers of his right hand along the skin at the waistline of Sasha's jeans, all the way around to touch the dip in Sasha's lower back.

The incubus growled low in his throat, staring back hungrily at Dean as his eyes flickered red and then back to blue.

"Yeah," Dean said, pulling his hand away and taking a step back, "You're fine."

The lustful haze faded from Sasha's face, replaced by more guilt, more anguish, and fumbling, moving lips that couldn't seem to form words.

Dean formed some first. "Were you gonna say anything? Or just wait until you'd gotten so crazy we'd have to put you down."

That got a different reaction. Sasha's face twisted into a snarl, angry, which Dean decided was much better than grief. "Do you think I'd let it get that bad? Of course I wouldn't. I had it under control. Just being around you helps." Sasha's voice and expression softened again, but Dean didn't understand what the incubus meant. "It's not quite like being a kid when all you need to survive is affection," Sasha explained, "But it takes the edge off."

Oh. Dean understood then. Even now, just by being near Dean, Sasha's eyes looked brighter again. They had been apart for hours today, on and off, when before they had been pretty much joined at the hip. Was Dean's presence really that essential to the incubus? How much more _affection_ did Dean offer Sasha compared to the others that cared for him, like Sam? Dean didn't want to think too hard on that just yet.

Besides, he couldn't let this slide, not what Sasha had done. It was dangerous. Stupid.

"I still don't get why you didn't tell me. I'm not broken. Or did you fail to notice the full range of motion? Still fully functional over here," Dean said with something of a smirk, even though saying it made his stomach do a few flips again.

The one reaction Dean did not expect to his words was for Sasha to grimace, but that's the reaction he got.

"What?" Dean pressed. He was fairly certain he was still attractive. More so even what with the being kicked while he was down thing recently, all hurt and vulnerable.

Sasha shook his head, seemingly trying to look anywhere but at Dean. "I hate that," he all but growled, enough that Dean almost took another step back, "I don't want…damn it. I don't want you feeling…_obligated_." Sasha said the words like a curse, as if he believed Dean thought of him like a chore or something. "Kind of takes the fun out of it, ya know?" Sasha added with a sour smile, eyes drawn finally to the floor.

Well that was just plain stupid, Dean thought, par for the course with this guy lately. "You think I feel obligated? Me? Dean Winchester? You do know who you're dealing with here, right? Coz besides the part where I'm a huge fan of sex," Dean pushed on before Sasha could say anything, "And I am. With good reason too, since I like to think I'm pretty good at it. I. Do not. Do anything out of obligation. Ever. Ask Sammy. I'm sure he'll tell you in detail."

"Dean," Sasha said in exasperation, "I know you're not half as comfortable with all this as you've been pretending. We've only been together once. I can feel your emotions, remember? There's still uncertainty there."

Dean couldn't deny that but he wouldn't just come out and admit it either. "If you hadn't noticed, I've been trying pretty damn hard over here to be okay with how crazy all this is. For you."

"For me," Sasha echoed with a sad smile, "I know. And you can't imagine how grateful I am, Dean. I never thought you'd look at me the way you do now. I just don't want anything to spoil this, that's all."

"Me either. Why do you think my subconscious got us a room together," Dean said lightly, "Coz yeah, half the time I'm still a little freaked, but I'm trying. Because I want to. Because, God only knows why, I like this. All of this. So will you stop being stupid, definitely stop sulking, and for fuck's sake, give me a break from the Lifetime movie of the week, huh? Sammy gets that. It's about time you did too."

The hodgepodge of emotions on Sasha's face melted to pure amusement, with maybe a little of that lust returning too. "No more Lifetime movie of the week," Sasha nodded, "So…should we shoot for something more in the higher up channels then?"

Dean gave a sideways grin. He knew what was on the higher up channels. "You know you're gonna have to be gentle with me, right? I'm all weak and defenseless." Dean waggled an eyebrow. It helped, being flirty in his more normal way like this. He liked the heated look it brought to Sasha's eyes too.

"So we call it a night after I'm done painting?" Sasha suggested.

"Get your ass back in there then," Dean said.

Sasha pushed from the wall but he didn't immediately head back into the room. First he dipped his head, a wide grin on his face, and brushed their lips together. No more than brushed though, so feathery light that it made Dean shiver. He forgot how much he missed that until a few days passed without it. Dean tried to lean into the kiss to deepen it, his tongue pleading for entrance with light flicks along Sasha's lips, when there was a sudden clicking noise and a contained giggle from down the hall.

Slowly, simultaneously, Dean and Sasha pulled their heads apart and turned towards those incriminating noises.

Not attempting to hide her treachery in the least, Jo stood a few yards away with her camera phone pointed in their direction. "You know," she said, "I could post this anywhere online and I'd probably get more hits than Wikipedia."

Wiki-what, Dean thought. He couldn't believe Jo had just done that. She was so dead. "Gimme that phone!" Dean called, uncaring to his wounds or fatigue as he broke into a run and chased a laughing Jo back into the bar area, "Damn it, Jo!" Dean gasped soon after. He had to stop before catching up with her, sore in too many places to ignore the pain for long.

There was no doubt in Dean's mind now; Jo would definitely pay for this tomorrow.

--

It wasn't more than a half an hour later that Sam and Sasha were both finished painting. They would let the room dry overnight and worry about the tarp in the morning. For now they were all exhausted.

Dean accepted Jo's compromise of not killing her if he got a look at the picture, though she refused to delete it. "Evidential proof," she had said. Dean did have to admit that the picture was pretty hot too, but it wouldn't stop him from plotting something of the huntress' demise later, even if she had been kind enough to forward the picture to his phone.

Sam and Sasha, both still shirtless and paint speckled, were enjoying another Jo offered drink before calling it good and heading up to bed. Jo had been organizing the liquor for some time, and it was believed that Ellen must have gone to bed since they hadn't seen any sign of her in awhile. With his companions all more or less occupied then, Dean made his way to the jukebox.

"You break it you…" Jo trailed, tilting her head, "Actually, Mom will just kill you. So have fun." Jo flashed Dean a smile before disappearing under the counter again, and continuing the conversation she had been having with Sam and Sasha.

Dean resented the idea that he couldn't handle new age technology. He just wasn't very fond of it, or used it all that much aside from his own camera phone and the wonders of Google. Besides, it was a touch screen. He couldn't break it. Peering at the screen then, Dean considered his choices a moment before even attempted a search. He felt like something fun. Then it clicked. Just so long as this hunk of junk had the Blue Swede version and not just the B. J. Thomas or—God forbid—REO Speedwagon.

A grin spread over Dean's face as he found what he was looking for and clicked the song title, the familiar acapella part he loved so much sounding gloriously over the speakers.

From back at the bar, Dean heard Jo laugh. "Of course you'd like _this_ version," she said.

"It's not 'Hooked on a Feeling' without the Ouga Chakas," Dean said in his defense, and then proceeded to bob his head to the music and sing along as the first verse began.

_I can't stop this feeling  
Deep inside of me.  
Girl, you just don't realize  
What you do to me.  
_

Dean started advancing on the bar again towards Sam and Sasha's stools, both of whom looked variously amused, Sammy more so in the embarrassed of his older brother way of course. Dean continued bobbing his head and singing loudly, mock-dancing as well as best he could in his current state of injured.

_When you hold me  
In your arms so tight,  
You let me know,  
Everythings alright, ahahah_

Sasha joined Dean as the song broke into its chorus.

_I'm hooked on a feeling,  
I'm high on believing,  
That your in love with me._

Actually singing the lyrics reminded Dean of what those lyrics were and he almost tripped over the words singing the last of that. Sasha looked so genuinely happy though, and not because of any signals getting crossed but because Dean was getting them to goof around and finally, really relax. Dean decided to go with that and grabbed both brother and friend by the arms, almost causing Sam to drop his drink, and pulling them out onto the floor.

Sasha got the message and more than happily started moving his hips to the music and gesturing Dean closer. Dean didn't generally dance in front of people, but considering this particular crowd, he figured what the hell. Sam was more reluctant and looked unsurprisingly awkward until Jo came out from behind the bar and grabbed his hand.

_All the good love, when we're all alone  
Keep it up girl, yeah you turn me on._

Loosening up wasn't something Sam did anymore often than he danced, but Dean saw the genuine smile on Sam's face as he spun Jo around in a twirl. Sasha surprised Dean then as warm hands rested just at the side of Dean's hips and the incubus danced his own hips closer. Dean looked away from Sam and Jo to meet brilliant blue and he had to smile. They deserved to be ridiculous more often. All of them. And if none of the others were going to instigate things then Dean would always more than willingly pick up the slack.

A loud laugh broke free from Sasha and Dean realized his friend was looking over at Sam as Sasquach attempted to dance. Sasha's hands left Dean's hips and the redhead danced his way over to Sam then, getting between the taller Winchester and Jo and grabbing Sam's hips instead. Sam looked so startled, Dean had to laugh, watching as Sasha tried to get across to Sam that moving your hips and dancing to the beat should not look like you're having a spasm.

In turn, Jo and Dean danced their way over to each other, and Dean gave Jo a twirl just as Sam had. Soon, all of them were laughing as the chorus repeated yet again, Sam especially what with Sasha's attentions on him, and it wasn't really clear or important who was dancing with whom before long. At one point Dean even grabbed Sam's hand and spun him around, calling over the music, "You even twirl like a girl," to which Sam scowled and immediately spun Dean to twirl right into Sasha, who gladly caught him.

Dean was trying to decide if he wanted to go throw on another song, the music dimming as 'Hooked on a Feeling' faded out, when someone cleared their throat loudly from one of the doorways and all of them stopped.

Apparently, Ellen hadn't quite made it to bed quite yet, or maybe she had and had just been disturbed, because Dean was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a robe the last time he saw her. Oops.

Bed time was unanimously announced, along with plans to all get up early and hunt for Dean's creature feature before moving on to anything else. Heading up the stairs, Dean felt a little sore again, but he had been careful while dancing to avoid any further aggravation. He never just danced. He certainly had never danced anywhere near his brother other than to be annoying. It felt kind of good.

"You okay?" Sasha asked as they neared their room. It was across the hall from Sam's and the younger Winchester had already gone on ahead to take a shower before going to bed.

"Sure," Dean said, "Not too much strain just moving your hips."

Sasha grinned dangerously and suddenly had Dean backed up against their door. "Good. That's just what I wanted you to say."

A shiver jolted down Dean's body. Even his last dose of drugs for the night wouldn't put him to sleep just yet. They scrambled inside and as much as Dean knew how they both were pretty damn close to attacking each other, Dean also knew he had to be conscientious of his wounds. Sasha also wanted to take a shower to remove himself of sweat and remaining paint, so not much more than a few long, heated kisses passed between them before Sasha disappeared.

Dean was grateful each room had a bathroom, which often wasn't true of B & B's. Maybe Ellen had added some. She had mentioned working on the plumbing. Otherwise the rooms were fairly small, just enough for a queen sized bed, not a king, and a closet and dresser. Dean liked it though. Felt like he was staying in a real bedroom in a way and not just another random, endless stream of hotels.

It took Dean some time to remove himself of his shirt and jeans, leaving just his boxer briefs. He was glad his wounds had been recently treated so that he didn't have to clean them again tonight. None of his bandages had bled through since Sam reapplied them. Dean's ankle didn't feel too bad either, like maybe he had just been bitten by a raccoon after all and thankfully not a rabid one. Dean knew better, of course, but he didn't want to think about Evil Gizmo right now.

Dean had to admit he did feel a little groggy lying back on the bed, but then Sasha came out of the bathroom in a towel. Just a towel. The incubus' hair was wet too and it clung to his cheeks and forehead a little. Sasha looked flush from the hot water and his heated look fit on his face perfectly. Dean didn't even have time—or desire really—to protest before Sasha came straight for him on the bed just as he was, clad in only a towel.

Of course it was a very damp towel and Dean grabbed the spot where Sasha had folded it closed as the incubus leaned over him for a kiss. "Dude, you're all soggy," Dean managed around mouthfuls of Sasha, "Lemme help with that." Dean couldn't help put grin within their lip-locking as he tugged the corner of the towel free and tore it from Sasha to the floor. Dean had been looking forward to this. That within itself was kind of freaky, and Dean wasn't oblivious to that at all, but he just couldn't care, not when everything Sasha did to him, every kiss, every touch, felt so damn good.

Dean had been lying on top of the covers and Sasha was crouched over him now, a knee on either side of Dean's hips with telling heat that pressed against Dean's thigh and twitched as they kissed. Dean hated that their chests were so far apart though and he reached his arms around Sasha's back to pull the redhead down.

Thankfully, realization hit Dean before he could complete the act. "Damn it," Dean cursed.

"What?" Sasha asked.

Dean looked up into the blue eyes staring down at him, so bright, so beautiful. "I wanted to…" Dean ran his hands over Sasha's back and raised his hips a little to express what he meant.

A chuckle fell from Sasha's lips. "We can work around it," he said, touching a hand to Dean's chest gently and tracing his fingers over the bandages, "Besides, I have plans for you, Mr. Winchester. I want you to enjoy yourself. So lie back…and let me do all the work."

"That sounds kinda naughty," Dean said, his eagerness returning, "You're not going to tie me to the bed, are you?" Dean asked then. He had this weird thing about being bound. He didn't really like it. But he had always wondered what it might be like in a safer, sexual environment. It surprised him most days that he hadn't already tried it.

Sasha's grin widened. "We'll add that to the list. Just not tonight."

"List?" Dean parroted.

"All the things I want to do to you, Dean, just can't possibly happen in one night. But I'll get to them all eventually. You can count on it." Sasha sealed his promise with a sudden, deep kiss that pressed Dean's head back into the pillow. Dean thought maybe he felt the hint of fangs and it made a growl build in _his_ throat for a change. Yeah, he was definitely a freak.

Once Sasha pulled from their kiss, he started a trail down Dean's jaw and down his neck where he worked his way back up again to Dean's ear and lapped slowly at the cartilage. Dean shivered. His ears had always been a sensitive spot. He didn't doubt Sasha would find all of them either.

Then Sasha kept going, back down Dean's neck to his collarbone, tracing a wet trail the way Dean remembered from one of his dreams when the images were still sweet. Unconsciously, Dean's chest lifted up towards Sasha in some vain attempt to get closer and Dean's wounds suddenly pressed hard against firm muscle. Dean instantly hissed and fell back flat to the bed.

"Don't do that then," Sasha said humorously.

"Like I can help it," Dean growled. He just wanted to be closer. He hated that there had to be a barrier between them.

"Don't worry, Dean. Just leave it to me," Sasha promised, and yeah, that sounded naughty, dirty really, and Dean loved it. Maybe being injured wasn't all that bad if he got this kind of attention.

Dean hissed again, this time because Sasha had almost viciously attacked a nipple but still held back just enough to make it that wonderful feeling right between pleasure and pain. Dean should have known Sasha would like it rough sometimes. It was kind of a given. And thank god, Dean thought, coz as much as he hated to give any credit to that first, horrible dream of his involving Sasha, he really did like it rough too.

After some time, Sasha continued his descent and Dean started to figure out where this would eventually lead. It made the heat pooling in his gut boil a little hotter. Sasha's lips, those soft, wonderful lips on Dean's skin was such a promising tease. They trailed down Dean's stomach to his hips, kissing, licking, nipping at the bone and obviously wanting to go lower if not for that other barrier.

"What are you, a goodfella?" Sasha teased, staring at the pattern of Dean's shorts.

Okay, Dean had to admit, they did kind of look like pinstriped boxers. They were just black with thin white stripes. Dean liked them. "Well if they bother you so much…" he said in a leading tone, smirking.

Sasha returned the smirk, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He had already tugged Dean's shorts down a little while he was toying around Dean's hips, but they really needed to go. Dean almost laughed at how Sasha had to lift the elastic band up over his erection, and then the shorts were down Dean's legs and gone, with Sasha's lips returning to where they had left off on Dean's hips.

The way Sasha kissed and nipped again further down to Dean's thighs, Dean couldn't' help bucking his hips a little. It was such a damn tease how close Sasha was when Dean obviously knew the intended plan. Sasha knew he knew too, because the incubus kept glancing up, looking all pleased with himself for putting Dean through this torture.

Of course that torture was nothing compared to what Sasha really had planned. Dean's eyes had been closed as Sasha took another playful bite at his inner thigh, but they sprang open very quickly when Dean felt a wet tongue start at the base of his cock and lick all the way up to the tip. Dean moaned. That was just evil.

Even more evil was how Sasha started trailing up Dean's body again instead of concentrating on the prize, kissing and nipping once more up Dean's stomach, to another nipple and then biting. Again, Dean hissed, but not just from the bite. As Sasha traveled further up Dean's body, Dean's cock in turn dragged along Sasha's chest, sending little tremors down to Dean's feet. Dean knew that every single part of this was planned, on purpose, and that just made him harder.

"You're evil…" Dean gasped as Sasha bit sharply into his neck right at the pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

"You love it," Sasha whispered back when he pulled away.

"You're also a tease."

"Ah, but I deliver, so you can't really complain."

Dean thought about that. "True. But I'll sure as hell start complaining if you don't get back to it." Dean lifted his hips a little to stress his point and his erection brushed past Sasha's, the brief friction and heat making Dean gasp. He was pleased to hear an equally surprised gasp leave Sasha.

A devilish look overtook Sasha's features then and Dean grinned, knowing what he was in for and more than willing. Sasha kissed down Dean's body again, faster this time, his nips briefer but harder until he reached coarse hair and lifted his head up.

Looking down his body, Dean could see how close Sasha's lips were to being just on him and something like a whine left his throat before he could stop it. That was the meanest possible tease. As a guy Sasha had to know that.

It was Sasha's tongue that swiped out first, not his lips, licking just around the head. Yeah, the incubus was definitely going to be the death of Dean. Poetic really, Dean thought. He gasped then as those lips finally descended to join Sasha's skilled tongue and Dean pressed his head back into the pillow, his hips subtly arching into the feeling of hot, wet, and wonderful. Sasha didn't just go at it, bobbing for a quick end like Dean was usually used to. Instead, the incubus took Dean deep into the back of his throat only to pull completely away, and then run his hand over where his mouth had been, pumping lightly. Occasionally, he would just lick Dean's full length, the head, and then take Dean completely again before repeated the whole process. It was wonderful torture.

Dean's whole body was trembling by the time Sasha slithered back up to Dean's lips and kissed him hard. Dean had had no release, left weeping and pulsing, so totally driven mad that he would have done anything Sasha asked just then. But Sasha didn't ask. He just whispered against Dean's lips, "I love you," and stared adoringly into Dean's eyes.

The pleasure Dean had been feeling choked in his throat. "Don't say that," he said before he could think about how awful a comeback that was.

Sasha didn't look devastated though, just confused. "Why not?" he said, "Dean, I'm not going to get angry if you don't say it back. I understand. I do. Besides, I can feel you. I don't need you to say it back."

"Yes, you do," Dean said miserably, hating that he was spoiling the moment but unable to stop himself from speaking on, "The person who says it always needs to hear it said back. It's a fucking rule or something. I'm just a jackass."

"Well…yeah," Sasha agreed with a grin, "But I can wait. I can wait for however much time it takes you, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to dissent but Sasha pushed on.

"And don't you dare say we don't have time. We do. I'll make sure of it. I'll _make_ the time. No demon is ever going to lay their hands on you, Dean. That's my job," he added with another smirk, "If you still want me."

That wasn't even a question anymore, and that Dean could say easily. "I want you," he said, as heartfelt as if he had said the other words, the harder meaningful ones, "I want you _now_," Dean stressed, accentuating that with another buck of his hips, just wanting to get passed this now and back to where things made sense for him.

Sasha, too wonderful and more than Dean ever deserved, just smiled, licked his lips again, and started to shift a knee between Dean's legs.

Bells went off in Dean's head immediately. Dean hadn't really thought about positions while under the administrations of an incubus' lips and tongue, but now it had been made quite clear that Sasha planned to switch things up from last time. That was only…fair, Dean told himself. He had just never done _that_ before.

"Okay, so just so you know," Dean found himself saying in that awful panicked voice he hated so much, "Girls have…played around down there and everything, and I've always enjoyed it, but a tongue or a finger…not the same thing as what you're planning."

"No," Sasha said slowly, his eyes heavy lidded, "Definitely not the same. Just relax, Dean," he said as he situated himself between Dean's legs and kissed Dean gently on the cheek, "You can trust me. You do trust me, right?"

Dean told himself to calm down. _Just calm down, this is Sasha._ "Yeah. I trust you."

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

It was just how Dean remembered and imagined things at first, a coaxing finger, wet from Sasha's mouth and gently stretching. Dean wasn't lying when he said he liked the way that felt when a girl did it and knew what she was doing. He knew there were lots of nerves in there, knew there obviously had to be a reason gay men enjoyed what they did and woman allowed straight men to have sex with them that way too. It didn't have to be scary. It wasn't _scary_. It was just the damn machismo telling Dean that he was a man, damn it, and no one was allowed to do this!

"Relax," Sasha said again, more than likely reading Dean's anxiety like an open book, "There's no such thing as bad sex with an incubus, ya know," he added teasingly.

Dean had to smile. He didn't doubt that. And the more he relaxed, the better it felt, those nerves being touched and pressed and stretched. Sasha knew what he was doing, to the point where Dean barely realized there were two fingers until he arched unconsciously to bring Sasha in deeper. Dean was still so hard, unsatisfied, and his body tingled from over sensation. He had to wonder if Sasha was helping things along at all with pheromones. Dean couldn't say he'd mind all that much, as long as they were always the normal kind.

Moans were spilling from Dean's throat before he knew what was happening. It freaked Dean a little that he welcomed a third finger when it finally came, and that he kind of longed for the finale. If this felt good, slow and careful as Sasha was being, then it could only get better.

"Sasha…" Dean mewled, just as he remembered from Sasha when it was Dean doing this to him, "Please, damn it, just…_please_." Dean never begged. Never. But with Sasha it didn't make him feel like anything less than himself.

"Do you know what hearing you say that does to me…?"

Especially considering how much Dean knew it would drive Sasha crazy.

"Dean," Sasha breathed, staring hungrily down at Dean's body and then back up to Dean's eyes. It was asking permission, want, need, and admiration all in one.

Dean nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. He wanted to watch Sasha's expression, wanted to lose himself in how Sasha lost himself in Dean, and it worked. There was a slight sting at the difference in pressure, but Sasha was careful, slow, and the relief and ecstasy on Sasha's face was enough to make Dean forget about pain anywhere on his body. He just wished he could pull Sasha closer, right into his body, into _him_.

Remembering how good it had felt the other way around, Dean lifted his legs and wrapped them around Sasha's back as the incubus started thrusting. Some glorious place inside of Dean was struck and he saw stars for a minute, unable to do anything but moan into Sasha's movements. Sex always felt good but this was different. Not just the sensation itself since Dean had never been any man's bottom before, but because of something else. Something so hot and wonderful that Dean knew what it was immediately since he remembered this feeling from that hallway in Minnesota when all he had done was touch Sasha's hand.

"You…you're doing something to me…" Dean gasped.

"I thought that was…obvious," Sasha replied with a grin, his lips trembling as he hovered over Dean, careful not to pull too close and meet their chests together.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, "Cheating," he finished, one hand tight on Sasha's shoulder while the other pointed accusingly in Sasha's face.

Sasha bit his lip like a guilty child. "It's not really cheating if it's my nature," he said, "I didn't want to…scare you before. I wanted the first time…to be normal. But I don't want to hold back with you, Dean. I always hold back with others, but not you. I want you to feel this. What I feel. Everything you make me feel. I want you to know. I want you apart of this with me."

The circuit, Dean realized. Sasha wasn't just feeding from Dean and being particularly skillful in the fucking department, he was channeling the feeding back to Dean, opening the circuit for Dean to feel too. It had brought Dean to his knees once before, but this was so different. He was in the circuit at the same time as he was feeling it bounced back to him, literally feeling Sasha's hands, Sasha's thrusts, Sasha's loving kiss pressed into his forehead, but also feeling waves of pleasure in a way only Sasha could feel. Of course an incubus or succubus would hold this back normally; an unaware human would have been able to tell something was wrong and probably would have screamed about drugs in the water.

But Dean knew what Sasha was. Sasha didn't have to pretend. Sasha didn't have to hold back. It was so all-consuming, growing within Dean as their climaxes built upon each other, that there was nothing but constant pure sexual energy traveling through Dean and making him ache for more.

His hips moved up into Sasha's, his heels digging into Sasha's back just as Sasha had done to him and pulling them more deeply together. Sasha's kisses felt like fire, his hands blazing over Dean's body too, and the heat between them where their bodies connected—_fuck_. It was almost too much. Dean was moaning and gasping every other second, lost in the whole thing.

And he loved it. Because it was Sasha. Him and Sasha caught in this circuit that gave Sasha life and made Dean quiver. God, yes, Dean loved it. He loved…he…_loved_…

Dean felt blinded as he came, paralyzed. The sensations were still running through him as Sasha built to his own end and finally came as well. Dean was shaking when Sasha pulled out of him, pulled away, and grabbed the towel from the floor to wipe them both clean. Even the touch of the towel made Dean shiver a little. He was still overly sensitized. He wondered how long it would take for him to come down from whatever high this was.

"Just give it a few minutes," Sasha said close beside Dean's ear, "I'm sure it's a little jarring. I've never done that with anyone before. Was it too much? Was it okay?"

At first Dean didn't quite understand why Sasha sounded small and worried. Maybe Dean would have liked a slight warning but he sure as hell wasn't going to be upset with the incubus for giving him the most amazing sexual experience of his life. "Too much?" Dean questioned, "Well…I don't think I can feel my feet, but…that was pretty fucking incredible. I think I might implode if you do that every time though. Just so you know."

Wonderfully, Sasha's laughter responded and Dean started to come back to himself enough to feel the bed beneath him again and see that Sasha was lying next to him, propped up to look down at him with those vivid blue eyes. "Liking your vacation better now, Dean?" the incubus asked, since he had been reassured that everything was definitely okay between them.

Dean reached a hand up to grab the back of Sasha's neck and pull the incubus down into a slow kiss. "Definitely…better."

tbc...

A/N: YAY! And the best part is the next chapter will start with them waking up together. They deserve that, huh? I'm too tired to write anything else, I'd forget things, so I'll just tell you guys to check out my website through my author profile. It is now linked to the "Incubus" website, and has pictures of Sasha and tons of other things to enjoy. I'll work on it more and more as time allows. Love you!

Crim


	28. Part 5: Best Laid Plans

Part 5: Best Laid Plans

--

Dean woke with distinctive heat and weight all along his right side, including the presence of an arm, long and possessive as it clung to him like a child clung to a teddy bear. At least the arm lay across Dean's stomach and not his chest where the wounds were still sore. The body next to Dean was snuggled in tight though, scrunched smaller and shorter than it actually was.

"Personal space, Sammy," Dean mumbled, groggy and blurry of vision still as he turned to the figure in bed with him and gave a half-hearted push.

The body stirred and Dean suddenly realized that he was blinking at strikingly red hair and soon locked tired gazes with bright blue eyes. "Did you just call me Sam?" Sasha asked in a sleep-roughened voice, his expression bearing a crooked smile, "Is there something you need to tell me Dean," he joked.

Yesterday rushed back to the front of Dean's mind, last night especially, and Dean realized how strangely tingly his body felt, not surprisingly either. He kind of liked it actually.

Dean also felt absolutely ridiculous for thinking Sasha was Sam, but he couldn't help grinning anyway. Much better than waking up to his brother and definitely better than waking up alone.

"First off, gross," Dean said, his voice also rough from sleep, "And second, there are two reasons why I hate sharing a bed with Sammy. He either kicks or he snuggles, neither of which I want anything to do with."

Sasha's face fell into an almost pout and he started sliding his arm across Dean's stomach to pull it away.

"From _Sam_," Dean explained, grabbing Sasha's hand before it could get too far, trapped warm and firm right on Dean's belly, "You kick me though and you're sleeping on the floor."

A laugh spilled from Sasha's lips to replace his look of disappointment, and he slid his arm back around Dean's stomach, holding tight. "I told you once before, Dean. I'd never kick you out of bed. I still think it was funny when Sam did though."

"I know there's a reason I put up with you," Dean said, mock thoughtful, "What is it again…?"

As if to answer that query, Sasha slithered closer and fit his face between Dean's jaw and shoulder, kissing Dean's neck softly just below his right ear.

Dean shivered. "Oh yeah…" he said as if just remembering, "That's why."

"Are you saying you only love me for the sex?"

"It certainly helps."

Sasha laughed again. "Jerk."

There was something strangely fitting about the two most important people in Dean's life both calling him that like an endearment. "That's me, baby," Dean said, enjoying the warmth of Sasha against him, especially now that he knew it wasn't just a clingy Sam, "Good to know everyone's reached a consensus on that one."

Sasha was silent for a few moments, his fingers trailing lazily up and down Dean's side. Finally, he said, "Should I take it as a good sign that you're lumping me in with your car?" His voice was humor-filled but also serious.

It took Dean a moment to understand what Sasha meant. _Baby_. He had only called Sasha that once before and equally unintentionally. At the time Dean had blamed it on the endorphin rush of making out in the backseat of the Impala—easily dismissible and understandable; he could have been talking about the _car_ after all. This time Dean didn't have those same excuses.

Adjusting himself to better face Sasha, the incubus being on his stomach with his arm draped over Dean, a smile quirked on Dean's lips as he met blue eyes again.

"Well, Red, what should I call ya? Coz 'honey' and 'sweetie' just ain't happening."

Once again Sasha laughed, but when he spoke there was that edge of seriousness. "You told me once that the Impala was like home for you. _Sammy_ is too, right?"

Dean caught Sasha's drift fairly easily; he nicknamed the things that mattered most to him. Always had. Made them feel closer. _His_. "And an incubus makes three," he said softly, "Funny how that doesn't seem so weird really."

Light filled Sasha's eyes immediately because that was exactly what the incubus wanted to hear and Dean was wholly sincere in saying it.

Then, not surprisingly, Sasha was pressing his lips to Dean's, a relatively chaste kiss what with both their mouths probably tasting like sour sleep right now. It carried all the right emotions though and Dean lifted a hand to trail along the arm thrown over his stomach, finally reaching Sasha's back where he clung.

Sasha shifted onto his side but he wouldn't let Dean pull their bodies too close together, still wary of Dean's wounds. So Dean just held Sasha as close as he could. When their lips parted, Dean kept his eyes closed. They had to be closed for this.

"Sasha…" Dean said like an exhaled breath, "I _do_, you know? It's crazy and scary and…a shit ton of other things, but…I do."

Sasha's breath was warm on Dean's face. "I know you do, Dean."

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, and there was so much—Dean had to admit it—_love_ there that it made Dean's whole body feel hot under the covers.

A sudden knock at the door made Dean jump though and he almost growled he was so mad to be interrupted yet again. There really was some cosmic conspiracy against him. Had to be.

Dean only managed to see the too beautiful look of bliss on Sasha's face quickly vanishing before the door started to open, whoever was on the other side not bothering to wait for a response before entering.

"You two decent?" preceded Jo's far too chipper voice for however early in the morning it was. Her head peaked around the door before she entered fully. "Guess not," she smirked, eyeing the pair in the bed, "But Mom's calling for us to be early risers. No pun intended," she added.

Dean was almost certain that if he had been wearing something more than skin underneath the concealing comfort of the covers he would already be killing Jo with his bare hands. "I swear to God, Jo," he said dangerously, sitting up but keeping a hand on the blankets to make sure they didn't fall too far down, "If you pull out that camera phone again I _will_ chase you butt naked down the hallway."

Naturally, Jo just smirked. "Tempting as that is…I _was_ sent to wake you up. Can't kill the messenger."

"Wanna bet," Dean grumbled.

Jo ignored him, as well as Sasha's muffled laugh. "Five minutes," she said, "Then breakfast, briefing, and hunting down your furry little friend, Dean. Up and at 'em." Jo spun on her heel then and went back out the door, presumably to wake up Sam next since Dean dimly heard new knocking after she left.

"What time is it?" Sasha asked, arching his back in a stretch as he sat up next to Dean.

Dean grabbed his watch off the smaller dresser that worked as a nightstand and groaned. "Too fucking early. I can still take my drugs though, right?"

"Sore?"

"Not too bad," Dean shrugged, "But you're not keeping me out of this hunt. I owe that thing."

Apparently, Dean must have sounded serious something fierce, because Sasha held up his hands mock defensively. "Wouldn't even try to stop you, Dean. But you better take it easy. I don't want to replace any more stitches or wrap any new places in bandages, okay? At least for a little while." There was a touch of sadness in the inevitability of those words. Eventually, someone always got hurt.

"Just call me Wolverine," Dean smirked, wanting to fall back into the bliss of this so called vacation of theirs for as long as he could, "I've been hurt and considered dead so many times, it's almost a joke. Yet here I stand, err…sit. Now I'm gonna hop in the shower and redress these things," Dean said, gesturing to his bandages, "If I go over five minutes and Ellen comes up here to kill me, tell Sammy I left _you_ the Impala. You'll appreciate it more." Dean winked while Sasha full out laughed, long and glorious this time, and then Dean climbed out of bed and moved slowly for the bathroom.

"Dean," came Sasha's gentler voice just before Dean reached the door.

Looking back, Dean could hardly miss how Sasha's eyes raked over every inch of his naked body. It was highly possible Dean blushed then and clear down to his toes too; Sasha's eyes were just so damn penetrating.

"I don't suppose you want company?" Sasha all but purred.

_Fuck_, that was a hot idea. Dean bit his lip thinking about it too, but he wanted to be healed more for something like that. He had to be too careful yet with his wounds as it was. "We'd never get downstairs in five minutes that way," he said, "Rain check?"

"I'll hold you to that."

Dean didn't doubt that at all. "And hey," Dean said, suddenly remembering, "I don't suppose you wanna help me get Jo back later? You know, for all the meddling and interruptions?"

Sasha was climbing out of bed himself now, all perfect unmarred pale skin save the scar over his heart that Dean kind of thought of as his. His scar. His heart. _His_. It was a sobering thought. And of course there were those fully revealed tattoos. Dean decided that the clover on Sasha's ass was his favorite. Definitely.

So enthralled with looking at Sasha, Dean almost didn't realize when the incubus answered him.

"Sure. But how do you mean?" Sasha said.

Dean snapped back to himself and allowed a notably sinister smile. "You know how Sammy and I were telling you about all those pranks we pull on each other?"

--

It was a wonder to Dean why Ellen wasn't a hunter out in the field; the woman definitely knew how to organize a party. But then that's what she did—got everyone else together to figure things out while maintaining a safe haven for them to return to. Really, Dean couldn't complain about that. It was kind of eerie though how taking Ellen's lead kind of felt like hunting with Dad. Dean had to stop himself from saying, "Yes, sir!" more than once.

They had originally split into three teams that planned to systematically raid the attic, hopefully herding the creature towards the center where they could then surround and finally kill or capture the thing. But it became apparent almost immediately that Evil Gizmo wasn't at home.

Each armed with a firearm, various types of metal weapons, and one person in each group hanging on to what Dean joked looked like butterfly nets, they split up once again to cover the entire building. The women were together, then Sam and Dean, and Sasha was alone. Dean didn't exactly like the idea of anyone being by themselves but he knew it helped them cover more ground.

"You know Sasha's gonna find it first," Dean commented as he and Sam took on the job of checking the kitchen pantry, one of the more likely places for the thing to be when not up in the attic.

"What makes you say that?" Sam said.

"The person at the most disadvantage always runs into the bad guy first. That's why you're not supposed to go anywhere alone in horror movies. Quickest way to end up dead. Didn't you watch Halloween?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam peaked his head around a corner of the shelving; it was a very large pantry. "I vaguely remember being held down and forced to watch it when we were kids, yeah."

"So you see my point," Dean stressed.

"Well Sasha has had a lot of sex," Sam smirked back at him, "That's one of the horror movie cardinal sins, right? Geez, how the hell have _you_ managed this long?"

Very funny. Dean was about to make some snappy comment about how of course the _virgin_ would say that since they're the one who always survives the horror movie, when there was a rustling from the corner and Sam jumped instinctively back beside Dean. They both positioned their guns—silent, waiting. Sam had the net ready in his off hand, but Dean really wanted to just kill the thing.

"There!" Sam shouted as a blur of fur, rounder but no larger than a tomcat, rushed towards their feet.

By the time Dean had a clear shot he would have been picking off his own toes more likely than hitting the creature. It scurried between Dean's legs and Sam thwapped Dean's in the shins with the net trying to catch it. Their momentum was all off and the space was too tight. Even trying to move unbalanced the brothers and suddenly Dean was falling. He landed hard on his back with barely enough time to flinch at how Sam would soon be on top of him.

That more painful impact never came though, Sam having managed to shoot his arms out and catch himself with hands braced on either side of Dean's head. _That_ would have hurt.

"Nice reflexes," Dean gasped out; falling to the floor like that had still hurt a little. So much for thinking horror movie rules applied to real life.

"Sorry," Sam grimaced. Dean assumed he meant for the net and how that was pretty much the catalyst for their tumble.

"Forget it," Dean said, "Where'd Gizmo go?"

Sam looked up past Dean back towards the entrance. "Out. Come on," he said, getting to his feet and helping Dean back onto his feet as well, "Damn, this guy's fast."

"Told you," Dean grumbled as they raced back out into the kitchen. At least now Dean wasn't the only one who had been made to look like a fool.

"Over there!" they heard Jo yell from out in the hallway. Sam and Dean immediately picked up their pace.

"It's too fast! Shoot!" Ellen called just as Sam and Dean burst out into the main hallway. Dean saw the ball of fluff skitter across the floor right for the stairs, probably hoping to escape back up into the attic somehow.

They had all aimed their guns by the time it reached the first step, but Sasha appeared suddenly up on the landing, a net in one hand and his gun in the other. He didn't have time to even aim let alone fire and the other couldn't fire now unless they wanted to riddle the incubus with bullets.

The creature's too fast feet flew up the stairs and reached Sasha in seconds and there was nothing anyone could do but watch as it started climbing adeptly up Sasha's body.

Sasha froze, a look of sudden panic on his face, completely unsure of what to do. But the creature wasn't biting and Sasha didn't look at all in pain just startled.

"What's it doing?" Sam asked.

Dean had been wondering the same thing, but after a moment he suddenly realized that there was nothing to worry about. "It's hiding," he said as he realized it, "Not exactly enemy number one behavior." Dean had expected some kind of fight.

True enough, the creature had climbed all the way up to Sasha's neck where it curled around his shoulders, shivering in fear and cowering behind the incubus' head.

Dean couldn't help laughing and he was the first to drop his gun. The thing really did look like Gizmo from the Gremlin movies upon closer inspection, only it was entirely grey like a tabby cat—often mistaken for raccoons—and had tiny human-like hands that gripped either side of Sasha's head. It didn't look quite as vicious during the day; it just looked scared.

"Dude, I think you made a friend," Dean teased Sasha. This thing may not be anything normal but it was still just a scared little animal in the end, that was more than obvious.

Jo, Ellen, and Sam had dropped their weapons by now too, though smartly they were all still a little wary.

It was Sasha who made the next move, having remained silent. Letting the net drop from his hand, Sasha tucked his gun into his jeans and slowly began to reach up and coax the creature down from around his neck with gentle pets and soothing noises. Eventually, he got it down into his arms, though it clung to him tightly, still shaking.

"What is that thing, Sasha?" Jo asked.

_Not a fucking raccoon_, Dean wanted to say, but he refrained. Besides, the reason Jo had asked was because Sasha's expression had turned from startled to somewhat pleased and then finally to recognition. There seemed to be something about the incubus that the creature liked too, at least enough that it went to Sasha as a protector and not one of the others, and it didn't just simply bite and claw like it had done to Dean.

After a few moments of cradling the creature in his arms to be sure it was stilled and harmless, Sasha looked up finally and started a slow descent down the stairs towards the others. He was smiling, though he retained a certain level of amazement over the whole thing.

"It's a chimera familiar," Sasha said, holding the thing in one arm while his free hand pet gently over its furry head.

"It's a what now?" Dean asked. He knew the words 'chimera' and 'familiar' but he had never heard of those two things together.

"Aren't those things usually a lot…bigger and more dangerous?" Sam said, effectively leaning away from Sasha when the incubus got close to them.

"If the spell's done right, yeah," Sasha said, "I guess her master either didn't know what they were doing or something went really wrong. You have to be a powerful sorcerer or sorceress to pull off a familiar summoning for a chimera."

Great. Witchcraft, Dean thought. But one thing else had caught his attention. "Did you say _her_?" he asked Sasha. The creature looked genderless as far as Dean was concerned.

"Yeah," Sasha smiled, petting the chimera even more tenderly so that little contended purrs like a cat's were emanating from the thing, even though it still had its head buried in the crook of Sasha's arm to hide, "It's female."

"So that's why it likes you," Dean had to grin.

Sasha chuckled a little and shrugged. "I don't know how I know. I can just tell it's a girl. Must be an inc—" Sasha broke off sharply, glancing up at Jo as if suddenly remembering she was there and that she supposedly didn't know his secret.

Well, Dean was plain fed up with secrets. "An _incubus_ thing?" Dean said loudly, to which Sasha turned wide eyes on him as if Dean had just stabbed him in the front. Dean groaned, turning to smack Jo in the arm since she was close to him. "Newsflash. Jo knows. Everybody knows. Can we be adults for a change and get over ourselves?"

Even Sam gave Dean a slightly impressed look over that; it was rare that Dean was the one calling others on being immature.

Meanwhile, Sasha was busy gaping at Jo, who was biting her lip sheepishly.

"You know? For how long? You never said anything."

"I wanted to wait for you to tell me," Jo explained, "It's not like I care. You're still…Sasha."

That seemed to be the right tactic because Sasha just smiled. He had been worried about others knowing he was an incubus for so long it must have been weird suddenly having everyone he really cared about in the know. It must be nice, a great relief, Dean thought, because Sasha's expression proved the incubus wasn't anywhere close to chewing Jo out for not telling him sooner.

Dean was actually interested in the _how_ Jo knew part, but everyone's attention turned quickly back to the creature as Sam started speaking again.

"This thing could still be dangerous though, right?" the younger Winchester began, obviously still distrusting of the thing, "They're the most powerful kind of familiar, used back in the Dark ages as guardians against dragons, for crying out loud. I know it's tiny, but…"

"Don't worry," Sasha said, looking like he was really enjoying being able to snuggle a small fury creature since most of them didn't like him, "It looks like the spell was disrupted right after the different parts were combined, before she could be imbued with any real power or a mission. She's just a scared child really."

"But what _is_ a chimera?" Dean asked. He hated when the others talked like everyone should know these things already.

"A chimera in science is pretty much the same as what they are supernaturally," Sam—college boy extraordinaire—answered, "A being with genetic traits from three or four different creatures all together in one. Summoning a normal familiar as a witch isn't too hard because things like cats exist everywhere. But transfiguring three or four different creatures into one for use as a familiar is tricky stuff. Doesn't the witch have to give up part of her own soul to complete the summoning?" Sam asked Sasha.

The incubus nodded. "I'm guessing that's where the spell went wrong. Probably killed the witch and left our little friend here unfinished."

"Wait," Jo said, unable to hold back a smile as she reached out and touched the shivering bundle of fur, "She has a soul? Like a person?"

"Completely autonomous from her maker," Sasha smiled, "Not like the witch is trapped inside or anything."

"Fun as this is, _children_," Ellen broke in, her gun just as tucked away as everyone else's despite her unreadable expression, "What I want to know is whether or not this thing is gonna be any trouble. It's been stealing food and taking things from around the Roadhouse for months now. I can't have some witch's familiar having the run of the place with hunters as boarders."

That was certainly true. If any of the normal hunter crowd caught this thing it'd be shot dead without a second thought. Sure it had taken a good bite out of Dean's leg, but it was angry and scared. Dean kind of thought of it as cruel to just kill the thing, and it wasn't as if they could set it free out in the woods.

Now that Sasha had been stroking its fur for some time, gently with those long soft fingers of his, along with Jo petting it too, the little chimera peaked its head out finally to look at the rest of them, big round eyes that Dean saw now were bluish grey and very human looking, not black as they had looked the other night.

"It's so cute," Dean said before he could stop himself. He grunted at the curious looks and raised eyebrow saying that granted him. "What? I can't like cute? Nothing unmanly 'bout that. Not such a bad little guy, are ya?" Dean said to the creature, inching his hand towards her fur-covered face, "Sorry about the other night, but you got me pretty good, huh? What say we call it even?"

Its lips and face were definitely more like an ewok, Dean decided, as she sniffed his hand and blinked up at him. A little mewling purr started again and Dean decided they must be in agreement. The chimera's fur was as soft as anything Dean had ever touched when he stroked her head.

"Aww, Ma, can't we keep it?" Dean grinned over at Ellen, "There were a lot of dead rats up in that attic and none down here. She's better than any cat."

"And as soon as Jackson Creedy or some other aged and experienced hunter catches sight of her, its goodbye and good riddance," Ellen said, though Dean would have sworn he saw something of motherly affection pass over Ellen's face while looking at the thing in Sasha's arms, "I'm just saying," she said with all the others' eyes on her, "How can we keep this…failed familiar like a pet without hunters spotting her? I doubt they'd buy that it's the Roadhouse's new mascot."

Dean wasn't oblivious to how ridiculous this all was and he doubted the others were thinking any differently. Dean certainly couldn't bring the thing along with them when they left, and if Ellen kept the chimera in the Roadhouse it would eventually be noticed by other hunters and the results after that could only be bad.

Jo managed to charm the thing out of Sasha's arms and into her own, scooping it up like cradling a baby. She smiled down at it and then turned furrowed eyebrows on her mother. "We can't just kill her. She's got a human soul. Not her fault she got left all alone."

At first Ellen didn't respond. She didn't seem to be paying attention for a moment and then suddenly her eyes narrowed. "Jo, get my rifle," she said coldly.

Dean saw how the looks on Sasha, Jo, and even Sam's faces all fell into expressions like crushed five-year-olds and he imagined he probably looked the same way.

"Realtors," Ellen continued with a snarl, "Told me the owner was close to foreclosure when she up and died without a reason. Failed to mention that that owner was a practicing witch."

Dean and the others managed to relax long enough to realize Ellen wanted the rifle for the realtor not the chimera. Then Dean processed what Ellen had actually just said. "Mysterious death surrounds the previous owner and you just let that little detail go?" he questioned. It was pretty standard stuff after all.

"Course I didn't," Ellen defended, "Looked into it right away to be sure there was no fowl play or anything supernatural about the place. Couldn't find a damn thing, not even a blip on an EMF to suggest an angry spirit. Wasn't about to pass up on as good of a deal as I got this place for though."

"Foreclosure…" Sasha said slowly, "That was probably it. She couldn't have been all that practiced as a witch then and she just panicked. Thought summoning the best familiar possible would protect her somehow."

"And all it really did was leave behind our innocent little fur ball," Dean added, "Though it did give you quite a nice setup here for a new Roadhouse, Ellen. Might see it as a…sign even." Dean threw Ellen his best charming, swaying smile.

Ellen didn't look swayed or charmed. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the creature now curled in Jo's arms. "I'm not one for putting down any creature that doesn't deserve it, but you better have some idea of what to do with it other than hoping for the best and leaving it to live up there in the attic."

While they all stood there for a few minutes trying to think of things, Dean reached over and took the bundle away from Jo. He would never admit it aloud but he had always been more of a cat person. He loved things he could cuddle, that feeling of soft fur on his skin. Dean figured it for a comfort thing, something he never really got so he took what he could get whenever the chance presented itself. He had long forgotten by now that this little creature had been the cause of his fall and the bandages wrapped around his ankle. It had only been defending itself after all.

Apparently, the thing was pretty sorry about that too since it sniffed at Dean's chest as if it could smell his wounds and made that purring noise again, touching its little human hands to Dean's chest gently in apology.

Truth be told, Dean didn't like little kids. They kind of freaked him out. It had been different back when Sammy was little because Dean had been pretty little then too. Now babies Dean liked, thought they were cute and all, but he still shied away from them, thinking they were too fragile for someone like him to hold. But this little creature, it was soft as a cat, human as a baby, and certainly not fragile if it had gotten the best of Dean once before. Twice if he counted that fall in the pantry.

"I'm not sure if it would work," Sasha was saying suddenly, "But I might have an idea. Ellen, will you hold off the judge's verdict at least until the three of us leave in a week or so? By then I might be able to manage something."

Ellen's lips were pursed to express her overall disapproval, but she couldn't help giving in when her three adoptive children as of late were giving her the same pathetic looks as her real life daughter. "Alright. But you're responsible for keeping her out of sight if any other hunters should come calling before then," she added, as if to say she wasn't going to be completely accommodating to the thing she had set out to hunt down and kill today.

That would just have to be good enough.

Dean looked down into the chimera's face and felt a growing attachment for the thing—actually felt it, like he had become some silly little girl cooing over a cute…something. He decided it could be equally blamed on the extra emotional morning he had had and the combination of drugs in his system.

Blue eyes were sparkling over at Dean when Dean looked up. He handed the creature back to Sasha, more than willing to give her up since Sasha just looked so needy to be liked by an animal what with dogs and cats always shunning him. Seeing how Sasha's face lit up when the chimera snuggled into him made Dean certain of one thing—he was definitely fond of cute and cuddly.

--

"How exactly am I supposed to get anything done like this?" Sam asked as they left the main hallway for the bar area. The chimera was currently curled halfway around his head.

"Be glad she likes you," Dean teased, reaching up to pet her as they walked. The chimera used Dean to climb her way over to Sasha again and her cat-like purr started all over again. "Not hard to figure out who she likes best though," Dean added with a smirk.

Sasha just smiled, holding the little creature close and stroking her back. "I think she's definitely part cat," he said, "Maybe part tanuki, those Japanese squirrel things, and…hmm." Sasha lifted the creature with both hands, holding her out in front of him.

"Part koala?" Jo offered with a snort, walking a little ways ahead of them as she grabbed a stool at the bar and Ellen stood leaning against the counter.

Of course Sasha had to chuckle a little at that too. "Maybe. There's also a little more human in her than usual since the spell went wrong. I think she might be able to understand us even."

"Oh, she totally can," Dean chimed in, taking the stool next to Jo, "Figured that one out the first night already."

"Good," said Ellen before turning suddenly to address the chimera in Sasha's arms, "Then there'll be no more stealing food or stealing of any other kind. You are not allowed on or behind this bar or on top of any tables. And I don't even want to know how to toilet train the thing," she finished with a sigh.

Dean shrugged. "Litter box?"

There was a small spattering of laughter at that but then suddenly the chimera was climbing down off of Sasha and climbing up Ellen instead. She visibly tensed but couldn't help but give in and hold the thing when it snuggled up into her arms.

"See, smart. She's apologizing," Dean nodded, "She knows who the boss is."

Ellen tried to hold back a strained smile but found she couldn't. After all, she wasn't a cold woman. Stern maybe, and disciplined, but not cold.

"And hey," Dean said, slapping the counter, "_She_ needs a name, huh? Nothing too girly or stupid though," he said, pointing none too subtly at Sam and Jo, "I know, how about we name her after the Flash," he suggested, "She's fast enough."

While Sam and Jo blinked at him dumbly, Sasha came to stand more directly in front of Dean and laughed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Dean, the Flash's real name is Wally West. We're not calling her Wally."

"Why not?"

"It's a boy's name."

"So?" Dean countered, "You have a girl's name."

The smile on Sasha's face immediately fell into a petulant pout. "It's not a girl's name. Sasha is Russian for Alexander. A _boy's_ name."

Apparently, this was a sore spot. Dean couldn't resist. "Dude, why do you think Sam and I thought we were meeting up with a girl hunter when we first met you? Totally used more as a girl's name."

"Is not."

"_So_ is."

"Is _not_."

"_Hey_," Sam broke in, since he knew firsthand how juvenile these kinds of arguments could become, "Seriously, guys, come on. And anyway," he said, shrugging, "I kinda like Wally."

It took a moment for Dean to realize what Sam had just said. Once he did realize he couldn't help beaming; it was rare that Sam actually agreed with him on anything. Sam was standing next to Sasha and Dean reached out to pat Sam's shoulder. "Guess you do come through sometimes, eh, Sammy?" Dean turned to Jo then. "Jo?"

Jo glanced at Sasha and then over at the chimera currently sitting up on her mother's shoulder. "Wally is kind of cute," she admitted.

There was barely any room for the rest of Dean's features he was grinning so wide. "You gotta give in, man. Majority rules," Dean said to Sasha.

Unable to keep from smiling as well, Sasha walked over to Ellen and the chimera immediately jumped over to his shoulder instead. She really was a nimble little thing, not just fast. "What do you say, _Wally_?" he asked the creature, scratching behind one of her large bat-like but still furry ears.

The noise the chimera made in response sounded more like a chirp of some kind than a purr, though Dean doubted there was any bird in her. The noise had definitely been affirmation though.

Sasha smiled at Dean, albeit a little crookedly. "Okay. Wally it is."

Once that had been settled it wasn't long before Ellen was reeling everyone back in from the excitement and explaining sternly that they had wasted enough time and that there were chores in need of being done.

Dean was declared fit enough to at least paint one of the last remaining smaller rooms, Jo would be painting a different one, while Ellen cleared out the back storage room a bit for when Sam and Sasha started hauling in leftover wood. Ellen had requested that they put up some shelving in a few of the less finished looking rooms and asked if they would also sand an old table or two.

It didn't go unnoticed that Ellen took Wally with her, presumably to keep the chimera from distracting everyone else, but Dean had his suspicions.

Since Dean's room was so small he had it finished in just over an hour and decided to check on Jo. He still hadn't quite figured out what prank would be fitting enough for the blonde huntress, but he was sure it would come to him.

"Spilling time, _Joanna Beth_," Dean said boldly as he entered the room she was working on. Jo was just about done with her room too, a fine amount of work between the two of them, especially since it wasn't even lunch time yet. "Now I want to know," Dean continued, despite the glare that had been thrown back at him, "How'd you find out about Sasha anyway? I've noticed how you keep conveniently leaving that detail out."

Jo's glare disappeared and this time Dean could have sworn he saw a blush.

"Come on. Can't be all that bad," Dean pressed.

With a short, slightly uncomfortable laugh, Jo returned to painting, her face conveniently hidden as she said, "Fine, I'll tell you. But keep in mind that I was young and very stupid and cannot be held accountable for my actions."

This out to be good.

"The first night Sasha ever stayed over at the Roadhouse," Jo started in, "Not too long after we'd met him actually…well, Sasha was just eighteen—"

"Which means you were sixteen," Dean supplied, not having to stretch his imagination too far to know how big of a crush Jo probably had on the hot, older redhead back then.

"Yeah," Jo admitted, still slowly painting for distraction with her back to Dean as she spoke, "Anyway…that night…I…may or may not have managed to spy on Sasha in the shower."

"What!" Dean belted out a laugh before he knew what hit him.

Suddenly, Jo spun around to face Dean, completely defensive. "I know, okay? Why do you think I never told him? And keep in mind that my nice eyeful of incubus ass came fully with a view of horns, wings, and really freaky claws to a teenager, even if I am a hunter's daughter. I was so scared I couldn't even tell Mom about it, even though I kept thinking all night that he was going to come into my room and eat me or something. It wasn't until the next day when I saw him all…well, normal and Sasha-like that I couldn't even fathom him being a monster. After he left, I did some research using what I had seen and…I figured it out."

"That actually could have been pretty dangerous and stupid, ya know," Dean had to say, "Not that I'm not ecstatic you chose _not_ to run screaming into the night for every hunter in the vicinity to attack, but…what if Sasha _had_ been a baddie in disguise?"

Jo sighed, the smallest smile managing to sneak back onto her face, her paintbrush hanging loosely in her hand now. "Scared as I was, to be really honest with you…that thought never even crossed my mind."

Yeah, Dean thought, Sasha had a way of doing that. Still, the devious part of Dean was running rampant right now and he just had to grin as he said, "You know I'm gonna have to tell him about this, right?"

"_Dean_."

"I mean, it's really just too good a story," Dean went on, slowly starting to back out of the room.

"_Dean_…" Jo said again, warningly.

"Betcha I get to him first," Dean said, and then he turned and sprinted, fast as he could. He had just downed his next dose of meds right before joining Jo in the other room; he could so outrun her right now.

"Dean Winchester!" Dean heard called after him. What could he say? There were just some days Dean really loved being _Dean_.

--

As it turned out, Dean did reach the room Sam and Sasha were building shelves in before Jo did, but he didn't say anything. He just questioned casually about lunch until Jo charged in after him. Her flustered look was absolutely priceless.

Dean also managed to get Sasha alone for a few minutes after they had all stopped and gathered for a quick lunch a little later. He couldn't help noticing and being momentarily distracted by how Sasha was shirtless again and had a glow about him from the sweat of working. Or maybe it was because the incubus was freshly fed. Either way Dean liked what he saw.

"Think of anything?" Dean asked in a whisper, hoping Sasha had come up with some ideas for pranking Jo since he kept coming up blank.

The curl of Sasha's lips was wonderfully sinister as he told Dean his idea.

"Nice," Dean grinned in approval, "But I think we can do things one step better."

The hard part was timing. Jo would already be in the bar replacing light bulbs, but Sasha would have to make up some excuse to slip away from Sam. Dean couldn't handle the technical part on his own, and there was no way they were filling Sam in. He'd just say something logical about how they were supposed to be helping Ellen and Jo out not goofing around.

_Nerd_, Dean thought.

Dean had already taken care of the other details before Jo secluded herself to the bar, and whatever excuse Sasha had come up with to ditch Sam, it must have worked because the incubus appeared right when he said he would, laptop in hand. Dean positioned himself close enough to one of the doors so that he could see Jo without her seeing him. She was up on a ladder switching out a bulb from one of the hanging overhead lights. Dean didn't want her falling and seriously hurting herself, so he waited until Jo's feet touched the floor again and then gave Sasha the signal.

_You gotta fight!_

Jo jumped a whole foot in the air as the Beastie Boys blared over the speakers from the jukebox.

_For your right_

_To Party!_

If Dean had known before that Sasha knew how to hack like this he so would have used that to his advantage earlier. Of course right now he was much more focused on trying _not_ to burst into laughter as Jo stared wide eyed at the jukebox like it was possessed. She had taken all of two steps towards it when Dean signaled Sasha again.

_She told me to_

_Walk this way_

_Walk this way_

Again, Jo stopped. Anyone else might have immediately thought there was a short circuit of some kind, but this was the child of hunters, an aspiring hunter herself. Nothing had a simple explanation. Carefully, Jo began to back up towards the bar where there was a broom leaning against the counter. One of the first rules of hunting—always go for your weapon.

The heart of this plan hinged on them having guessed what Jo would do and how she would react. So far she wasn't disappointing. Jo didn't grab the broom, she reached back behind the counter and grabbed a shot gun Dean could only imagine was filled with rock salt—good for ghosts and humans when it came down to it. Dean signaled Sasha again

_Janie's got a gun_

Dean almost snorted this time at Jo's even wider eyed expression. He hated to repeat himself with two Aerosmith songs in a row like that, but it was worth it.

Jo's next move was just as predictable. "Mom!" she called to the ceiling. Dean didn't even need to signal Sasha for the next one.

_Don't cry out loud  
Just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings_

A well-contained squeak slipped out of Sasha, but the music was loud enough that Dean was certain Jo couldn't possibly have heard him. Dean brought a finger to his grinning lips anyway and he could tell that Sasha was close to tears he was holding back so much laughter. Looking back again, Dean saw that Jo's eyes were narrowed now.

She stormed over towards the jukebox confidently.

_I'm a model you know what I mean  
And I do my little turn on the catwalk_

Jo didn't even stop. She walked right up to the machine and smacked it with her hand.

_Do that to me one more time  
Once is never enough…_

"Urrg!" Jo cried out, smacking the jukebox yet again—just like it had asked, Dean smirked to himself, "What the hell! Who's doing this!"

Dean grinned at Sasha as the incubus played the next song, one Dean hadn't known himself but that he had to agree was just about perfect.

_You're gonna bust out on it-  
Original Prankster_

"Dean!"

Immediately, Dean jumped a little further away from the door in case Jo happened to head that way, but he knew he had pegged Jo right and instead she went for the main door, assuming Dean would be out there waiting to gloat. The one thing Dean and Sasha hadn't counted on though was for someone else to meet her halfway.

Dean spotted Sam just before the younger Winchester made the final turn to go into the bar area.

"Jo? What's going—"

The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Just as Sam was about to go into the bar, Jo came stomping out of it, triggering the classic placement of a bucket of water poised above the doorway. It tipped and poured its liberal amount of water all over Jo and Sam, and they were both so startled that they reached for each other only to unbalance and slip on the water that had spilled to the floor, knocking their feet out from under them to land hard on their backs, still half tangled up in each other.

No force on earth could have kept Dean's laughter at bay after that.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, spotting Dean and Sasha down the hallway easily now and using his 'I mean business' voice that almost would have struck fear in Dean's heart if he didn't know what a pussy his brother was most of the time.

Sasha was giggling so hard he had to stop and take breaths before continuing. They were practically falling over each other when they finally realized that Sam and Jo were getting up and heading towards them with murder in their eyes.

Okay, so maybe a little fear was struck in Dean's heart because he knew better than to get caught when his victims were still that freshly pissed at him.

"Dean?" Sasha said through stilling chuckles as he quickly gathered up his laptop.

Dean nodded. "This might be a good time to run." And just before Sam and Jo were upon them, they bolted down the hallway.

tbc...

A/N: Meh. Don't know if I like this chapter. I love the beginning, and Wally is just so cute, but...hmmm, it feels off to me. Thoughts? Did I try to do too much. This Arc has turned out longer than expected, you see. I'm thinking...two more parts. And again, you can be assured that this arc will end without any cliffhangers. The next Arc however, hehehe. So, yes, please review because I'm feeling iffy. Again, please check out the website and I'll try to be on top of updating it!

Someone guessed the tanuki part of our creature and I can't remember who without checking again. Do you want a prize? ;-) Yay for EVERYONE knowing the Gremlins reference last time, by the way.

Crim


	29. Part 6: Repercussions

Part 6: Repercussions

--

Dean was so comfortable when he woke up that he didn't want to move. It was almost as nice as when he had woken up that morning, with some obvious exceptions—Dean was on a couch in the main lounge, not a bed, and there was no incubus curled up against him.

Still, better than being put back to work.

After successfully dodging Sam and Jo until they had finally tired out and cooled down a bit, Dean had almost immediately crashed. His last dose of meds had kicked in and gone from slightly energizing to just plain comforting, which left Dean feeling like he had just eaten turkey on Thanksgiving. He really needed to learn to take it easy when he was still injured, but that probably wasn't ever going to happen.

Contentedly kicked back on the cushions, Dean blinked up at the ceiling for awhile as he came to. He had only planned to rest his eyes for a bit, but apparently his body had once again declared nap time without his permission. Dean wondered what time it was; he felt especially refreshed.

The first thing Dean thought of when he felt a gentle touch on his arm was Sasha. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Dean glanced down his body and saw two large blue-grey eyes staring up at him. Dean jumped a little as Wally climbed up onto his stomach. It took his brain a moment to remember her, still groggy, but only too quickly he did remember and he was reaching out to pet her furry head.

"Hey, fuzz ball. Come to wake me up, or just looking for a human pillow?"

That purring chirp responded and Wally started kneading Dean's stomach like a cat.

"Guess that answers that," Dean smiled, "Well, I can tell ya, Wally, I am definitely more comfortable than the attic floor. You behaving?"

Wally chirped again and pushed her head up into Dean's pets.

"Good. But you know, I can't help noticing how you keep flirting with my incubus. For the record, I saw him first, okay? You better not be looking for anything more than friendship." Dean had to smirk to himself at how Wally paused, blinked innocence, and then resumed her presses into his stomach, purring gently. "Getting on my good side, huh?" Dean chuckled, "Just like a woman to play it coy like that."

"Is that right?"

Dean looked up to find Jo peering at him over the back of the couch. "Hey. You don't…have a water balloon or a…gun or anything hidden behind your back, now, do ya? Coz you know I was just messing around."

The way Jo's eyes narrowed made her look remarkably like her mother for a moment. She raised her hands to show that they were empty and then placed them on her hips. "As a matter of fact, I just finished throwing in a load of your laundry. But I'd be more than willing to drop a sopping pile of clothes into your bed later instead of putting them in the dryer if you wanna push me."

"You did my laundry?" Dean said, amazed, and forever in Jo's debt now since laundry was one of the few things Dean hated doing above all else.

"Apparently it was way overdue," dismissed Jo, "Now are you going to be a lazy lump all day or what? It's almost six."

"_PM_?" Dean asked incredulously. He had been asleep for over four hours. He tried to sit up but he had still been unconsciously petting Wally and she was now curled up on his stomach in a perfectly round ball of fluff. "What are the others up to?" Dean decided on saying, remaining on his back for at least a little longer. He didn't have to get up that second after all.

"Mom's starting something for dinner, and…actually, I haven't seen either of your boys since they finished those shelves. Must be upstairs."

Dean considered Jo's wording and shook his head with a grimace. "Don't call them my boys. Sounds…wrong somehow."

A little smirk fitted itself onto Jo's face. "Well what should I call them? Your brother and your sex toy?"

Dean paused to think on that. "Better," he said with a nod.

At last Jo laughed and she reached over the couch to mess Dean's hair. "And you're still a perv. It's almost comforting."

"Says the lady with the camera phone," Dean grumbled.

"Aren't you due for more meds?" Jo asked, effectively ignoring Dean's comment as she plucked Wally from Dean's stomach suddenly, who, much like a cat, remained scrunched up and curled into a ball since she had been so happily sleeping before being disturbed.

Dean mourned the loss of the chimera's warm little body, but he considered it a good thing that Jo had stolen the thing. Otherwise he might have fallen back asleep with how Wally's purring sent soothing vibrations all throughout his body. "_Over_due," Dean said, aware then of just how sore he was again. He longed for when he would no longer need medication for his body to feel normal. "Better go do that. You think Penn and Teller are upstairs, you said?"

Jo chuckled. "Yeah. And which one would be which exactly?" she commented on Dean's choice of reference.

"I know which one I'd _like_ to be Teller," Dean grinned. Oh to have Sammy silent for a day.

Dean sat up finally and swung his feet around to stand up. Yep, he was definitely overdue for his next dose of medication. There was also the fact that he had been running around all morning as well as the whole beginning part of the afternoon. That probably hadn't been his smartest idea.

Which was probably why it took Dean several minutes to even climb the stairs, let alone to reach his and Sasha's room and search out his various drugs. He had been sure to keep some water in the room so he remedied his de-medicated state fairly quickly. There was no sign of Sasha though, in the bathroom or otherwise. Maybe they were in Sam's room.

Walking across the hallway to Sam's door, Dean was just about to raise a hand and knock when he picked up on faint voices coming from somewhere down the hall. Dean knew there was another smaller lounge on the second floor that still needed a paintjob—the last one too, Dean thought with some relief. Sam and Sasha must be in there. Maybe they were painting it already so Dean wouldn't have to be used for manual labor anymore.

The voices grew louder as Dean came upon the lounge, but he could tell that Sam and Sasha were trying to keep their voices hushed. This made Dean slow his pace, turning stealthy to better overhear them as he pressed back against the wall near the open entrance. Dean didn't like this. Even before he could make out Sam's words he could tell that his brother sounded off.

"But even that felt empty," Sam was saying, like maybe he was crying or at least close to it, "He keeps trying to be normal, to act like everything's fine, like everything's just how it's always been, and I know that's how he wants me to act too but I _can't_. Usually, I'm so happy when he…acts like an idiot or a jackass and we can just pretend for awhile, but…but we're running out of time. We can't keep acting like everything's okay because soon it won't be. Soon no amount of faking ease and laughs will mean Dean's still here. He won't be here. He'll be in _Hell_ and it's all because of me."

Dean's breath caught in his throat as he heard Sam bite out the last of that. What had he missed while he was sleeping, damn it? This was stuff Dean didn't want to know about, stuff Dean didn't want to deal with, stuff Dean didn't even want happening.

Sammy breaking.

"He did it for _me_," Sam said again, and there was no mistaking the sound of tears now.

"And I bet he'd do it again," came Sasha's voice, just as soft and mournful as Sam's but stronger somehow, steady and solid the way Dean loved about the incubus.

Damn right Dean would do it again.

"Sam, you can't blame yourself for Dean loving you enough to do what he did."

"He shouldn't have saved me. I was _supposed_ to die. He's such a damn hypocrite with his 'what's dead should stay dead' shit, and then he goes and does the same damn thing to me that Dad did to him. I'm the one who's supposed to die!" Sam's voice was a seething growl, angry despite the tears there too, "Dean had…he had no right."

"And what about you?" said Sasha, "Forcing Dean's hand to kill you like that in the warehouse in South Dakota? You had no right, but you did it anyway. Why? Because you were scared, Sam. Because you wanted to protect him. Just like Dean did with you."

"It's not the same," Sam dissented, "Dad told Dean he might have to kill me someday. I'm a liability. It's not the same as with you so don't try and lump as together like you understand!" Sam suddenly shouted when Sasha began to contradict him again. Sam sounded so vicious just then that Dean almost bolted around the corner out of principle to knock his brother down a few pegs. Instead, Dean managed to keep listening. "You know what you are," Sam said, softer, like maybe he realized what an ass he had just sounded like, "You understand the things you can do, the things you need to do, and you keep yourself controlled. I don't even know from one second to the next if I'm still going to be Sam or…or…something horrible…"

Sam was crying outright. Sam was sobbing. And he was doing it so hard that when the sound suddenly became muffled Dean knew Sasha must have pulled Sam in against him.

It wasn't right. Sam, he freaked out once in a while, yelled at Dean about the deal, told Dean completely heartfelt how he would save him no matter what, but Sam did not lose it completely. Did he?

Dean felt so stupid and in the dark just standing there outside the room, listening to Sam crying in Sasha's arms like a kid. Sam had always been the stronger one. Sam didn't think he was, but he was. So then how often did Sam want to break down and cry but never did? Was Dean just a fool to think that he was the only one who found ways to cry when no one else was around? Had Sam been trying so hard to be okay for Dean these last few days that Dean had completely missed how much his brother was slipping?

Apparently so. And Dean felt even stupider, even more useless, because Sam had been acting for him so effortlessly that he had assumed things were strained, sure, but not like this.

"I keep thinking…" Sam began again, so softly, his voice hitching on every other word and still muffled as if his face was pressed halfway into Sasha's shoulder, "…if I can just…save him…then at least I'll have made it right again, and…and there'll still be someone to stop me. But there won't. _He_ won't. Even if I save him…even if I fix the deal just to turn on him later…he won't stop me. I know he won't kill me, even if I do become evil, even though he promised me he would. But someone has to…"

"Sam…" Sasha sighed, knowing where Sam meant to take the conversation now, this tearful confession, and Dean knew it too, hated Sam for it, for putting the burden on someone else, "You want to save Dean so we can all stay together, not to ensure an executioner. You're just scared."

"I…I do want us together," Sam admitted miserably, "But I know, one way or another, that we can't have that. I'll either…fail to save Dean…or turn into some…kind of monster. And if it's both…if it's both, Sasha, _please_…"

Dean sensed Sasha's growl even before it came out, more threatening than he had yet heard it and certainly not that warming purr. "Damn you for even asking," came Sasha's gruffer incubus voice so that Dean had to wonder if Sasha was showing fangs, "You've already given up. By even saying those words you're condemning yourself _and Dean_, like he's already dead and you're just going to sit here and let the demons have him."

Sam made no sound to defend himself so Sasha growled again.

"They can't have him. And you're not one of them," Sasha said firmly, "Say all you want that we're not alike, Sam, but we are. I didn't ask to be what I am and I don't always keep the control I should, not even close. Sometimes I wish I was human so badly…" Sasha trailed and for the first time Dean heard Sasha's voice hitch a little too.

Dean never would have thought the incubus felt that way; Sasha always seemed so comfortable in his skin, just a little lonely. Then again today seemed to be Dean's day for pegging the people he cared about wrong.

"But I know…I know that just because I'm not human doesn't mean I'm a monster. Because I don't want to be one. And that has to be enough, you hear me? Coz if it's not enough for you…than it's not enough for me either, and Dean needs both of us right now. We'll save him, _we will_," Sasha said with what Dean believed was every bit of conviction the incubus had in him, despite how close to tears he sounded now too, "I can't lose you guys. I need both of you. You can't give me a family just to take it away, Sam, I won't let you. We've already lost our families once. So don't you dare ask me to do what Dean can't, because I can't either. And I won't need to. We. Can. Do. This."

Another sob choked out of Sam and Dean heard a whole new wave of tears start for his brother. He thought Sasha must be crying with him, only silently, being the strong one for Sam because Sam couldn't always be the strong one by himself. It wasn't that Dean couldn't do that for Sam, he just did it differently. Dean would have told Sam to suck it up, maybe changed the subject, maybe made a stupid joke, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Sam needed to feel what he was feeling, but he needed to be comforted that everything would be alright too. Dean just wasn't good at that kind of stuff. He couldn't have been more grateful that Sasha was.

When it finally sounded like the waterworks were slowing and the two of them were just in there, quiet as anything, Dean walked a ways down the hallway and called out.

"Hey! Where you guys at!?" he said, as if he had only just made it upstairs to search out his brother and friend, "Sam! Sasha!" Dean made his way slowly to the lounge then, giving them time to disentangle and dry their eyes, even though Dean knew he would be able to see the redness like a painful reminder.

"In here!" Sasha called back, just about the time Dean was upon the lounge anyway.

"Geez, been looking everywhere for you guys," Dean said as he entered, finding them just as he imagined, sitting next to each other on some ratty looking couch, Sam's eyes all red-rimmed while Sasha's managed to look almost pristine, "Not fooling around behind my back, are ya?" Dean smirked, "Coz ya know I'd have to kill you both, right?"

_That_ was what Dean did, because that was what he could do, and he felt the greatest relief when both of them broke into smiles. He knew it would be too obvious if he feigned complete ignorance though.

"I miss anything?" he said, looking hard into Sam's eyes that already looked a lot better but still wet and puffy. If Sam wanted to tell him anything then the kid would, and if not then Dean would understand why.

As Dean expected, Sam just smiled a little wider and shook his head. "Nothing big," he said, "I was just telling Sasha not to encourage you with the pranking. I'm staying out of it, but I can't promise anything about Jo."

"She loves me," Dean said dismissively, "Course I'll be sure and carefully check my food tonight. Speaking of which, Ellen's down whipping up dinner. Figured we better get down there and offer some help. Wouldn't want to look like loafers, now, would we?"

Again, the pair looked at Dean with such mutual relief that Dean knew he had walked in at the perfect time. They were successfully purged for at least a little while. He couldn't help it if he'd rather goof around and get them laughing about something rather than talk out his _feelings_ on the matter. Any thoughts he had on the deal or Sammy going 'dark side' were equally unpleasant and Dean just didn't want to deal with any of it. Not on his vacation.

"Come on, boy wonders, let's eat!" Dean said, heading back towards the door with a quick look back to make sure he was being followed.

"Can I at least be Nightwing?" Sasha said, making a face.

Dean grinned. "I might be persuaded."

"Why do you always get to be Batman?" Sam asked with something like a pout.

It reminded Dean of the first time he had ever sat behind the wheel of the Impala—age 8—and said loudly to Sammy beside him in the driver's seat as they waited for their dad to come out of the store, "Atomic batteries to power!"

Even back then Sammy had complained about being Robin, but his little voice had still risen with, "Turbines to speed!" as they pretended they were in the Batmobile off to fight for justice.

Dean grinned a little crookedly, thinking that that's exactly what they did now, only for real, and in a car just as cool as Adam West's too, or Michael Keaton's for that matter.

"I get to be Batman because I drive the car," Dean said matter-of-factly, "And coz I'm older."

"So? I'm bigger than you."

"Not in all ways, Sammy," Dean snarked as they made their way down the hallway. It earned him a hard smack in the arm, but there was a smile at the corner of Sam's mouth despite his best efforts to hide it, and Sasha belted a laugh, making Dean feel overall accomplished.

After all, someone had to keep these sentimental guys in one piece.

--

Dean redoubled his efforts to lighten things up all throughout dinner. Sam could complain about Dean acting like everything was okay all he wanted; Dean knew that deep down Sam needed the familiar banter and brotherly affection that came only when Dean was embarrassing him to no end.

It had started innocently enough as a discussion of when the prank wars first began—apparently hitting puberty had given Dean a lot of excess energy to expel. It was when Sasha asked what Dean considered to be the best prank ever pulled that Sam gave Dean his death glare in warning. Well Dean just had to tell the story now; a pissy Sammy was better than a brooding one, after all. Besides, it was a fucking hilarious story. Even Ellen had a smirk on her face by the time Dean finished, and Jo and Sasha were beside themselves with laughter.

"I hate you," Sam said with a sour smile, his arms crossed over his chest defensively.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean said, kicked back in his own chair and smiling wide, "I admit it was mostly on accident. Total default win on my part. Why do you think I never used that same itching powder again? I couldn't have known you'd have an allergic reaction to it." Dean snickered, remembering only too well that the look Sam was currently giving him was the same one a just thinned-out freshman Sammy had given him all those years ago, "Or, ya know, that you'd be freaked out enough to strip off all your clothes during first period English." Dean burst out another laugh.

Sasha and Jo fell into renewed guffaws as well and Ellen shook her head.

Dean was feeling pretty accomplished by now. Sam couldn't over think Dean's demon deal or any demonic future for himself while he was steaming over Dean's antics. Of course Dean should have expected prompt retaliation.

"What about _my_ best prank, Dean?" Sam broke in suddenly, a sly smile on his face, "I think it put your fun with magic markers ones to shame, actually, what with your date that night and all."

Crap. Dean had safely repressed that memory, damn it, but now it came charging to the surface. That had actually been a couple years before the prank Dean had just described, while he was still a senior in high school and Sam was newly hitting puberty himself.

The smirk on Dean's face fell as Sasha and Jo leaned over the table towards Sam.

"Oh this I gotta hear," Jo said happily.

"And it was just before a date?" Sasha joined in.

Sam was all smiles now. "Dad was taking Dean along on hunts all the time then, but he still went alone on night hunts if he thought it was too dangerous," Sam explained, "So Dean asked…what was her name?"

"Wendy Laughton," Dean said automatically, just remembering himself actually and how she had worn those really short skirts. Usually the only reason Dean even remembered a girl's name was if there was some kind of strong memory attached. Unfortunately this was not one of the good memories. "For the record I actually really liked that chick, ya know," Dean grumbled.

"Sure, Dean," Sam smiled, "Anyway. So Dean asks Wendy over and tells me not to tell Dad about it. Well I'd had this one prank in the works for awhile, but I was waiting for the right moment. Low and behold, Dean gave me the perfect chance. Wouldn't have worked out at all though if he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch just before she came over."

"Oh God," Jo giggled, "What did you do?"

If Dean wasn't so relieved that Sam was enjoying himself right now he probably would have punched the kid. "Let's just say I blew my allowance on Cover Girl that month," Sam grinned.

The table erupted in laughter at the thought of Dean fully made up by a thirteen year old Sam armed with lipstick and blush. Dean's grumbled, "Called me Deana for weeks after that, the brat," was therefore never heard.

"It suited you, Dean," Sam chuckled, successfully ducking away when Dean swatted at him from his side of the table, "Girls dig guys in eyeliner, right?"

"You got a pretty enough face," Jo snickered.

"Mmmm," Sasha hummed, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully as his focus drifted, "Dean in eyeliner, huh…?"

"Alright, that's about enough for me," Ellen interrupted, effectively saving Dean from any further embarrassment, "Will a couple of you help me out with all this?" Ellen got up from her chair and indicated the array of empty dishes and cups. They were in a real live dining room that had one long table, separate from where Ellen had smaller tables set up for hunters staying there normally, and who usually preferred to eat alone anyway.

Jo, probably from trained habit, got up immediately, and Sasha got up too, all grabbing a few handfuls. Sam was about to get up as well, but Dean reached over and grabbed his arm to stop him. He nodded towards the others as they chatted on their way out of the room, signaling that he had something to say but only after he and Sam were alone.

Sam must have thought Dean was going to chew him out or something because his look was completely incredulously when the others had gone and he pulled his arm away.

"Don't you dare," Sam said, "You started it. Stripping in front of thirty High School Freshman is way more traumatizing than greeting your date at the door in makeup."

Dean actually didn't agree with that but he just smiled crookedly and shook his head. "Just doing my job, Sammy," he said softly, "Don't be too hard on me, huh? Only way I know how to deal with this shit. So…don't go burning out on me…okay?"

At first Sam just looked confused, like he must have missed something and probably assumed Dean was still talking about divulging details of their prank wars. When it finally dawned on Sam that Dean meant something deeper and that Dean therefore had to have overheard him and Sasha upstairs, Sam's hazel eyes went wide and his mouth hung slack.

Typical. When they broke, neither wanted the other to know about it.

"Dean…"

"Proved my point about thirty seconds ago what with all that backstabbing you just did," Dean grinned, "So you see? You're still Sammy."

The expression on Sam's face was like some kind of anguish, but it was happy too and Dean really didn't have any idea how Sam could pull both off at the same time like that. The kid had done that for as long as Dean could remember though, so it proved Dean's point even more. Sam was Sam. Period.

Ellen, Jo, and Sasha came back in for more dishes only a moment later, so Sam never got to make any kind of comeback. Dean was fine with that. He could only take so much of this crap, which was why he usually stuck to driving Sam crazy. He just stood up and gathered some plates, and soon Sam was doing the same.

Dean thought of what he had heard Sasha say in that room. _We can do this_. Dean had to believe that was true.

--

After dinner when Ellen announced that her next project for the boys was knocking down a wall between two rooms, Dean was all over it. Unfortunately, his crash on the couch earlier had led the others to believe that he might not actually be well enough for all that hard labor, and he was denied. Dean could not sit still though, not after napping that long, and he ended up helping Ellen organize a few of the rooms.

By the time Dean realized his body's fatigue really was catching up to him, he had almost nodded off and Ellen was shaking him back to alertness. With a scowl she ushered him up to bed with a, "Be sure and get those other two to call it quits too," and then Dean was sauntering exhaustedly up the stairs. He really hated how tired his body felt from what he would normally consider light labor and relaxation, even though it was pretty late. He knew this was good for him and that by the time they left and got back to real hunts, he'd be tip top shape again, more or less. He just wanted to get there already.

Dean waved tiredly to Jo as he passed her in the upstairs hallway, asking if she knew where Sam and Sasha had run off to this time since they hadn't been in the rooms they were working on—which had a successfully knocked down wall and would require their continued assistance to clean everything up the next day.

"I think they went out onto the roof to get better reception. Sasha's wireless hasn't been picking up too well out here. Bad for phones too."

Dean nodded vaguely. He knew that actually finding wireless was pretty ridiculous in all of the places they usually frequented. Which was why Sam and Sasha both had that deal where all they had to do was plug in one of those USB thingies and they picked up a signal wherever they got service on their phones. Cost their credit card scams more each month, but it was definitely worth it when they were hunting in podunk nowhere.

Jo explained there was this little flat area of the roof that you could get access to from out Sam's room window, so Dean headed there. As soon as he walked in he could hear the two of them talking, the window having been left open to let in all the cold air from outside.

A snort rose in Dean's throat. He could see the two of them out there on the roof, huddled around Sasha's laptop as they sat wrapped up in the comforter from Sam's bed. It was late December, for crying out loud, and Missouri was not known for being tropical.

"You are so not getting any sympathy if you two get sick," Dean said as he reached the window and started climbing out after them, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing out here, geniuses? Coz if you're watching porn, move over," he had to grin a little at that, especially since Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean and rolled his eyes.

Dean came up on Sasha's other side, already shivering at the cold temperature even though he was actually wearing layers today with a button down thrown over his T-shirt. It didn't take long at all to notice what the two of them were working on, what with all the mapping of demon activity.

"So you two diving back into work or wasting your time on me?" Dean asked. He nudged Sasha in the arm then. "Shove over, dude, I'm freezing."

With a quirked smile, Sasha lifted his side of the comforter and allowed Dean to snuggle in beside him. They adjusted the blanket accordingly to accommodate a third person, but they still all managed to fit underneath it, and with three male bodies it was actually pretty warm. "It's not a waste of time, so stop being an ass," Sasha stated simply, "Besides, you should appreciate the two birds, one stone approach here. We need to track down these demons anyway, and chances are they're our best bet for finding out who holds the contract to your deal."

"Sure," Dean nodded, "Assuming it'll even matter if we find out who holds the contract."

"Dean," Sam said in that frustrated voice he used so well whenever Dean was being difficult, "If we can track down who the crossroads demon was working for, I might be able to force them to release you from the deal. No repercussions. If I have to live with these powers then I'm going to use them to save you."

Right. Dean knew better than to push Sam on that issue. And it actually was about as sound a plan as they could come up with. "I'm not arguing. Just don't want either of you getting your hopes up too high with all this stuff. So what are you thinking?" Dean asked, staring at the screen. All this technical stuff never made much sense to him.

"My vote's for Texas," Sasha said, clicking away on the keyboard to bring up more windows about a little town just over the border into Texas, "Booker's our best and closest hotspot. We were also thinking Massachusetts since we never got there either, but there's something…I don't know…intuition maybe that makes me want to head to Texas first."

"I'm with Sasha," Sam said, "More demonic activity anyway. The crime rate alone has doubled since the Devi's Gate."

Dean shrugged and then used the gesture to scoot a little closer to Sasha under the blanket. The incubus was so warm he seemed to radiate heat. Dean shivered against him. "Crime can go up. Not necessarily demonic."

"It is in a town of fifteen hundred, and when most of the crimes are being committed by its most upstanding citizens. Besides, we have a lot more than that. Look, using some of what Ash used to—" Sam had begun to reach over Sasha and click on some of those windows the incubus opened, but Dean reached too, grabbed the laptop right off of Sasha's lap and pulled it out of both of their reach to his other side. He clicked the thing closed.

"Dean," Sasha said in irritation.

"This is important," Sam added.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "And you've done a fine job. We also have several more days of our vacation, and I'm not sitting through the Monster Squad's geek meetings for any of them. We know where we're headed next and you've got some of the finer points down. Good. Good _enough_. Now, can we get back to the mindless indulgences? It's New Years in like thirty minutes and we don't even have any booze up here."

Maybe the others had forgotten, but Dean had been paying a lot more attention to the days since he almost missed Christmas back in the hospital. He had planned for, well, something today, but everything got complicated on him again and the next thing he knew Ellen and Jo were off to bed and he had almost forgotten about New Years himself.

It really wasn't all that big of a deal, but Dean couldn't help thinking he might not get another year to usher in. Besides, he had Sasha and Sam, his companions for the rest of his miserable life whether he always wanted them both around or not, and he kind of thought that was something worth celebrating.

"Actually, I can come through more often than you think, Dean," Sam said with a large smile instead of chewing him out further, "We were about to come get you in a bit anyway. I figured up here was a good place to let them chill." Sam reached over back behind on his far side and snagged a bottle from under the window ledge, where another bottle lay in wait for later. It was wine instead of Champaign but Dean was more than okay with that. "Couldn't risk grabbing glasses. Figured Ellen might notice," Sam shrugged, "Still hoping she won't notice the bottles are missing since she had a couple extras of this kind."

"You swiped 'em?" Dean realized, not even trying to hide his admiration. He loved when his finer points rubbed off on Sam a bit. "Dude, that's not even just halfway to awesome. That's full blown awesome times three. Pop that baby open."

"We're not waiting until midnight?" Sasha asked.

Sam shrugged and Dean let out a laugh. "That's for tourists. Real men can drink whenever they want. And hey, how exactly are you getting that thing open?" he asked Sam who still had the bottle in his hands.

"Well," Sam said with something of a blush as he switched his gaze onto Sasha, "I was kinda…hoping…" he passed the bottle to Sasha and the incubus laughed.

"Just call me a parlor trick," Sasha grinned, taking the bottle in his left hand as his right formed into claws. He stabbed his taloned thumb into the cork and pulled it cleanly out, "I also do parties," he joked as Sam politely plucked the cork off of his thumb and chucked it, "Bottle opener gets first drink," Sasha finished with a grin, downing back a long swallow of the wine. He licked his lips appreciatively before handing the bottle back to Sam.

Dean read over the bottle's label as Sam took his first drink. Dean didn't know wine but he certainly didn't mind drinking it, especially when he didn't have to pay. This was a white of some kind with one of those German names. Not an expensive bottle, but tasty. Dean found that out after his first swallow, and couldn't have been beaming at his brother any bigger.

Sammy never failed to pull through when Dean really needed him, and this definitely wasn't just about the wine.

Of course, Sam cut Dean off before he could even form all that much of a buzz, worried that too much alcohol and his meds would be dangerous. That was the reason Dean hadn't had a beer in more days than he could count, but damn it, this was a special occasion. He managed to steal at least a few more drinks from the second bottle without Sam noticing, and by the end they were all pretty well equal, what with Dean's meds helping him along, Sam being Sam, and Sasha taking longer pulls.

"Yep, totally slept with her," Sam was laughing, "In her own trailer. How did that even happen?" Sam laughed again and downed the last of their second bottle of wine, to which Sasha whined and then snagged the empty bottle afterwards.

"What can I say Sammy, I got a way about me," Dean grinned, "And I can totally vouch for the scream queen being a screamer. Heh." Dean had fond memories of that trailer. Definitely made being a PA worth it.

Sasha tossed the empty wine bottle over to where they had tossed the first and then cast a scowl at Dean. Since he had downed the most of the wine overall, even his bright blue eyes looked glassy. He frowned at Dean and said, "So ya want a screamer, huh? Coz I can totally pull off…pretty much anything sexual. I mean…it's what I was built for, right?" Sasha's smile was crooked. Apparently wine did wonders for the incubus. After all, being drunk off wine was entirely different than being drunk off beer. A whole other experience.

Dean waved a hand dismissively, "All depends on who you're with."

Sam started nodding consistently as Dean spoke on.

"I mean, I've had a lot of sex. Maybe not as much as you," Dean said, waggling a finger in Sasha's face, "But enough to know what I like."

"Oh?" Sasha prompted, rolling onto his side facing Dean, "And what's that?"

Dean grinned and reached out towards Sasha's face. "Strangely enough, it seems to be you, baby. A frickin'…incubus," he laughed, "It's…what's the word? Kismet! I've been acting like an incubus my whole life. 'Bout time the real thing showed me a few tricks, huh?"

"Well," Sasha said in a low, growly voice, "Tricks I got." Then, before Dean could even hope to react, Sasha was climbing up on top of him, even still under the comforter, and he kissed him hard as anything.

That was just fine by Dean and his wine and medication riddled brain—Sasha's larger body on top of his, that warmth and enveloping presence. Not to mention how Sasha's sweet-tasting tongue plunged deeply, and his hands traveled down Dean's sides like he wanted to strip Dean down right there on the roof.

While Dean had forgotten about his wounds, Sasha was careful enough not to press their chests together. He just laid there gently on top of Dean. It wasn't long before Dean felt that familiar heat beginning to pool either, especially with the way Sasha's tongue moved against his own, those soft hands slipping up underneath Dean's shirts to feather up his belly.

"Hey," came Sam's dissenting voice suddenly, "None a that while I'm still here," he said, and before Dean could complain Sasha was being pulled off of him and rolled back onto his back between the two Winchesters.

Dean almost pouted he mourned the loss of Sasha so much.

But Sasha was giggling and when Dean glanced over he saw that the redhead had rolled onto his other side now, facing Sam.

"Sorry, Sammy," the incubus said, "I'd say you can join in, but I don't think Dean would appreciate that very much."

Dean lifted up a little to better see the others and watched as Sasha planted a sloppy kiss right on Sam's cheek before pulling away again. The reaction from Sam, an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace, was enough to send Dean into a fit of giggles. Sasha soon joined him.

They had definitely drunk that wine way too fast.

By the time their laughter had stilled and they were silent again, Dean's head was buzzing, and thinking clearly or not, he knew just where he wanted the conversation to go. Drunken confessions were always the easiest to weasel out. "Hey," he said, pushing Sasha's shoulder with his hand, "I wanna hear that story."

"What story?"

"The one about you and Ellen," Dean said, grinning mischievously.

Sasha's face went instantly white. "No, you don't wanna hear about that," he said.

"Sure do," Dean nodded, "Unless you'd rather tell me about you sleeping with Jo."

A laugh erupted from Sam but it soon died into silence. Sasha was biting his lip like he had just been caught doing something very, very naughty.

Dean knew that tactic would work. "So you did sleep with her!" he accused, even though he didn't really care about past involvements, especially not when he was halfway to drunk, "I knew it. She was being way too obvious. Either you're telling that story or you're telling the other one. Next thing I know you'll be saying you slept with Sam!"

This time both Sasha and Sam let out loud, rancorous laughs. "That'd never happen," Sasha assured Dean. Then he turned to Sam. "Not that you're not hot, mind you," he said.

"Appreciated," Sam nodded.

Dean snorted—right, his baby brother was hot—and then said as Sasha turned back to him, "So which is it then?"

"If you really wanna know," Sasha began, "I'll tell you both. After all, Jo's story's short enough, and it was only that one time."

"That time you taught her how to waltz, right?" Sam asked.

"Actually…it was about two years before that."

"Ha!" Dean had to laugh, "Dude, she was eighteen! Were you out of your mind? I'm surprised Ellen didn't shoot you."

"Ellen doesn't know," Sasha said, suddenly looking serious, "And Jo doesn't know about Ellen either. It better stay that way too, okay?" he said, turning his head to each of the brothers before continuing, "Jo was…well, Jo was more like a regular feeding. Someone who needed me. That's all. And I was happy to be there for her. She was a good kid, cute, sweet, _sexy_…" he trailed a little and Dean had to punch him lightly in the side since he didn't like Sasha getting that far away look over anyone but him. Sasha grinned at Dean though and everything was forgiven. "It was what it was. Don't make a big deal out of it. We never did. Ellen though…well, that was a different story."

"You were almost frenzied, right?" Sam prompted. They were all sounding more serious now, wanting to hear this story told finally, "How'd you manage to get Ellen to sleep with you when it was that dangerous?"

Sasha lay fully back and stared up at the stars above them. "To be honest…I should have died that night."

--

"Joanna Beth, I swear to God, girl, you better get a move on and lock up those doors or you got something else coming!" Ellen called into the back at her daughter. Sometimes that girl just didn't think. Ellen could have sworn she heard something in the storage room earlier where the back door led to, and damn it, if some animal had managed to sneak its way in because Jo hadn't locked those door again, there would certainly be a talking to in store for that girl later.

Ellen was tired. It had been another long night, what with so many hunters moving in and out of the place. Only a couple had chosen to stay the night, but they were a couple Ellen trusted, enough that she was more than ready to lock up early and leave them to their business.

After locking away the more expensive alcohol, just to be certain, Ellen excused herself into the back to search out her daughter. She ran into Jo just as the girl was coming out of the storage room.

"Well?"

"It was unlocked, but I swear I had it all set earlier, Momma, really," Jo affirmed, big brown eyes taking on that damn doe look. She was still just a kid, only sixteen, but Ellen knew she wouldn't be calling her 'Momma' for much longer. Jo had her sights on places beyond the walls of the Roadhouse and damned if Ellen was going to stop her forever.

"Well, it's locked up now, is it?" Ellen asked. She was too tired to get on Jo's case all that much tonight since it seemed everything was under control.

Jo nodded vigorously. "Cleaned up the shelves a bit too, Momma, I swear. Won't ever happen again."

Oh, it probably would, and Ellen would deal with that too, but for tonight she was placated enough. "Get on up to bed now," she said in what she hoped was a softer voice as she pulled Jo in and kissed her girl's forehead in a goodnight, "Might let you sleep in if you promise to get all those chores done tomorrow."

When Ellen pulled away, Jo was beaming. "Every last one," Jo smiled, "Night, Momma. Love you." Jo pecked Ellen quickly on the cheek in return and then darted away towards her own bedroom.

Ellen couldn't help sighing. It was never easy raising a little girl, and certainly no easier raising her alone. The most Ellen could hope for was that Jo continued to be the strong girl she was turning into. Really, Ellen had no doubts that would be true, even if she lost her girl in the end to the wider world.

Lights were shut off and doors all closed and locked when Ellen made her way to her bedroom finally. It never seemed to come soon enough—the end of the day. Tired as Ellen was though, she was still a hunter at heart, a hunter's wife once certainly, but a hunter herself, and she knew immediately that something wasn't right when she entered her room and shut the door behind her.

Before Ellen even took another breath she pulled the gun out of the back of her jeans. "Now you better just come on out quietly," she said to the darkness, watching it carefully rather than throwing on the light, "I know you're there. You mean no harm you better say so. I'm inclined to shoot first and you better believe I mean that."

At first nothing responded, but then out of the darkest, furthest corner of the room, Ellen began to hear gentle sobbing in a voice she knew she recognized but couldn't yet place.

"I mean it!" Ellen said more firmly, "You better say who you are if you're a friend, or I swear…"

"I…I'm sorry…" came a soft, tear-ridden plea.

Ellen froze. She definitely knew that voice. Regaining her bearings, Ellen slowly started for that corner on the other side of her bed. She kept her gun out and squinted into the darkness. Even without much light it wasn't hard to eventually make out the red hair of a boy she had met not too long ago. "Sasha…?" Ellen prompted, "Deklin Kelly's boy? That you?"

Red eyes that burned unnaturally in the darkness looked up, tear stained but still jarring. "Ellen…_please_…"

Immediately, Ellen renewed her aim, cursing herself for letting her guard slip in the first place. "What…what are you? You some kinda shapeshifter? You do something to that boy?" she all but growled.

The figure of Sasha on the floor just shook his head, and as Ellen got closer she saw how he was crouched on the floor, knees pulled into his chest. His eyes were indeed inhumanly red and in his mouth were fangs like those of a vampire in the movies. "I…I'm just me. Just…one more…stupid… monster. I was such an…idiot. I knew not to go so long without feeding. I _knew_."

"Feeding?" Ellen repeated, feeling understandably nauseas over the whole thing. She had met what she thought was a sweet, albeit foolhardy and far too young hunter. But he had seemed sincere. The truth dawned on Ellen then and though she felt slightly more at ease, she didn't move her gun from being pointed at Sasha on the floor. "An incubus, am I right? Is that what you are? I know you're no vampire."

Miserably, Sasha shook his head. He wouldn't look Ellen in the eyes, just stared down at his knees, shivering. "An incubus," he admitted, "Worth shooting?" he asked then, glancing up only briefly.

"You tell me," Ellen asked back.

Sasha just shivered harder and pulled his knees in a little tighter to his chest. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I was afraid…afraid I wouldn't make it."

"Make it where? Here?"

Sasha nodded. "Had to get to the Roadhouse. Had to know…that if I lost it…I'd be near people who could stop me. Ellen," Finally Sasha looked up again and for the first time he really looked into Ellen's eyes, "Please don't let me hurt anyone. I waited too long. It's been too long. I need to feed, but I can't…I can't keep the glamours, I can't…can't be sure I won't take too much. I'm losing it…I'm…losing myself…"

The way the boy's voice broke, the sincerity in his despair and his pleas to Ellen were enough that Ellen couldn't believe Sasha had come in here to hurt her. He was looking for an executioner. "You just need to feed? You feed and you'll be alright again?" Ellen asked.

"Too dangerous," Sasha shook his head.

"Just answer me."

Red eyes darted up again and Sasha nodded. He was shaking harder but in his eyes Ellen still saw control, much as he didn't believe he had it. "I…I just need to feed. But I don't…I don't know—"

"Do you kill your victims?" Ellen asked without sympathy.

Sasha looked up at her with complete horror on his face. "Never. I'd…I'd _never_," he shook his head vehemently, "I never want to hurt anyone."

"Well then," Ellen said, lowering her gun finally and tucking it back into her jeans, "Guess we're going to have to do something about this then." She was close enough to Sasha now that all she had to do was hold out her hand. He could easily grab it if he chose to.

"What are you doing…?" Sasha asked, blinking red eyes that just looked so pitying, not at all frightening.

Ellen sighed. "A hunter's business is to help, not to kill. Seems you need some help, boy, and it isn't my nature, not one tiny bit to turn away a hunter when he's the one in need of the helping. You came to me for a reason, I imagine."

While there was a moment of recognition on Sasha's face, he shook his head again and kept his limbs tightly together and very much to himself. "No…too dangerous. I wouldn't…couldn't ask that. I just…I don't wanna hurt anyone."

"Then you won't. Seems the best way to make sure of that is to get you fed."

Ellen wasn't nearly as confident and sure of herself as she was making out, but she couldn't back down now. She liked to think she knew people, and short a time as she had known Sasha, she certainly didn't peg him for a liar or a cheat. Leaving out that little detail about being an incubus was just plain smart in the hunter world; she couldn't blame him for that. But from what she knew about his kind they weren't usually hunted because they didn't usually show up on the radar as killing anything. Sasha confirmed that by saying he didn't kill to feed, and she wanted to believe him.

No point in losing good hunters over stupid things when they got themselves killed often enough for good reasons too. Ellen had learned that herself only too personally.

"Now you listen to me, boy," Ellen said, crouching down beside Sasha since he had made no move to accept her offered hand, "You wanna die, I can sure as hell shoot ya. But I don't think you do. You got enough control in you to have come this far. I believe you can control yourself just a little longer and save us both the trouble of dealing with your corpse. That sound fair enough?"

Sasha didn't say anything, but he didn't dissent either, just looked up at Ellen with those sad red eyes.

"You feed off sex, that right? That all you need?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Then stop being such a damn fool and take my hand," Ellen said firmly.

It probably seemed like longer than it was, but eventually Sasha reached out and Ellen saw that the tips of his fingers were black, half formed into claws. She took his hand readily anyway and lifted him to his feet. He swayed just a little but then turned and looked at her squarely. "You don't have to do this," he said.

"No. I don't," she said right back.

Then Sasha was reaching for her and though Ellen tensed she trusted even the desperation she found in those strange, unfamiliar eyes. Sasha's hand came around Ellen's waist and he tapped the gun lightly. "Keep it close," he whispered as he leaned into her body.

The next second Sasha was hungrily devouring Ellen's lips and the world immediately spun. Ellen knew about the pheromones these creatures had. She figured they had to be stronger when one of them was this close to being out of control, and she wasn't just going to give in to that. "You keep yourself in check now," she said as Sasha kissed her, like she barely remembered being kissed it was so feverish and urgent. It sent swells of heat straight to Ellen's belly.

She must be out of her mind.

They were on the bed suddenly and Ellen didn't know how they had gotten there. She was in her late thirties and this young thing on top of her was just eighteen. There was a certain appeal to that she couldn't deny, much as it worried her too because her own daughter wasn't all that much younger. Sasha wasn't the type of man Ellen would have chosen to be her first go in over six years, but it was hard to deny the diluted and forgotten passion that spurned to life simply at his touch—a hand in her hair, another at her hip, hitching up her shirt and smoothing up her stomach.

Ellen's first thought had been that this would be over quickly since the boy needed it so badly, but apparently she hadn't thought too hard on what it was an incubus needed. It wasn't really the sex; it was the sexual energy from _her_. And Sasha seemed mighty hell bent on making it good for Ellen too.

There was a moment that passed where Ellen wondered if she had been swindled. Her gun was on the nightstand, easily accessible, and sure they were fooling around, but if Sasha had really just wanted to screw Ellen to death like how Ellen used to think of these creatures then he could have done that without the waterworks. No, she trusted that the boy was the same young hunter she had met and couldn't help liking not long ago. This was just going to be something they had to keep between them. Or he had better believe that she'd find a use for that gun on him after all.

"You're beautiful…" Sasha whispered, almost like a growl, after stripping Ellen down to her underwear with the vigor only a starved teenager could possess.

Ellen couldn't help snorting. "No need for the sweet talk now."

Sasha grinned, his eyes hazy and still red, and though his smile showed fangs there was something so sweet about it. "I never use sweet talk. Just truth," he said, before devouring her yet again with another kiss. There was so much passion in everything he did that it left Ellen breathless. It was almost relief when he finally had her naked beneath him, his own naked heat against her thigh and so demanding.

Still, Sasha didn't give in, instead drinking in everything he could as he fed from the experience, and forcing moans out of Ellen that she hated herself for allowing. His hands were just too soft, too tender even in their need, sliding up her ribs and ghosting over her breasts like every inch of her was precious. Only when his hands reached her hips did he grip more firmly, and even then he stilled himself and reached a hand between her legs to pull out more of those damnable moans before he even thought to take her fully.

It was slow, deep, and shuddering when it finally happened. Ellen imagined the boy must be going out of his mind trying to keep himself steady and controlled for her sake, and part of her just wanted him to lose it and take her the way she knew he could. It would be more fitting of Sasha anyway, she thought, what with how brash he was. When she couldn't take anymore of his slow thrusts, she grabbed him by the biceps and spoke very plainly.

"Do I look like a porcelain doll to you, boy?"

Sasha grinned widely; Ellen didn't need to say those words more than once.

When it was almost over, Sasha tried to pull out, but to be honest Ellen didn't want to deal with the cleanup and really didn't mind him staying right where he was. She told him so, locked her thighs around his hips and rode out his release. She knew enough about these creatures to know it didn't really matter.

The smile on Sasha's face after was so sweet, so relieved, and his eyes faded back to that familiar blue, his fangs gone too. He was trembling everywhere and Ellen figured she probably was as well. Sasha just hovered over her for awhile, smiling down at her gratefully. When he finally pulled away and rolled to the side, he even sighed out a "Thank you" before almost immediately falling asleep.

Ellen let Sasha sleep there in her bed because she didn't have the heart to wake him and make him move to another room. When she woke up the next morning he had moved on his own, having taken an empty room some time during the night. They never brought it up, never spoke about it, save the small whispered, "You really are beautiful," before Sasha left the next day. Ellen didn't let him see her shiver as he said that, but she felt it, still tingly from the night before.

Needless to say, she slept like a rock the night after and didn't regret saving the incubus from much less accommodating hunters in the least.

--

Dean was a little dizzy when he and Sasha finally headed back to their own room, leaving Sam tucked into bed with his somewhat chilly comforter after being out on the roof for a few hours. Dean was more than ready for bed as well, just bed, _sleep_, much as he wanted to give in to the little kisses Sasha kept planting on his face and neck as they made their way across the hall.

As soon as they entered the room Dean all but tripped over the basket of clothes Jo had set there. He had forgotten all about his laundry.

"I am so sleeping in fresh from the dryer shorts," Dean grinned sleepily.

Sasha laughed. "Dean, they've been sitting here for hours."

"Ah, but the ones on the bottom are still warm coz the heat can't escape with the clothes all scrunched together," Dean said matter-of-factly, and naturally he was right. He grabbed his one red pair of shorts, the one pair that actually seemed a little out of place among his usual greys, blacks, and blues, and stripped down to put them on.

Dean couldn't help noticing how Sasha eyed him hungrily, but Dean shook his head as he started pulling the shorts up his thighs. "Don't even think about. I'd fall asleep halfway through and you'd never let me live it down."

"Guess I'll have to find a nice way to wake you up in the morning then," Sasha promised, but Dean didn't really hear him. He was too busy trying to figure out why his shorts felt so damn tight.

"What's wrong with these things," Dean grumbled, getting them on finally, but feeling especially constricted. Looking down, Dean couldn't help noticing that his shorts were pornographically tight. "Did she shrink my clothes?"

Dean grabbed for a T-shirt out of the pile and held it up. The T-shirt looked fine. Dean looked through the basket a little more and didn't see anything wrong with his other clothing, but when he held up his shorts—any of his shorts, actually—all of them had been shrunk down at least a full size.

"I'm gonna kill her," Dean growled, throwing the shorts he had had in his hands down to the floor, "I'm gonna kill her!"

Sasha was trying very hard not to laugh, lounging back on the bed in just _his_ shorts—that were the perfect size of course—and eyeing Dean up and down with a waggled eyebrow since Dean hadn't yet bothered to remove the too tight underwear he had first put on. "I don't know, Dean. Are you sure it's a prank?" he asked, "Or just a treat for me."

Dean acknowledged that comment with a quirked half smile but couldn't completely give in to the humor. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. It may have been the wine talking, but Dean knew he would remember his promise in the morning. "This so isn't over."

tbc...

A/N: I so had no plans for that chapter to be quite THAT long. Anyway, how'd I do on my first EVER het scene, huh? You'd think what with the practical experience I'd have written some before, but...nope. Less graphic of course since the idea was that Dean was imagining the story through Ellen's eyes as Sasha told it and getting too detailed seemed in poor taste. I've wanted to get in that scene for some time. Anyway, more pranks to come, but I think the next chapter will also be the end of this arc. Never know what the boys might do though. New Years? Totally them taking the story away from me. In fact, most of this chapter was. Those stinkers. Let me know what you think, oh faithful readers! And I just have to plug deangirl1's most recent chapter of the kisses, since it is my new favorite. Also, if anyone wants to read something about Sammy finding those tapes of when they were younger--in no way related to Incubus though--check out Kalira of the Flames fic "Winchesters in Technicolor." Hope I spelled that right. Anyway, gotta sleep!

Crim


	30. Part 7: This Means War

This chapter is dedicated entirely to deangirl1 for many reasons, and not all named. The beginning because she asked for it. The end because she requested it as part of her prize in winning the "Dean tells Sasha" writing contest, and a certain other something at the end because it just seemed right and I know she has been waiting for it. Take your time, my dear.

--

Part 7: This Means War

--

The kisses were soft, light and tender as they pressed against Dean's arm and traveled up to his shoulder. Dean shivered when the kisses reached his collarbone, feathering across his neck before a wet tongue swiped over his Adam's apple. Dean hummed. He thought at first he might be dreaming—he had definitely been asleep when the kisses started—but as he came to, the sensations became more and more vivid.

Sasha was kissing Dean's jaw line and a soft-skinned hand had come up to rest on Dean's stomach, caressing up Dean's chest past his bandages, petting gently over his neck and then trailing down Dean's arm. When Sasha's kisses brought the incubus to Dean's ear, he slowly pulled the lobe into his mouth and sucked.

Dean hummed again. He was still half asleep and hadn't yet opened his eyes, but a hand moved unconsciously to Sasha's back and ran Dean's own callused fingers over the expanse of Sasha's shoulder blades.

Unfairly, Sasha pulled away at Dean's touch, lifting up just enough so that Dean's hand fell from his back. Dean responded with a whine that sounded much more like a groan and he still didn't open his eyes. But then Dean felt his hand being lifted, the same hand that had tried to seek out Sasha's skin, and before Dean could fall back into dozing, he felt unexpected wetness envelop one of his fingers.

This time Dean's hum fell into a moan and he shifted restlessly. God, that tongue and the hot, wonderful mouth that went with it. The feeling sent jolts of pleasure straight to Dean's groin. He had tossed his shrunken shorts aside before climbing into bed that night, sleeping in the buff because really what did it matter?

Dean was grateful for his bare skin now. He could feel Sasha's lean naked body all against his side, and while Dean's mind wasn't entirely awake yet, his lower half certainly was. Dean grinned to himself as he thought, _so was Sasha's_.

Pulling his lips slowly from Dean's finger, Sasha moved onto the next one, taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. Dean could practically feel his friend's smile even as the incubus teased him. Dean tried to will himself awake, but there was something strangely evocative about Sasha's ministrations while Dean was only half conscious, and finally Dean just decided to go with it.

Sasha's hand hadn't stopped moving, caressing down Dean's side and up again, brushing teasingly over a nipple at the edge of Dean's bandages. Unconsciously—because all of Dean's actions were unconscious still—Dean shifted his hips and felt Sasha's wet heat slide over his thigh. Dean tried to turn towards it, wanting Sasha closer, for all that wonderful skin to surround him. Sasha seemed to understand and released Dean's finger with a wet pop. Then the incubus was moving, pulling Dean onto his side so that they faced each other and there was no mistaking how _awake_ both of their bodies were now.

A month ago Dean would have shied away from this kind of intimate contact—probably would have run to be honest—but now Dean sought it out, pressing his hips forward to feel the heat between them burn as they met tightly together.

It was the blissful sigh Sasha released that finally got Dean to open his eyes. Tiredness and Sasha's close proximity made it difficult for Dean to make out any more than the surreal blue glowing back at him, but that was enough. Sasha's breathing sounded deafeningly loud when the incubus slid his face against Dean's, brushing their cheeks together and shuddering as he too pressed his hips forward.

Dean found it impossible not to grind against Sasha's hip then as Sasha did the same against him, their erections teasing past each other. Sasha's hands were at Dean's sides now and he slid them around to Dean's back and lower down the rounded curve of Dean's rear. As Sasha jerked Dean against him with that new grip, Dean's hands sought out Sasha too.

There was space between their chests for Dean's sake, so Dean pressed the flat of his palms to Sasha's pecks, grinning sideways to himself about the missing flesh he was once so used to and very found of actually. Dean decided he liked the difference too, however, this firm muscle, this body that _belonged_ to him.

Sliding his hands down Sasha's stomach, Dean reveled in the incubus' soft skin, soon moving his hands around to Sasha's backside as well, jerking their hips together once again. It was so easy after that, grinding mindlessly together.

Sasha turned his face towards Dean and kissed Dean's cheek, whispering sweet words and promises that lost their meaning on Dean's hazy, sleepy brain, but that were still somehow understood so that it made Dean smile.

It was pure need that brought Dean's mouth to Sasha's neck, sucking hard and biting just firmly enough to make Sasha gasp. Their hips retained a rhythm and Dean knew, dazed as he was, that he wouldn't last much longer.

Dean wondered if he murmured that aloud because Sasha said just beside his ear, "Do I make you lose control, Dean?" all teasing, breathy words.

"Hell yeah, baby," Dean breathed in reply, his own words slurred from sleep but audible, "I make you crazy too?"

Sasha growled out that low sexy purr in reply and Dean was done. Sasha moaned as Dean's heat struck him, making his own thrusts easier with the added wetness. Still, Sasha lasted a good while longer and Dean didn't mind at all since it kept Sasha close and allowed Dean full access to all that soft skin he loved so much.

Dean ran his hands everywhere he could reach, memorizing it all like this was the only chance they were ever going to get, because after all it always could be. Dean kissed everywhere too, up Sasha's neck, over his pretty face, and finally finding those lips, soft, pliant, and giving under Dean's pressure.

When Sasha came minutes later, he echoed the sensation back to Dean like a muted form of sharing the circuit the way they had the other night, and it made Dean tremble all over again. If it weren't for the mess between their bodies afterwards, Dean might have fallen back into blissful sleep right then.

"Good morning," Sasha purred.

Dean let out a throaty laugh. "If you call that good…then what the hell's a _great_ morning?" he said. As his vision focused and he pulled back, Dean saw easily the answering smile on Sasha's face.

"Well…we gotta clean up somehow," Sasha said in his lower incubus-tinged voice.

Damn.

"Not as much fun with these, I know," Sasha clarified, touching a hand gently to Dean's bandages, where Dean ached a little since he hadn't been able to stop himself from pressing into Sasha entirely, "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind the view of your wet. Naked. Body. Hmm?" Sasha finished.

Well, fuck, that Dean could supply. He pulled further away to glance down Sasha's body as well. He could also definitely agree to the appeal of seeing all that bare skin wet in the shower. "I could use some help dressing these wounds again, I suppose," Dean said, feeling more awake now, "And hey, if it's early enough, I know just what we can do afterwards."

Sasha smirked.

Dean hated to disappoint the incubus, but what he had in mind was not what Sasha was thinking.

As it turned out, it was early enough, and Jo was still sleeping when they snuck into her room. It may seem like minor payback in some circles, but Dean couldn't resist the classic prank. He hoped they had managed to snag all of Jo's bras and that Ellen wouldn't be too upset if she found them in the freezer.

The evidence was pretty clear through Jo's tank top that the prank had been a success, and Dean grinned at her across the breakfast table. "Bit chilly today, huh?"

Jo's returning glare spoke of all kinds of homicidal thoughts. Then her expression fell to a sinister smile as she said, "Sitting a little uncomfortable there, Dean?"

Since Ellen had already excused herself to begin her day's work, Dean had absolutely no qualms about his reply. "Actually," he said, leaning back in his chair and shifting contentedly, "It's kinda refreshing. Going _commando_ and all."

Sasha snickered.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Jo scowled murder again.

"Well, time to get to work, eh, kids?" Dean said with a wink. Sam and Sasha had to work on the rooms with the wall they had knocked down, Jo had her allotted errands, and Dean was supposed to help out Ellen again.

Dean stood up from the table and gave a whistle to Wally. She had been dozing under the table throughout breakfast, occasionally looking up at someone with her large, pleading eyes in hopes that they might drop her a scrap. Dean scooped her up and set her on his shoulder as he headed off to find Ellen, feeding Wally the jam-covered crust off his remaining toast. There was the smallest spring to his step as he walked.

It was going to be a good day.

--

And it was, until Jo asked Dean some time during the afternoon to check some of the windows in one of the rooms that had apparently been sticking. What Jo didn't mention was that they had also just been freshly painted. Dean exited the room with a firm scowl and white paint all up his arms and on his shirt.

Sam pleaded with Dean to leave things be. Two pranks each—they were even. But _even_ had never been Dean's cue for calling it quits, and it certainly wouldn't be now. Sasha was also reluctant to get pulled into the pranking again, but he still gave Dean a helpful hint regarding a possible new prank on Jo.

Despite her strong tolerance for most things—being able to drink almost any male hunter under the table for instance—Jo could regrettably not handle spicy foods worth a damn. Dean had to grin when Sasha told him. That was an easy one.

It was too close to dinner time that night, but the next night Dean made himself particularly handy in the kitchen—dinner was chili, so it couldn't be more perfect—and he may or may not have made a few changes to the recipe in Jo's helping. She teared up so fast it was priceless, and her face went as red as Sasha's hair. She didn't even question what had happened; Jo glared right across the table at Dean.

Unfortunately for Sasha, he had a ready glass of milk for her, and since Jo knew that Sasha knew about her intolerance for all things spicy, she immediately turned that glare onto him. That led to what Dean considered to be the highlight of the current prank wars, if only because he found out a rather amusing secret of Sasha's.

It all began with a scream the following day that Dean could only describe as emasculating. He and Sam had finally been painting that last room, the upstairs lounge. Meanwhile, Sasha had gone to take a shower after cleaning out the attic of Wally's nest and scavenged items, to which the creature pouted but allowed because it was explained to her that if she wanted to keep her new nest of blankets in Ellen's room, and the free food, then she had to behave.

Hearing Sasha's scream from the bathroom sent Sam and Dean racing for Sasha and Dean's room, imagining all sorts of possible horrors considering their usual repertoire. They entered to find Sasha clutching a towel to himself that barely covered him, and looking strangely spooked.

"Dude, you just see a ghost or accidentally cut off a limb?" Dean asked, "You're sheet white." Which would be less spectacular were Sasha in his incubus form, but currently he wasn't.

Sasha turned to Sam and Dean, chewing his lip nervously. "Nothing," the incubus managed, "It's…nothing." He didn't sound very convincing.

"You scream bloody murder and it's nothing?" Dean questioned.

Sasha's expression shifted very quickly from nervous to embarrassed. "It didn't sound that bad, did it?"

"_Sasha_," Sam demanded with some impatience.

That did the trick, just as Sam's business voice always did, but when Sasha spoke again it was clearly reluctant. "There's…a spider in the shower," he said as quickly as possible, as if he hoped he wouldn't be understood and then the matter would be dropped.

Oh, but Sam and Dean had heard him alright, and Dean's entire expression cracked as laughter bubbled up within him. "There's. A spider. In the shower?" he repeated, barely managing to form the words, "Are—" Dean choked on a chuckle, "Are you serious?"

Sasha's face had become entirely distraught. "It's huge!" he defended, "And it's winter, for crying out loud, they should all be dead!"

By now Dean had turned to Sam, having to clutch his brother's arm to keep from falling to the floor. They laughed so long and hard that the sound joined together and became one loud, unified Winchester guffaw. When they finally stilled, Sasha was all and out pouting at them. He had also thankfully situated the towel better around himself to free his arms.

"I hate spiders," Sasha grumbled, like it justified everything.

Dean sensed the tension that had been created only too easily. "Come on, don't be pissed," he said, walking up to Sasha who immediately crossed his arms, "If it makes you feel any better Sammy here would near piss his pants if he came face to face with Bozo the clown."

"Hey!"

Sasha snorted despite himself but he still didn't uncurl from his defensive stance.

For a moment Dean felt like he was ten years old, sent to the front lines by little six year old Sammy to handle some unknown bug and be the kid's hero. It was just plain funny though that Sasha was a grown man. Well, actually…

"Dude, you're an incubus," Dean pointed out, "Couldn't you just go all claw foot and squish the thing?"

Sasha made a face. "Gross."

It took all of Dean's willpower not to start laughing again. In fact, he definitely heard a small chuckle escape Sam. "Look," Dean said, smiling as charmingly as he could, "Dean'll take care of the big bad spider." Dean then promptly turned into the bathroom, smirking to himself over Sasha's affronted huff, and went for the shower.

A minute later he returned from the bathroom grinning even wider and chucked the spider right at Sasha, to which the incubus all but shrieked, "Dean!"

"Relax, you big _girl_," Dean said, reaching down to pick the spider back up again from where it had dropped, "It's plastic. See?" he said, holding it out towards Sasha. It was also barely the size of a penny. "Sasha, you totally fell for one of the oldest pranks ever. Jo got you good."

At first Sasha just blinked at the plastic spider, something anyone could get their hands on come Halloween and certainly not anything worth screaming over.

"Guess she blamed _you_ for the chili thing," Dean smirked.

Needless to say, Sam and Dean had to give Jo her due credit for the prank and retold the story in superfluous detail. Sasha scowled throughout of course, but he couldn't deny any of what happened.

At least at first.

"It was huge!" Sam called mockingly.

"It had antlers!" Dean joined in.

"And wings!"

"And breathed fire!"

"Oh come on!" Sasha protested then, since his manhood had been called into question a little too much since the incident, "Everyone has something stupid they're afraid of. Arachnophobia? Hello?"

A valid point, but that didn't mean they were going to let up. It was fun for Dean teaming up with Sam instead of always having Sam as the target. It reminded Dean of when they both pranked those idiots in West Texas who actually thought they were real ghost hunters.

Considering how things had turned out, Dean was more than willing to let this current incarnation of the prank wars end now. However, he should have known that an incubus scorned was far worse than any woman.

Jo was the first to receive Sasha's revenge, and in much the same way as she had gotten him. Apparently, Sasha had discovered all sorts of interesting things while cleaning out the attic, including a rubber snake that found its way into Jo's bed.

Dean got a good laugh over that, and even more of one over the next prank when the old circus poster Sasha found ended up on Sam's ceiling, just above his bed. Sam didn't notice until he woke up the next morning, but his scream, Dean decided, was far more emasculating than Sasha's had been.

So really, Dean should have expected that Sasha would at last turn on him, but the incubus had been acting so normal, smiling and flirting casually, stealing kisses in the hallways between chores, and almost always wanting to get friskier at night. So, to his discredit, Dean was rather surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night to the feel of cold wind.

"Jesus!" Dean cried, his entire body tensing as he opened his eyes and took stock of how he was not only outside but at least 200 feet in the air, "Sasha!" Dean cried then, realizing that he wasn't falling or dreaming but was still within all of his rights to freak out, "What the hell!"

Sasha was carrying Dean just as he had the night the incubus almost died, with a grip on Dean's biceps so that Dean hung wildly over the expanse of nothing below them—_naked_. "You know I won't drop you, Dean," Sasha said too sweetly even in his growly voice, "Just thought you could use a little…perspective."

"Perspective…got it! Definitely have perspective!" Dean called out, close to hysterics he was so shaken by being woken up this way.

It was close enough to dawn that the landscape was lightening and Dean could see that they weren't all that far from the Roadhouse really, but still far enough from town that they shouldn't be spotted. That didn't really make Dean feel any better though.

"I'll never make fun of you like that again, okay! Just _land_! Something! Anything!"

"Wow," Sasha said, so damn calm it made Dean grit his teeth, "If I'd have known it would be this easy to get you to do whatever I wanted I would have tried it sooner."

"Sasha!"

"I'm kidding. _Dean_," Sasha said as he swooped down, releasing Dean and catching him again almost simultaneously so that Dean ended up in Sasha's arms, bride-over-the-threshold style, "You're such a wuss sometimes. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to fly with you again, ever think of that?"

Dean scowled at being called a wuss, despite how he was now clinging to Sasha's neck for dear life. "Right. So this has nothing to do with the spider thing?" Dean said skeptically.

"Well…I wouldn't say that."

A scream choked out of Dean as Sasha suddenly dove, holding Dean close against his warm body, but not so much that Dean didn't want to claw at Sasha's shoulders and scrunch himself as small and tight as possible. "I hate you," Dean chanted, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…"

"No you don't," Sasha said, and Dean could hear the incubus' grin, "Open your eyes again, Dean," he said. Dean hadn't even realized his eyes were shut. "You couldn't be any safer than you are right now. I won't crash. I won't drop you. I won't let anything happen to you." Sasha's voice turned so tender at the end that Dean had no choice but to listen.

He opened his eyes to the sight of a marble-white chest at first, but slowly he turned to look out, past Sasha's hold on him at the landscape and sky around them. They were headed back to the Roadhouse. Dean could still see some stars in the sky above them, a sky so strangely close, and the fast movement of the ground passing beneath them wasn't quite as scary when Dean was as encompassed as he was.

"We should do this more often," Sasha said quietly, "I used to only go flying when I was…home."

To be honest, much as Dean minded the height less and less as they flew, he wasn't sure he would ever look forward to flying like this, but for Sasha's sake he said, "Yeah. Sure. Only…next time could you maybe give me a little warning? And some pants?"

Sasha laughed. "We'll see."

They touched down a few minutes later on the area of flat roof outside Sam's window. Dean was just glad the kid's curtains were closed.

"You really hate me?" Sasha asked with a crooked grin, setting Dean down on his feet carefully, his longer incubus hair even wilder than usual from the wind, "Coz you did kind of deserve it."

Dean huffed. Then shivered. "It's like thirty degrees out here. Maybe worse," he complained, "I don't hate ya yet, but you pull any of that shit again and I can't make any promises. Between you and Sam, and I am _so_ due for some mutant powers," he added with a grumble, shivering again.

"Cold, huh?" Sasha said, rather than address anything else Dean had said, "I can help with that." The incubus walked closer to Dean and suddenly Dean was enveloped all over again, pulled in tight to Sasha's chest as those large black wings swooped down to wrap around them. "And we're even. No more incubus stuff. Well…nothing you haven't already given your approval of anyway," Sasha whispered within their embrace.

Dean wanted to be upset, he had every right to be upset, because dangling naked above the ground was so worse than being teased about spider fear. Still, Dean wasn't oblivious to how Sasha genuinely wanted Dean apart of all these aspects of the incubus in him. "How do you manage to stay so warm out here?" Dean asked against Sasha's pale chest, loving not only the way those strong arms had a hold on him, but how the wings created the most amazing protective blanket that made Dean feel unfairly safe.

"Incubus," Sasha shrugged, "Better at regulating temperature. Guess I'm still handy to have around then, huh?"

Dean looked up at Sasha's face, the incubus being so much taller like this, maybe an inch or two taller than Sam because of those raptor feet. "You're determined to break me of my fear of flying aren't you?" Dean said with a wary smirk.

"Yep. Have to. It would seem too wrong for you to hate flying when you're dating someone who flies naturally."

"Dating?" Dean repeated slyly.

"You come up with another term, you let me know," Sasha smiled, and then he was leaning down, red eyes and fangs and all, to capture Dean's lips.

Dean tried not to be too obvious at how his heart gave a little jump and his stomach flipped excitedly. Whatever it was about Sasha's monstrous incubus form that turned him on so much, Dean wasn't really sure, but he knew he liked pretty much every detail, even the claws that slid away from being wrapped around his back to harshly grip biceps instead.

Soft lips touched Dean's firmly and there were those fangs that Dean just had to tongue a little, loving the light tickle, the danger that was never really there. Dean lifted up onto his toes, feeling like a girl for it, sure, but not caring much about that when it was how he made it easier to wrap his arms around Sasha and reach up to touch where Sasha's wings sprouted out of his back.

There was no guide to incubus pressure points, at least as far as Dean knew, but Dean figured it was worth trying to find some, and he massaged over that spot where the wings started, feeling like skin and tightly knit tendons. The area was small considering how broad Sasha's wings were further out. As Dean pressed his fingers into the rough but still smooth skin, Sasha purred low and deep before releasing a moan that had a tinge of growl in it too.

At risk of the prank wars going too far, Dean decided that he did not have to get Sasha back for this. But he would definitely remind the incubus several times that it was just plain unfair to use any incubus things against him. Using incubus things _for_ him, though…so entirely different.

Dean gave a great shiver within their kiss and Sasha suddenly pulled away. "We should get back inside. Don't want you getting sick," the incubus said.

"Sure, now you're worried about that," Dean grumbled, "You couldn't have thought that far ahead before dangling me naked over the Missouri landscape?"

Sasha just laughed. "Come on."

When they got back inside, using their own window which had a slanted roof below it but was easy enough for Sasha, the incubus immediately started shifting back into his human form.

Apparently, Dean must have been wearing a look of disappointment or something, because Sasha tilted his head at Dean and said, "You like me that way," not as a question, but as a very pleased and surprised statement.

"Haven't I said that before? Coz if not, man, _fuck_ are you hot like that." Realization of what he had just said hit Dean hard, and he had to roll his eyes at himself, rubbing his hand across his face. "God, I am such a _freak_."

"I don't mind," Sasha said softly, suddenly very close to Dean again, right in his personal space, "Us freaks gotta stick together right?" Sasha grinned, reminding Dean of his own words way back when they allowed Sasha into the Impala from out of the rain, already knowing then that they wouldn't be splitting up again any time soon.

When Sasha pulled Dean into a kiss, Dean immediately felt that tickle of fangs again. He really couldn't help it as the naughty part of his brain started wondering what it would be like to…

Knock. Knock.

"Early day, boys!" called Jo's voice, though at least this time she didn't come inside, "Gotta get these chores finished before you leave tomorrow! Up, up, up!" Jo knocked again.

Dean grimaced. He was definitely _up_. "Enough already, you god damn harpy!" Dean yelled back to the door, "Ten minutes! Geez!" Dean would have preferred to ask for fifteen or twenty, but he knew that would sound too obvious.

Jo yelled some kind of agreement and then her voice dimmed as she went for Sam's door.

Dean turned back to Sasha and immediately saw those damnably beautiful red eyes, the fangs just barely visible since Sasha's mouth was slightly open. "Mmmm…yeah, I'm definitely a freak," Dean hummed.

"Ten minutes?" Sasha prompted, "What are we going to do with ten minutes?"

Neither of them really needed a shower right that morning, and throwing on clothes would take them all of two seconds at most. Dean grinned. "I'm sure we can think of something."

--

The prank wars should have ended. Really. But as it was, Jo and Sam decided they didn't get that memo and teamed up to get Sasha back one last time. That couldn't have been a bigger mistake. Not because of Sasha's retaliation, but because things didn't exactly go as planned.

Dean knew nothing about the prank until the aftermath, but it was more or less his fault that things went wrong. Sam had asked Sasha to carry the last of the paint buckets out to the shed, something Ellen was grateful for having since there were some things she just didn't want kept in the storage room. Sasha had all but agreed when Dean asked if the incubus would help him haul the last of the wood from one of the rooms first. When Sasha said, "Sure," Ellen volunteered to carry the paint instead.

After seeing the looks of sudden panic on Sam and Jo's faces, Dean knew immediately that something was up. Ellen's sudden shriek after disappearing outside the door was pretty good confirmation too.

Sam and Jo stood frozen as Dean and Sasha ran for the door. Ellen was stomping back inside before either of them could reach it though, covered head to toe in various colors of paint. Sam and Jo had not only slicked the sidewalk, but they had—naturally—set up a bucket of paint above the door.

"_Which_. One of you?" Ellen seethed, looking first to Dean.

"It was totally them," Dean defended, pointing at Sam and Jo.

The guilty pair immediately fell into apologies and explanations, but Ellen held up a hand to silence them. "I don't. Want to know. You four have been at this all week. I think we can agree that the _fun_ is over. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," they said in near unison.

"Good." Ellen wiped her face, flicking a glob of paint to the floor. "And somebody better clean up whatever mess I leave behind me." With that Ellen marched towards the stairs, leaving a substantial trail of paint in her wake.

Once they had finished several extra chores along with what they had planned for that day, the group was actually able to call it an early night. The Roadhouse was in fairly good shape, and Dean, Sam, and Sasha would be leaving for Texas the next day. Dean's wounds felt a lot better too, but he would still have to deal with them for a bit longer.

Figured.

"Ow!" Dean shook his hand and brought the back of it up to his lips to suck on a fresh cut, "Nails are so cheating."

"Says the sore loser," Jo smiled, scooping up the last of Dean's cards, "Another round?" she asked the others. The four younger hunters had been gathered on the floor of the main downstairs lounge playing Egyptian Rat Screw for at least an hour, and Jo had definitely been dominating.

"Gotta win back my pride somehow," Dean shrugged.

Sasha and Sam nodded. There were sometimes when acting half ones age was rewarding, especially since they couldn't prank each other anymore.

Jo had just started to ask the boys about their next hunt when they first heard the noise. All of them immediately froze. It was a soft howl maybe, like a wolf or a coyote. Dean turned to Wally, the only animal—kind of—that they knew about, but she was curled up on Sasha's crossed legs. Then there was a sound like a crack, loud enough to shake the walls, and the howling growing suddenly louder.

They all had the same thought at the same time. _Shit! The Roadhouse was under attack! _ In seconds the group was in the other room, grabbing weapons from behind the bar, with Wally running upstairs to hide.

Jo grabbed the EMF meter from behind the bar too, and flicked it on. "Holy shit!" she called. The EMF readings were insane. Not surprisingly considering how the howling and ruckus outside was growing louder. EMF didn't only mean ghosts either.

"What is it?" Sam yelled over the increasing noise. Jo had set the EMF meter on the bar's countertop as the four armed hunters took flanking positions around the front door. The noise seemed to be coming from all around them, but especially from there.

"Mom!" Jo called suddenly, and despite her fighting disposition there was an edge of panic in her voice. They hadn't seen Ellen since dinner.

"What are we armed with!?" Dean yelled to distract Jo's attention. They also really needed to know that information since none of the guns were theirs.

"Uh," Jo glanced at each of the weapons in turn quickly, "Iron," she said with a tilt of her own, "Rock salt for Sasha. Sam, silver. Dean…sanctified lead, I think."

"Sanctified lead?" Dean repeated, staring at his gun.

Jo shrugged. "Has crosses etched into the tips. Covers all basis," she said with a gesture at all of them.

True enough. "Sasha, take point," Dean ordered, "Let's hope ghosts first, or at least something that hates salt. We got your back." Dean positioned himself behind Sasha then with a nod at Jo to join him, leaving Sam to take up the rear.

The sounds continued to grow around them as they moved for the door, more rancorous and menacing than Dean could ever remember, at least not so suddenly like this. It made fear bubble up within. This couldn't be happening now. Not here. Not when they should have been safe with the Roadhouse as a sanctuary. It couldn't be demons already, could it? Had they found the Roadhouse again only to burn it down to the ground once more, forever lost?

Sasha reached the door and gripped the handle, ready with his shotgun of rock salt. Dean felt a sudden panic choke him and just as Sasha threw the door open, Dean reached out to pull the incubus back. Sasha stumbled into Dean, and Dean took aim at the darkness in his stead, his over-protectiveness having taken over. But it wasn't darkness or demons that found itself at the end of Dean's gun.

It was a grinning, satisfied Ellen Harvelle.

"Well done, children," she said, stepping inside with a remote control that she clicked towards the jukebox, shutting off all of that insane noise instantly. There was also an extra speaker behind her outside the entrance. "Rigged the EMF too. Had that been an actual attack," she continued, "I'm sure you would have lasted at least a few minutes longer. Dean, bring that in for me, will you?" she said then, plopping the remote in Dean's free hand before heading seemingly up to bed.

They all gaped for a few minutes before Dean finally barked out a short laugh and said, "Were we just out-pranked by a _mom_?"

Jo snorted.

Sam gave a great, relieved sigh and smiled.

Sasha turned to Dean and patted his shoulder. "Yep," the incubus said, "Doesn't get much lamer than that. We finished then? Honestly, guys?" Sasha asked of the others.

"I didn't want to start in the first place," Sam grumbled.

"Yeah," Jo said, "It wasn't really fun anymore anyway."

Sasha turned back to Dean. "Dean?"

Dean grinned. "Sure," then, "At least for the next hundred miles."

Another sigh escaped Sam as the younger Winchester said very exasperatingly, "I really hate it when he says that."

--

The next morning was it—time to say goodbye. They had stayed long enough to help and to at least get Dean used to his medication so that he wouldn't be a complete lump while he continued recovering. They couldn't waste any more time though. There were people out there who needed saving and demons to track down. Dean also had only about four and a half months left to live. Every second counted.

Before they left Sasha called everyone together into the bar area and had Wally stand where everyone could see her.

"I think we have this down, Ellen, if you'll give us a chance," Sasha said.

Ellen nodded. "Just so long as she isn't any trouble. Let's see it then."

"You gonna glamour her?" Dean asked before Sasha could continue.

The incubus shook his head. "I could, but it would wear off as soon as I got too far away. There are limitations. No, I had something else in mind. See, since I figured she had some tanuki in her, I thought maybe I could train her to shapeshift since they're known to do that. It wasn't easy, and I had to pick something that looks as close as possible to how she really is, but…ready, Wally?" he turned to the little ball of fluff.

A chirp responded and the chimera gave a little jump.

"Okay," Sasha said, "What do you do if you see anyone other than one of us?" he asked, indicating those gathered around her.

Wally chirped again. Then with another little jump she suddenly wasn't Wally anymore but was instead a very small, plump, and fluffy grey tabby cat.

"Ta da," Sasha smiled.

"That's awesome," Dean said, crouching down and calling Wally over to him, who bounded into his arms happily, "I wouldn't know the difference at all," Dean admitted, petting the purring _cat_ in his arms.

"And she can change back when it's just the two of you," Sasha said to Ellen and Jo, "If she sees anyone but us she knows to be a cat. You can tell her to keep the transformation constant when someone's staying here longer too. So…you gonna keep her, Ellen?"

All eyes immediately turned from the new grey cat to the owner of the Roadhouse. Even under all that scrutiny, Ellen allowed a smile and stepped over to Dean to pat Wally on the head. "You know the rules?" she asked the chimera sternly, despite her retained smile.

Wally meowed in response so the others just had to laugh.

"Fine by me then," Ellen said, plucking Wally out of Dean's arms, "But if we have any trouble," she said to Sasha, "You're the first one I'm calling."

"Any time," Sasha smiled.

It wasn't long after that that the Impala was pretty much packed and goodbyes had been made, quick and painless since the boys promised to stop by every time they were passing through. Jo even pecked Dean on the cheek. They were one strange family, that was certain. Jo also promised that she might just have to drop in on them some time, regardless of any disapproving looks from her mother.

Sam was grabbing the last of his things from upstairs—and taking forever—while Dean and Sasha organized the trunk. Their things just weren't fitting as well for some reason.

"Here, I'll just make things simpler," Sasha said, grabbing the guitar case, "Been meaning to get some practice in anyway. Would you mind, or do you think Sam would mind at all if I plucked away in the backseat for awhile?"

That was an easy question to answer. "Go nuts, man. I'm sure Sammy will welcome any change to having to listen to _my_ music for a while. Putz. Besides, you do know that I'm driving again, right? Been missing my baby." Dean pat the trunk lovingly, leaving it open for when Sam came finally to toss in his things. It was a clear, cold day, but cloudless, so no threat of snow.

Sasha laughed. "Like I'd ever come between you and your car." The incubus thought for a moment then. "Getting you to come _in_ the car, however…"

"Down, tiger," Dean smirked, much as he liked that idea. They climbed into the Impala then, Dean up front and Sasha in the back—after Sasha had stolen quick kiss of course—and continued to wait for Sam.

It wasn't long before Dean heard experimental strumming from the backseat. It was soothing. Dean definitely wouldn't mind driving to the sounds of Sasha playing the guitar, especially when he started to recognize just what song Sasha was turning acoustic. It made Dean grin. A man after Dean's own heart, surely.

The whole thing was even better when Sasha started to sing.

_So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters  
_

Metallica was meant to be played and sung in the Impala, like the music was apart of the car, just as both were so much apart of Dean. Dean smirked to think that Sasha fit in well with all that too. Part of Dean. Part of everything he…_loved_.

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say_

Dean didn't mean to do it, but when Sasha sang the next line Dean found himself singing along, adding in familiar harmony to compliment Sasha's voice.

_And nothing else matters  
_

The incubus immediately faltered in his strumming and stopped.

Dean shifted in his seat. "Sorry."

But Sasha's voice wasn't at all chiding when he spoke. "You're a tenor," he said with some amazement.

Those unexpected words had Dean squirming again. "I guess. No big deal. Why?" Dean didn't like calling attention to his singing, which was why he usually only stuck to doing it comedically, or to annoy Sam.

"You're really _good_. Not that I didn't think so before," Sasha amended quickly, "You just always sing…well…you don't do your voice justice, Dean. Here, will you sing that again? I'll start a few lines before."

"Uhh…listen, man—"

"Please," Sasha said, staring at Dean with those damn vibrant blue eyes through the rearview mirror, "Don't over think. Just do the harmony with me. Okay? I know you know it."

Well, Dean couldn't deny that. "Don't expect anything great," he said by way of acceptance. Sasha just beamed at him from the backseat and started strumming again, back on the previous phrase of the song.

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say_

Dean closed his eyes.

_And nothing else matters_

Sasha didn't falter this time or say anything to Dean, he just continued playing, charging on into the next phrase of the song, and Dean sang with him, continuing that harmony he knew so well.

_Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new  
Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters_

Sasha picked up, strumming harder, the way the song was meant to be at this spot, loud enough to fill the whole car. The harmony had the lower part now, but Dean still sang it, and with his eyes closed he didn't feel weird hearing his own voice rising with Sasha's. He actually kind of liked the sound, amazed at how they fit together so well.

_Never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know  
But I know_

Softer again, Sasha strummed, and Dean dropped out as Sasha returned to the words from the beginning.

_So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
_

Then Dean found his harmony again.

_And nothing else matters_

The guitar faded away and only when it was completely silent, terribly still really, did Dean open his eyes. He didn't look up, but he could feel Sasha watching him through the rearview mirror, feel that damn smile, even before he heard it in Sasha's voice. "We'll have to do that more often."

"Like flying?" Dean snorted.

"And other things."

Dean had to grin. He felt the car jerk as the trunk was slammed shut suddenly, but he didn't think Sasha noticed, too wrapped up in his thoughts maybe.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you have a really nice voice."

Sammy was coming around to the passenger side door. Dean could see him. "You know what I think?" he said, glancing up into the mirror finally. He waited until Sasha's eyes were on him squarely and then he smiled. "I think I love you."

The expression on Sasha's face melted to pure shock and a moment later Sam was opening the door and climbing into the front seat. "What were you guys listening to?" Sam asked as he situated himself. He glanced back at Sasha then. "Were you playing? Serenading us to Texas, man?"

Dean kept watching Sasha in the mirror, and he had to grin at how the incubus was at a complete loss for words. "Sure is," Dean supplied, since Sasha couldn't find his tongue just now, "Any requests, Sammy?" Dean turned the car on and shifted into gear. "It's gonna be a long ride."

"Depends," Sam said, "You gonna veto any suggestions I make?"

"Only if they suck. Hey, Sasha," Dean said, glancing up at the rearview mirror one more time to find Sasha absolutely beaming, "Surprise us, huh?" and he winked, because really, he had to.

Sasha repositioned the guitar on his lap, smiling widely. "Whatever you want, Dean."

THE END...of Arc 4...tbc here yet again in ARC 5!

A/N: Yep, Metallica finally, woohoo! Opinions on Chase Crawford as an actor for Sasha, or other suggestions? Comments on this long chapter? Oh! And I have planned out all of the next two arcs and...well...there will at least be one after that, an Arc 7, because it just turned out that way. Your tease, my dears, is that the next Arc is called 'Children'. Please review!

Crim


	31. ARC 5: Children, PART 1: Crumbling

Arc 5: Children, Part 1: Crumbling

--

Dean worried about his brother more and more everyday, which he realized was ironic since Sam was also worrying about him, and really, shouldn't that make more sense considering Dean was the one going to Hell? Dean tried to tell himself that he had just grown too attached to the 'Sam-on-vacation' Sam, the Sam who smiled and joked and actually made some effort to relax. Being back in the field showed off Sam's serious side, his sometimes vicious side, and Dean just had to get used to that again.

Of course that didn't mean Dean felt any better about what happened in Texas.

It wasn't that Texas was a bust. Far from it. The town was infested with four demons, which might have been a challenge if not for Sam's powers, and the fact that compared to seven anything less than that would always seem like a cakewalk. No, the disappointment of the hunt came when once again the demons—even under Sam's mojo—couldn't tell them anything about the true mastermind behind the crossroads deals. Or so they thought.

Sam was so angry and frustrated by the time they captured the last of the four demons that he repeatedly soaked it in holy water until even Dean wanted to tell his brother to stop. It didn't hurt the host, and Dean certainly didn't care about the demon, but seeing Sam that heartlessly cruel made Dean nauseous. Sam's eyes shimmered the entire time, and the trapped and broken demon looked honestly terrified. Being doused in holy water didn't seem to be the reason either. It was just Sam.

Before sending the demon back to Hell, Sam asked one more time if it knew the identity of the crossroad demon's master. Dean and Sasha were behind Sam now since Sam was crouched just in front of their captive's devil's trap. Dean couldn't see Sam's face but something must have changed in it because the demon's black eyes suddenly went wide and it tried to scramble away.

"No one knows!" it cried, "No one. You'll…you'll never find them…not unless they want to be found. And believe me…your powers would mean nothing if you did."

"They?" Sam repeated in a snarl that Dean was glad he couldn't see, "There's more than one of them? Tell me what you know!"

A sickly smile twitched at the demon's mouth since Sam's usual resonance and command was not present in those words. "No one knows their name or how to summon them," the demon said, "Only the emissary at the crossroads. The demon _you_ killed." It smirked then, clearly getting the reaction it wanted from Sam since it no longer looked quite as scared. "But there is only one," it said, "_They_ are only one."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded softly.

The demon just scoffed, having regained its confidence. "Azazel may have chosen you as his successor but I will not submit to you."

Upon hearing that challenge, Sam slowly stood up, looking somehow taller than usual and strangely menacing. "You say that like you have a choice," he said too cynically, "_Tell me all that you know_," he commanded. Dean had started to recognize how Sam's voice changed when he used his powers, and the sound of it made him shiver.

The demon was cowering again, so suddenly that Dean had to wonder if there really was something about Sam that changed and Dean just couldn't see it. But even though the demon could not overcome Sam's power, all it said was, "If you face the keeper of the contracts…all of you will die."

Sam stood so stock-still then that it made Dean twitch to do something, _anything_. Dean looked to Sasha whose brow was tightly knit. Sam was always more calculating and fierce during hunts, but this was one step further, back to that methodical Sam that made Dean nervous. Dean knew Sasha could feel it too.

The demon screamed so unexpectedly that Dean jumped, watching as black smoke poured from the host's mouth and disappeared downward, leaving behind the body of a dead girl. That was expected. They had discovered that the girl had been hit by a car just before the demon first possessed her. It was eerie though how Sam no longer used words to banish the demons. Dean had jokingly said he thought the whole "Go to Hell" thing was pretty awesome. But Sam didn't need words. His powers were far beyond that now, and as much as Sam continued to be wary of using them too much, he used them anyway—anything and everything to save Dean.

This hunt was another harsh blow to their plight considering what they had just heard, but at least they had some information, ominous as it was.

Dean stepped up behind Sam, intent on saying something smartass or at least something about how any news was better than no news. But Sam was standing too still and Dean's grip was weak when he reached for his brother's arm. Sam immediately shook it off and glanced brief and angry to the side, just enough that Dean saw unmistakably the mottled yellow eyes that were not his brother. Panic seized Dean immediately and he grabbed Sam's arm more fiercely, forcing his brother to face him.

Hazel. Warm brown and green that looked so distraught, so sorrowful that Dean couldn't believe cruel yellow had ever been there. He just needed sleep, he told himself. He was imagining things.

Somehow managing to summon a smile, Dean gently pat Sam's arm where he had just grabbed it. "Hey, one out of four ain't bad. You look like someone just ran over your puppy." _Or like you want to run over someone else's puppy_, Dean thought, though he tried to shake the memory of yellow from his mind. It was just like that time he saw his own eyes black in the mirror in Bobby's bathroom. It wasn't real.

Sam smiled despite himself and the tension started to ease from his body, leaving him looking perfectly normal and Sam-like again. "So I guess that makes _you_ my puppy then, huh?" he snarked back. But then he deflated just as quickly, his tall form slouching as he said, "I ruined it though. I ruined it. I…killed the crossroads demon and ruined everything."

"Sam…"

"She could have told us how to find the real demon and I killed her! Finally, someone gives us an answer. But they might as well have said 'None Shall Pass' because how the _hell_ are we supposed to find this they, them demon something if no one knows its name or how to contact it other than the one demon I killed!?"

"Easy," Sasha broke in, smiling over at the brothers with ease and confidence if only to force a little on them, "We give it a reason to come looking for _us_."

Dean grinned. How did they ever manage as just a duo? "And if chasing down demons doesn't do the trick, maybe using your mojo to send a few down looking for it might. Just coz they don't know its name doesn't mean they can't find it."

This suggestion seemed to pacify Sam like he might have been about to snap back there but now he was bringing himself down, slowly but surely. They still had time. There was still time. Dean kept telling himself that. It was one of the few things that kept him sane in all this. That and his wayward partners.

Sam turned back to the body inside the devil's trap and his expression melted into sympathy. Dean had to choke down an inappropriate smile upon seeing it. _That_ was Sammy, no doubt about it.

"We can't just leave her here," Sam said, "Her family already had to deal with a car accident and the _miracle_ that she survived. Now they have to lose her again."

"She's home," Sasha said, walking up next to them finally, "At least there's that. We can make her comfortable. Clean up the trap. Someone will find her." Sasha's hand moved up to squeeze Sam's shoulder, that sad, sweet smile beaming.

They were one step closer. As long as Dean thought of it that way then he believed they could succeed. They could beat the deal without Dean having to lose anything or anyone in the process. Dean glanced at Sam as he thought that, remembering the momentary vision of yellow eyes. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been. But then Dean had to wonder what had made the demon they just exorcized look so damn afraid.

_Azazel's chosen successor._

Dean didn't believe that, refused to believe it, but his subconscious seemed to like that line of thinking.

While Dean had remained nightmare free since before their stay at the Roadhouse, the dreams came back with newfound gusto after Texas. Every time Dean closed his eyes he saw that same yellow, mottled and horrible and staring at him from his brother's grinning face. That wasn't Sam, Dean told himself whenever he woke up shivering and covered in sweat. It wasn't Sam.

Sasha was always right there too, roused by Dean's dreaming and asking what was wrong. Dean couldn't tell him. He just couldn't. "Another nightmare," he would whisper, snuggling back into bed and trying not to be too obvious when he glanced over at Sam, always still and peaceful, sleeping like a rock in the other bed.

"Okay," Sasha would say, not pressuring Dean for more but clearly wanting to. Sasha would just kiss Dean's temple, enveloping Dean in his arms easily, and Dean allowed it, weak as it made him feel when he realized how dependent he was on Sasha now, on Sasha being strong when Dean couldn't be. Just like Dean had always been dependent on Sam. And before that, Dad.

Dean wanted to be the one that was _needed_ not the other way around. He wanted to be that for Sasha, but even more so for Sam. Dean couldn't quite envelope either of his companions but he wanted to try. Dean needed to be stronger because he saw how Sam was crumbling and that scared him. Scared him to think those yellow eyes might hide somewhere beneath the surface.

No. Dean _was_ strong for them. And Sam was not the frickin' anti-Christ or the second coming of the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Dean wouldn't allow it. He protected them even if he was physically the weakest. Even if both of his companions had crazy powers. _Dean_ protected _them_. And he always would. He refused to leave them, refused to leave Sam to some unknown fate and for Sasha to be his brother's keeper when Dean was gone. They deserved more than that.

After Texas they were on their way to Indiana to stop at Sasha's storage places before finally making their way to Massachusetts. The other storage place was in Pennsylvania, and the third, which they would not be going to, was on the other side of the country in northern California. Sasha said he needed to change out a few things, and that stopping at just the two of them would be fine. Dean remembered that the one in Indiana was for Sasha's non-hunter stuff though, so he wasn't quite sure what needed to be 'changed out' there.

It was while staying the night in a little hotel in Illinois—not far from their destination but they had been too tired to carry on—that Dean had what he considered the worst of his dreams yet. He was glad that this time he and Sasha had gotten their own room, even though they usually didn't bother, unless one or both of them was particularly frisky, that is. Then it was just polite. Sam said he didn't mind sharing a room with Dean and Sasha together in the other bed just so long as nothing happened while he was there. So far they had only crossed the line once, and not by much, but Sam sure knew how to throw a pillow damn hard.

That night Dean was brought back into the too recent past and at first he didn't realize he was dreaming. It was too normal, the way everything had actually happened, right up until Dean touched Sam's arm after the exorcism in Texas. Again there was that flash of yellow, but this time when Dean grabbed Sam a second time there was no relief of hazel eyes. The mottled yellow was still there.

Sam grinned. "That demon was right you know," he said, his arm shooting out to grab Dean by the throat, "You can't break your deal, Dean. That pledge is binding. Why fight it?" Sam was still smiling while Dean choked on the strong hold, unable to even struggle. "You won't be in Hell alone for long, Dean," Sam continued, "I promise you that." The yellow eyes glowed then and suddenly Dean met air, thrown to hit the far wall hard enough that he couldn't immediately get up or move.

"Dean!" Dean heard Sasha call, having almost forgotten the incubus since he was coughing and gasping for air, crumbled on the floor. He heard another cry then, one of agony and pleading. Dean looked up and saw that Sam was doing something to Sasha. He couldn't tell what it was since all Sam was doing was pointing an arm at the incubus, but it had Sasha on his knees, screaming.

"S-Stop…" Dean tried, but even if his voice had been heard, he knew better than to think it would be heeded.

Sasha's screaming stopped and Sam dropped his arm. Sasha wasn't dead or unconscious though. He was getting up. And when he looked over at Dean his eyes shone incubus red, his fangs glistening dangerously as he smiled. The sight didn't have the usual effect on Dean. Not even a little. This was the dream, Dean realized. Just like that first dream when it was both of them and Dean couldn't get away.

"No!" Dean choked out, trying to get to his feet, to move, escape, anything, but his body hurt too much after striking the wall. Sasha and Sam were walking so frustratingly slow towards him too, and there was nothing he could do. He only managed to get himself into a sitting position and press himself back against the wall. "Wake up," Dean said to himself, clenching his eyes closed, "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Dean opened his eyes again, hoping to see their motel room's ceiling, but instead he saw Sam and Sasha again, demon eyes blazing.

"You're not real!" Dean screamed as Sasha lifted him bodily from the floor. The incubus slammed Dean back into the wall then and Dean stiffened. Everything hurt. _Everything_.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," Sasha said through a growl, grinning just as cruelly as Sam was now, "We just wanna play, Dean. Don't you wanna play with us? Don't you want to…_stay_…with us?'

"You don't really think Sasha can resist me all on his own, do you?" Sam asked scornfully, pressing in close to Dean so that there was hardly any room to breathe, "This is the future in store for me, Dean. Sasha too, pulled to my power, under my will. So you won't be alone for long. We can all be together," he said, pulled in so close that Dean could feel Sam's breath on his ear and how his brother's body was pressed tight against his side. Sasha was closer too, kissing Dean's neck with nips of his fangs that made Dean tremble. "We can be together, Dean," Sam said again, "Why fight it? Isn't that what you want?"

With both of them pressing his body back into the wall, Dean was paralyzed. He felt tears spring to his eyes. "Together…in Hell?" he asked, horrified, "You think that's what I want?"

"Hell on Earth, Dean," Sam said, leaning closer yet to kiss Dean's cheek too tenderly, while Sasha sucked hungrily now on Dean's neck, "You can have _us_. Forever. Stop fighting. You were destined for this, to be more than what you are. Hell is only the beginning for us, Dean. We can be greater than all of it. Together."

As demon Sam spoke on, Dean came to the most horrifying realization.

He wasn't dreaming.

"You are real, aren't you?" Dean said, staring hard into yellow and red eyes when Sam and Sasha pulled back. They were both grinning, so joyously cruel that Dean did the only thing he could think of. He grinned too. "You're real," he said to his demon brother, "But you're not Sam."

The mottled yellow eyes flashed with anger and in a moment's time they were no longer mottled, but pure yellow irises against black. Sasha was the same when Dean turned his gaze, red on black, and Dean knew he was right.

This was more than a dream.

"Bravo," said demon Sam.

"Pity you won't remember this," demon Sasha finished, "After all…dreams are so hard to hang onto."

"But you can believe me, Dean," the fake Sam continued, "This is the future that awaits your brother. It's only a matter of time now. He makes his choices day by day, and soon he will make one he cannot take back. All for you, Dean. All. For. _You_." Sam's hand shot out towards Dean's face too fast and Dean screamed at the blackness it brought, the cold, hard darkness.

Dean was surrounded by that darkness, by his demon self, losing himself to it like falling prey to a sickness. He could feel hands on him, hear voices, muffled and yet somehow clear. Dean couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear any of it. They were going to take everything away from him. He could feel it all slipping away, seeping out of him like blood from a wound, the wounds on his chest that were so close to healed but still ached. They were going to take everything and he wouldn't remember any of it or even know to mourn the loss. He would die, fall to Hell, and rejoice with a black heart and black eyes to match it.

And Sammy and Sasha would be there with him.

"No!" Dean cried, struggling against the hands trying to hold him down and the seeming restraints he was tangled in, "D-Don't touch me! Stay away from me! I don't—! I don't…I don't want it. I don't want any of it. I just want them. I just want them…" Dean choked on a sob and struggled even more wildly, despite how his voice cracked and softened.

Before he could realize what he was struggling against, he suddenly fell, and the hard floor met his body painfully. Dean immediately snapped awake.

"Fuck," he cursed, swatting at the comforter that had tumbled on top of him, "What the hell happened?" Dean managed to free his face and gulped for cool air. He was sweating something terrible. He looked up and saw Sasha's bright blue eyes staring down at him from the bed, looking way too concerned for the middle of the night. "Dude, what the hell? You kick me out of bed?"

Sasha blinked a few moments, his brow furrowed, and finally he said, "Dean…you were screaming at me. Trying to get away. You kicked _yourself_ out of bed. Don't you remember? You must have been having another nightmare."

"I was?" Dean blinked back at Sasha, trying to clear his mind. Everything was kind of a haze. "Sorry. I didn't scream anything bad, did I?" Dean tried to smirk, tired and disoriented as he was, but it didn't have the desired effect of creating a like smirk from Sasha. The incubus just looked sad.

"You were telling me to stay away from you. To stop touching you. And that you…I don't really know, but…you sounded so scared, Dean. Are you…" Sasha's eyes disappeared as he looked down at the mattress, "Are you having nightmares about me again?"

Shit. Dean sat up. He honestly couldn't remember anything about his dream, but Dean knew he had definitely grown out of his incubus and intimacy fears. "Don't do that," Dean grumbled, climbing his way out of the tangled comforter and kneeling beside the bed so he could look at Sasha squarely, "Don't get all sad and weepy on me just coz I…sort of mutilated the bed." Dean grimaced as he looked at the mess he had left of their sheets, wondering how Sasha had managed to stay so unmarred. "I don't remember, okay? But I don't have bad dreams about you. I don't think I do." Dean hated that he wasn't sure, but he remembered a lot of his other more recent dreams, and Sasha's appearances were always benign, even when Sam was wearing yellow eyes that made Dean want to throw up.

"Okay," Sasha said, smiling but smiling sadly still so that Dean wanted to kiss all the sadness away. Apparently, Sasha had the same idea, because he reached for Dean's face and pulled their heads together, kissing slow and simple with just the barest hint of their tongues touching. "Is it about…the deal then?" Sasha asked in a small whisper, like he was afraid Dean would get angry with him for saying it, "You know you can tell me."

Yeah, Dean knew, just like he knew he could always tell Sam things since Sam reminded him of that so often. Still, it didn't mean he had any plans to take either of them up on those offers. Some things were better left unsaid. Besides, Dean didn't really remember what he dreamed tonight. What was the point in mentioning that what he really dreamed about lately was—

"Is it Sam?"

Dean hadn't even noticed how he had zoned out and that he was staring at Sasha's neck rather than looking into the incubus' eyes. He looked up now and what he saw was heartfelt concern that would have made the stingiest of men want to open up. Damn the puppy eyes. "It's…it's not that I don't…think he's still Sammy, you know?" Dean said, since he wasn't really sure how else to explain things, "I just get worried. He says he's scared to use his powers too much, that he's afraid he'll lose himself to them, but he keeps using them anyway in the name of saving me. It kinda drives me crazy."

"Yeah," Sasha smiled, still all somber-like, "But he can handle it. I really believe that, Dean. How can he become evil just by using innate abilities, regardless of where they came from? Especially since he's doing it to save you. You can't go evil from trying to do good, can you?"

"You do remember what they say the road to Hell is paved with right?" Dean joked.

Sasha didn't smile. "Dean, Sam loves you."

That made Dean frown and he hated how it also made them mirrors of each other. "You think I don't know that? It's what drives me the craziest. People go too far for love sometimes. Sammy could walk right into whatever plans the Yellow-Eyed Demon really had for him, something bigger than leading an army of demons maybe, and he wouldn't even notice or care as long as it saved me. I don't want that." Something tasted of familiarity in what Dean was saying but he wasn't entirely sure why. Then again it had always been an issue that Sam would go too far for him.

"But that's what _I'm_ here for," Sasha shrugged, smiling at least a little more real finally, "Someone has to keep an eye on you two. Half the time you're so wrapped up in each other you don't even notice what's going on around you."

A snort left Dean at that. "I could have sworn that was _us_," he said with a larger smile.

"Well," Sasha grinned. He didn't say anything else, but he pulled Dean into another kiss and before long Dean was climbing back onto the bed. He didn't reach down to retrieve the comforter, although they did rearrange the sheets, because really Dean was far too hot after his dream. Burning up even. Sasha didn't help much with that either. Not that Dean would complain.

By the time they were both asleep again, Dean was so exhausted he slept like a rock, dreamless. He woke up feeling refreshed but with the strangest sense of foreboding. His dream last night had definitely been the worst of them, he just couldn't remember why. Dean decided it was probably for the best. There were some things he didn't want to think about.

--

"I can't believe you didn't tell me it was almost your birthday, Dean."

Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No big deal," he said, staring forward at the road ahead of them. They were almost to Logansport, Indiana where Sasha's storage locker was. Dean's birthday would pass about the time they were finishing the hunt in Massachusetts. January 24th. Dean would be 29 and had a good chance of never seeing 30.

"You make a big deal out of my birthday but yours is just another day?" Sasha scoffed from the backseat, "We celebrated Christmas and New Years. Kind of," he shrugged.

"That's different," Dean said, though he didn't really have a reason why. His birthday just felt like it was too much about _him_. And his damn ticking clock. Dean would much rather stick to hunting. Each hunt brought him closer to stopping that clock, which seemed so much more important than cake and ice cream.

Sasha wasn't letting up though. "You even got me a present. You don't get other people presents this close to your own birthday." Sasha was smiling as he said that though, not at all chiding. Still, the incubus' insistence was starting to get on Dean's nerves.

"First off that was a joint effort," Dean said, nodding over at Sam beside him, "Figured we owed you since it was mostly us that destroyed your old one." Dean glanced up into the rearview mirror, seeing Sasha's crooked smile and just how good he looked in his new leather jacket. "And another thing," Dean went on, "You're crazy. So leave me alone. Buy me a beer come the day and we'll call it good, huh? I don't want a big deal made of it. If I make it to thirty, we'll throw a frickin' party," he added with a grumble.

Silence filled the car almost instantly, thick enough to drown out the radio even. Damn it, Dean thought. He hadn't meant to say that. He liked to think things were going well. He didn't need to ruin everything with angst just because his birthday was looming.

"Hey…ignore me," Dean said after a minute, looking first up into the mirror and then over at Sam too, "You guys do whatever. Just…nothing too crazy or embarrassing. I'm an old man compared to you two, ya know," he said with a smirk.

Sam and Sasha both chuckled a little, the silence broken, and Sam reached over to pat Dean's arm as he said, "Well, I guess that's true. Come next year," he continued, stressing those words like a promise, "We'll be throwing you an over the hill party."

"Only if there's strippers," Dean said.

Sasha belted a much louder laugh at that. "Well you know you always have one for free," the incubus called from the backseat, "But I'm game for that."

"Too much information," Sam said loudly, holding up his hands as if what he had just heard was something he really didn't want to touch. It made Sasha and Dean both laugh harder of course, but Sam spoke on, quiet and suddenly serious. "Hey…uhhh…I've sort of been wondering actually…if…well…" Sam shook his head, "Nevermind."

There was definitely something buried in that rambling. "What?" Dean pressed, "Coz if you're looking for a sex talk, I'd prefer you called Bobby." Dean smirked to himself as Sam looked over and scowled.

"Very funny," Sam deadpanned, "No, I was…well I've just been thinking about…errr…" Finally, Sam just closed his eyes and said what he meant to say as quickly as his lips would allow. "Do you two have sex everyday?"

If Dean had been eating or drinking anything he definitely would have choked. "What!" he all but shrieked. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or die of embarrassment. Sasha had clearly chosen the latter since the incubus' giggles rose loudly from the backseat. "Stripping is too much information and you ask _that_?"

"It's not like I want to know…personally," Sam managed with a grimace, "It's just…well I just want to make sure you're being safe."

And dying of embarrassment it was. Sam couldn't really be asking what Dean thought he was, could he? Talk about sudden nausea.

Thankfully, Sasha spoke up before Dean could gape in horror at his brother any longer.

"I understand," Sasha said, leaning forward and somehow managing to maintain his smile, "He means he wants to be sure we're being safe with me feeding from you, Dean. And he's right to be concerned. Prolonged feeding from one person without sensible breaks would eventually start to take a toll. But I promise you I'm being careful. I'd never let anything happen to Dean."

"I know," Sam said, looking back at Sasha between the seats, "_You_ I trust."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean said with a frown.

Sam turned to Dean entirely skeptical. "Sometimes I wonder which one of you is really the incubus," he said.

Well of course Dean had to offer some kind of nasty comment to that, but when he tried to think of one he ended up realizing how right Sam was and just gave a shrug. "Whatever. Look, can we maybe _not_ talk about sex? Like _ever_. Wouldn't want to give him any ideas," Dean said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Sasha.

Sasha made a face that almost got Dean laughing again when he looked up and saw it in the rearview mirror. "No Winchester sandwich for me, thanks," Sasha said, "I was never all that good at sharing anyway."

The phrase 'Winchester sandwich' had Sam and Dean scooting closer to their respective doors. That image was just plain disturbing.

--

Logansport was a little bit bigger than their usual town, but since they were just driving through, Dean didn't mind. It wasn't like twenty thousand people were cause for Dean to ask Sam to drive or anything.

At first Dean teased Sasha for choosing a storage place on Main Street, but as it turned out East Main Mini Storage was so far out on Main heading out of town that it was actually fairly well out of the way. Sasha had a key and lifted the garage-like door easily once they arrived. Dean was immediately reminded of his Dad's storage place as they stepped inside.

"I just need to change out a few things. Don't need the other acoustic though," Sasha smiled over his shoulder, patting the guitar case that was leaning against a shelf, "I'll only be a few minutes."

"Take your time," Sam said as the brothers followed in after him. It seemed like they knew so little about Sasha in some ways that getting the chance to look over his dad's non-hunter stuff was like a sneak peak or something. Dean took no shame in scrounging either. If Sasha didn't want him to look at things then the incubus would have said something. Sam, although more conscientious and careful about it all, seemed to be thinking the same way.

They both looked things over while Sasha disappeared into the back. There were a lot of shelves, filled with various things, none of which spoke a word of being hunter's property.

"Wow, Deklin Kelly was a real music hound," Sam said, indicating the rows and rows of boxes filled with records and cassette tapes, "Puts yours and Dad's collection to shame. Look at all this." Sam flipped through a few records in a box at chest level. It was alphabetized, presumably by Sasha, and covered decades of music. Dean watched as Sam flicked away record by record. This seemed to be the 'B' section, because Dean saw the Beach Boys, Chuck Berry, the Beatles, James Brown, and even artists as modern as Blondie from 1981, only a couple years before Kelly's death.

"This guy's my hero," Dean grinned, reaching down into the 'M' box to pull out the 1977 first album of Motorhead, "He's got everything."

"Had everything," Sam added somberly.

Dean looked up from his crouch on the floor and frowned.

"Sorry," Sam said, shaking his head as he looked down at Dean, "But doesn't it get to you? Sasha's just like us with all this. All this…stuff…and it's supposed to say so much about who his father was but Sasha can never really know. I've always felt that way about Dad. He only died a year and a half ago but with everything he kept from us…I feel like I don't know him at all. That man we saw in those home movies…I never knew that man."

Before Sam started saying all of that Dean had been feeling light and carefree getting to look through Sasha's father's things, but now Dean just wanted to punch something. Why did Sam always have to talk about their dad like he was a bad guy? Like he was a bad father? All he ever did was try to protect his boys and avenge his wife's killer.

And tell Dean he might have to one day kill the very brother he had always been told to look out for.

"There's a record player back here if either of you wants to try one of those out!" Sasha called from the back suddenly. He must have noticed how Sam and Dean had stopped at the music. "You can take any of the tapes if you want too! I don't mind adding to your collection under the front seat, Dean! I'll never get to listen to any of them otherwise!" Sasha sounded entirely at home and at ease. It made Dean feel so ridiculous for getting upset.

"I'll end up taking them all if you say that!" Dean called back.

There was only one box of cassettes compared to the many boxes of records. Apparently, Deklin hadn't been too quick to change over to the new format when tapes started coming along in the early 70s, but he still had a few.

Dean mostly found tapes he already had, including a lot of Black Sabbath. It was funny, Dean thought, since he saw Sam pulling out Frank Sinatra records up above him. Deklin had been a Renaissance man of music. Dean liked the old hunter more and more.

"I'm sorry," Sam said too softly after a few minutes, breaking Dean from his self-imposed silence, and staring into the contents of yet another box of records, "I keep trying to think of good things about Dad now that he's gone but I just…can't. I really hate that, because I know there were good times. I know there were times when he tried to seem just like any other dad, and he did as good of a job as he could manage. But you know what I really hate about all of it?" Sam looked down at Dean again, and really, Dean had no choice but to look up into those hazel eyes, more brown than his but so green just now. "I hate that there are so many good things I'll be able to think back on about you…and it'll make it that much harder if they take you from me, Dean."

Fuck. Dean really hated it when Sam got all emotional out of nowhere like this. It made him want to follow suit and hug his brother or something, but Dean couldn't bring himself to do that. Sam couldn't be allowed to have a break down every damn week. "You know…Deklin's got a few mixed tapes in here he must have made himself. Even has some REO Speedwagon, if you can believe it. Can't fault the guy one mistake though, right?" Dean smirked.

And there was that look that Sam and Sasha both knew how to give Dean so damn well that it made him ache, that sadness through a smile that broke Dean's heart into a million Winchester pieces. "Any Motown?" Sam asked. The kid had always been a sucker for those old harmonizing groups like the Four Tops and the Supremes. Dean had his own secret love for Smokey so he grabbed a tape marked Motown Classics and smiled.

"First round of music chosen," Dean said, pocketing the tape, "And besides…even if they do manage to snag me away, Sammy, I'm sure you'll more than happily remember all the times I drove you crazy." Dean tossed his brother a wink, and while Sam looked halfway to tears, the other half laughed.

Sammy was Sammy. As long as Sam looked at Dean with those pleading eyes, or rolled them in distaste when Dean got on his nerves, then Dean knew nothing was wrong. It just couldn't be. And Dean hated it that he doubted Sam so much more now just because of one hallucination and those god damn dreams.

Several minutes went by where Sam and Dean continued to look through music. They finally turned to some of the other shelves where Dean found mostly stray junk—though he did kind of dig the old pez dispensers from the 50s and the vintage Ouija board.

Eventually, Sam and Dean decided Sasha's "I'll only be a minute" wasn't exactly true, and they weaved their way into the back. They found Sasha sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor next to a bookshelf with several folders and bound journals scattered around him. He must have heard or sensed them coming because he immediately looked up and bit his lip.

"Sorry," he said, "I always get caught up in these things when I'm grabbing a new one. I think I'm going to take this one so it won't be much longer."

"What's that you're looking at?" Dean walked up to the bookcase and crouched in front of it. There were variously bound books as well as folders. They weren't labeled themselves, but Dean could see that the side of the shelves was, listing different dates.

Sasha smiled as Dean hunkered down into a sitting position too, and Sam sat down on his other side, despite how dirty the floor was. "They're my dad's journals. All his notes. Only they're not just hunter stuff so…I kind of thought they fit better here. Dad wrote down everything. It took me forever to organize it all. Some of it is still out of order with so much of it being random, like a few folders that have scraps of paper or napkins even. I've come across everything from phone numbers to song lyrics. I like to keep one of these with me, and every so often I'll change to another one. All these years and I still haven't read through all of it."

Dean nodded, awed by how Deklin Kelly's library of journals and notes put their own father's journal to shame. Then again, John Winchester stopped writing about anything unrelated to hunts after the first few months.

Picking up one of the stray journals on the floor, Dean started paging through it. He saw that Sam did the same, grabbing one of the folders and leafing through loose pages. Dean assumed Sasha picked these at random but probably had some idea of what was where if he ever wanted to look up something specific. Sasha was already buried back in the journal he was looking over, so Dean randomly opened the one in his hands and started reading.

_April 23__rd_

_Happy Birthday, Jonathan. Snagged quite a mean looking thing for you last night, right about midnight, and couldn't help thinking how you would have loved to be there with me. Never did hunt together, but I hope you know you're responsible for every life I save. Every one. Always miss you most about this time. Still looking for that demon all these years later too, but one day I'll find it. I hope you understand that saving others has become more of a priority than hunting down your killer. Figured you'd appreciate that more anyway. Poor Danny never did forgive himself and I don't know if he believed me when I said it was a demon and not him. Hope you're keeping Ma and Dad company up there (and off my back, if you don't mind). As always, just down here doing the best that I can. _

_Love, Dek._

Reading that made Dean feel like he had just stumbled upon something secret and precious, and that by finding it he had done something horribly wrong. The next entry was so entirely different too. It talked about a hunt in more detail and then about the pretty waitress Deklin hooked up with while still in town. The man's wording was casual but definitely more polite than Dean might have put things. Deklin sounded like a true gentleman and yet like a gritty hunter too. He would have been born in the early 30s, Dean realized, so it was no wonder about the gentleman part.

Dean jumped when he realized Sasha was leaning over his shoulder, having scooted closer to see what Dean was reading. The incubus smiled when Dean looked up feeling guilty.

"Every hunter starts for a reason," Sasha said simply, "For my dad it was his younger brother. A demon possessed a friend of theirs and…pretty much ripped him apart just for the fun of it. There was a hunter on its tail, but it was too late by the time Dad helped him with the exorcism. The way I've read it, Dad wouldn't leave the hunter alone after that, just twenty years old, his brother having only been sixteen. Dad learned everything he could and never looked back. Every hunter has a reason. Seems to me…99.9 percent of the time…it's because of family." Sasha smiled then, to himself and at them.

Neither Dean nor Sam said anything. Sam just nodded, trying to smile in reply, but Dean looked back down at the book in his hands and stared. That wasn't going to be him. He wasn't going to be the hunter that carried on after losing his family, seeking vengeance for his brother or anyone else, and he wouldn't let Sam be that man either.

Deklin Kelly was a great hunter, but no one deserved that burden.

"We can go," Sasha smiled wider, waving the book he had been reading, "I've been meaning to read some of the stuff in this one. Has a lot on demons and devil deals. Never know," he shrugged.

Fifteen minutes later they were back in the Impala but the silence seemed to linger after them. Dean had his pockets full of tapes and Sasha had switched out some of his clothes from a bag in one of the storage closet's corners. He really was the simplest guy, changing out T-shirts he had been wearing lately for some different ones, and a few other pairs of jeans. Dean had to wonder how often Sasha actually bought new clothes, but he figured it was probably as rare an occurrence as it was for him.

Dean popped in the Motown mix tape and grinned as the first song came on. 'Cruisin' by Smokey Robinson, one of Dean's favorites when he was in the mood for this kind of music. It seemed a good enough mellow tune to start them on their way out of Logansport.

Sam had opted to take the back seat for awhile, saying he wanted to rest his eyes, and Sasha almost immediately dived back into his father's journal. It was a peaceful drive for a while, Motown's greatest singers filling the car and a kind of peace settling over them, much as Dean found himself worrying over too many things anyway.

When Dean looked up into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of Sammy, he had to smile at how the hazel eyes were heavy and eventually drifted closed. It would be okay, Dean told himself, no matter what loomed dangerously in the future.

It would be okay.

tbc...

A/N: This was a difficult chapter for me, because it introduces alot of ideas and beginnings to things that will be brought up throughout the arc. Next we will get to Dean's birthday in Massachusetts where there is a surprise waiting. Hehehe. Then its off to Maine for a very interesting hunt. This arc plans to be pretty damn epic with all that will happen before its over so please...review? And man, do I love you guys for sticking with me.

Hey, if you haven't checked out deangirl1's kisses, then you are missing out. The final chapter has just been posted, and it is another new favorite, but I can assure you that my good friend plans to create more for us, just set further in the story, and is always open to suggestions. Don't miss out!

Crim


	32. Part 2: Unexpected Encounters

WARNING: Author Notes include rant about most recent episode so please be careful if you haven't seen the episode and you're not one of those naughty cheaters. I'm looking at YOU, Blueeyesgreen.

--

Part 2: Unexpected Encounters

--

Stopping at Sasha's other storage place just outside of Hershey, Pennsylvania was far less of an ordeal. Aside from Dean's incessant teasing upon learning that the name of the place was Red Top Self Storage, Dean also insisted that they stop in Hershey before leaving, if only because being anywhere near the town wafted the sweet smell of baking chocolate all around them.

Arriving in Sturbridge, Massachusetts was interesting, however, since their lead consisted mainly of demonic signs deciphered from Ash's old system—which they hadn't entirely figured out yet—and Sam's newfound demonic intuition.

"So these women are friends, live in the same neighborhood, and just happen to all be experiencing especially good luck lately, and you think they're witches." Dean droned all of that out while they were settling into their room. Just one. Dean had a feeling they might be getting an extra one come his birthday though.

"_Three_ out of _four_ have been having good luck," Sam corrected, immediately pulling out his laptop but leaving his duffle otherwise untouched on the floor, "Makes you wonder about the fourth one, doesn't it?"

Dean looked over at Sasha, who was scavenging for a change of clothes after having sported a stain since lunch when Dean made him laugh so hard he dropped a BBQ sauce covered fry onto his shirt.

But Sasha just shrugged in response to Dean's look, more willing to go along with Sam than Dean was.

"Actually, it doesn't make me wonder," Dean said, regardless of lack of backup, "It makes me think, oh what a nice coincidence, and seriously, Sammy, you better have more to go on than just that."

Sam settled himself back on his bed, flipping open his laptop and not even bothering to glance up at Dean as he spoke. "We know there's at least one demon in town and the only paranormal activity going on seems to center around these women. One of them is a demon and the others made some kind of deal to tap into its powers and cast those spells."

Ignoring any of his own unpacking, Dean walked the few steps to Sam's bed and leaned over the laptop. "Yeah," he said, skimming through Sam's notes, "Spells to do better at bake sales and give their husbands promotions. Whatever will we do? Evil soccer moms are taking over the world!"

A snort sounded from Sasha but Sam merely brushed Dean's satire away. "The severity of their spells could change at any time," he said, pulling his laptop unconsciously closer as if Dean's proximity might contaminate it, "And it's still a demon. I know it. I can…feel it."

"Like how you knew how to fix the Colt?" Sasha questioned.

"Yes," Sam answered without hesitation, "I just need to meet these women and I'll know which one is the demon. It's gotta be the one not benefitting from the perks. What would she need perks for if she's getting three souls out of the deal?"

Everything clicked into place with resounding resonance when Sam said that. It was often believed that witches acquired their powers by making pacts with devils. Natural witches weren't very common anymore. No wonder Sam was so obstinate and focused on this case. One demon trafficking in souls might know the identity of another, and if not then at least they could try out Dean's suggestion of mojoing the demon downstairs to look for the contract holder on their behalf.

That ought to get someone's attention.

"Alright," Dean conceded, sitting down on his and Sasha's bed facing Sam, "If all you need is to see these women then there's no point in pretending to be cops. So what's the plan, Samantha? Traveling salesmen?"

Sam paused a moment in his typing and glanced hesitantly over at Dean from beneath his lashes. "Actually…"

--

Dean plastered on his biggest, brightest smile, internally reminding himself to kill Sam for this later as a blonde woman answered the door. "Good evening, Ma'am," Dean said, "I'm Elder Markelli and this is Elder Davis. I don't suppose we could trouble you for just a few moments to discuss the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-say Saints?" Yeah, Dean was definitely going to kill Sam for this one.

"We're only asking your time for a few minutes, if that's all right," Sasha added beside him, smiling just as blindingly.

They were both in dress pants, button down shirts, and ties. Sam had even insisted they wear their non-leather jackets which had Dean freezing. When Dean had asked why Sam wouldn't be forced to experience the same embarrassment, his brother—failing miserably at hiding a grin—said, "Because Mormons usually only travel in pairs going door to door. Besides, this way we can check to make sure they're all together first."

Right.

"Oh," the woman at the door said, clearly startled as most people were when confronted with Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Avon ladies, "I'm sorry," she said with the fakest smile Dean had ever seen, "I'm entertaining right now." Almost immediately she started closing the door.

"We wouldn't want to bother you, of course," Sasha said quickly, stepping slightly ahead of Dean and batting his pretty blue eyes shamelessly, "But perhaps you could just let us speak briefly. Is your entertaining business or…" Sasha swept his eyes over the woman's body, "Pleasure?"

Dean tried not to groan. Personally, he thought Sasha was being too pushy, but the woman blushed a little under the heat of Sasha's gaze and faltered.

The incubus better not be wasting pheromones on this broad, Dean thought.

"Well," the woman said, "It's some neighbor friends of mine for our weekly book club."

"Wonderful," Sasha said, glancing back at Dean.

Inside Dean's coat pocket his cell phone was on speaker so Sam could hear them. _Book Club_ sure sounded like 'coven meeting' to Dean.

Sasha looked back at the woman at the door and once again flashed his brilliant smile. He leaned in very close to her, speaking conspiratorially. "Please, _Miss_, you'd save us several trips around the neighborhood, and save your friends from having to deal with us again if you'd only let us speak to you women briefly. We sort of have to do this, you know. You'd really be helping us out." Sasha leaned back to smile at her again.

Show off. Dean really needed to learn how Sasha managed that kind of effortless seduction, because the woman blushed even deeper and stepped back to admit them into the house. "I suppose a few minutes wouldn't hurt anyone. Are you from a more liberal branch then?" she asked as she led them into the house.

"Why do you ask?" Sasha said.

"Well I'm no expert," the woman said, "But I didn't think your people allowed any drastic…changes to your appearances." Her eyes moved up to Sasha's too red hair.

"Oh…uhh…" Sasha's smile became strained. They should have planned for that.

Luckily, Dean was always quick on the uptake with things like this. "Just a bit of a prank gone wrong," he said, slapping Sasha on the back, "Elder Davis here teaches Sunday school back home. Kids will be kids, right?"

The woman laughed politely, nodding, and walked on ahead, leading them into the living room.

Sasha stopped Dean with a firm hand on his arm, whispering to him before they could follow after her.

"Do Mormons even have Sunday school?"

"How the hell should I know," Dean shrugged, "Worked, didn't it." He spoke down towards his jacket pocket then. "Show time, Sammy."

A few minutes later, Dean and Sasha had finished the polite pleasantries and small talk portion of their con, and Dean was starting to get anxious for Sammy to do his thing. Dean credited their success of not overstaying their welcome entirely to Sasha's charm. The incubus had a way of combining Dean's blatant flirting with Sam's genuine good-boy nature, and it had all four women wrapped around his finger.

Dean would resent that if he didn't kind of enjoy watching Sasha in his element.

Suddenly—and _finally_ if Dean had any say in the matter—Sam came charging into the room playing the part of a burglar, wearing a ski mask and armed with the Colt. The women had already hidden away any evidence of their 'book club', so the only thing left was to wait and see if Sam actually spotted a demon. Dean and Sasha both had holy water if there were doubts, but if there was a demon then Sam would confront it. If there wasn't then the handsome Mormon boys got to play hero—the one part of the plan Dean kind of liked—ensuring the women would never be the wiser.

Dean felt no shame in secretly wishing this hunt would turn out to be a bust. Tackling Sammy to the ground would be so gratifying.

Then, like many unpredictable hunts, everything quickly moved into high-geared panic as Sam repositioned the Colt and shouted, "It's her!" indicating the woman with short black hair who Dean actually thought was kind of hot.

There was chaos and a lot of screaming—mainly because the other women were terrified of the strange man with a gun pointed at them—but the whole scene became a blur for Dean about the time the demon revealed her black eyes. She shot out a hand soon after and everyone other than her and Sam flew back towards the nearest walls, pinned.

This was a step above the other demons they had faced, but Dean took some comfort in Sam's powers for a change seeing as how Sammy was the only one capable of defending them right now.

Sam pulled off his ski mask, immediately demanding answers from the she-demon. She, unlike any of the other demons so far, was able to resist him at first, but not for long. This seemed to make her very irritated with Sam, but she admitted to having made deals with the other women, deals they seemed unaware of. That didn't make Dean feel all that much sympathy for them, but when Sam started ordering the demon further, he included their release in the terms.

"_Let these women free from their deals and I will let you live_."

The demon's black eyes shimmered in anger. She even looked scornfully at the Colt like it hardly concerned her, but she still backed down in the face of Sam's threats.

Everyone fell from being trapped against the wall and Dean's chest ached from the recent constriction. He was surprised the other women didn't immediately run for it.

"They're free," the she-demon snarled.

"Are you the keeper of the contracts?" Sam asked immediately, the Colt still squared at her head.

The demon laughed. "You think your powers would even slightly work on me if I were? I'm a private contractor. The demon you speak of may hold all of the contracts, and I do mean _all_, but they allow us underlings some autonomy. Unless of course it's a…" She cast her eyes over Dean, "_Special_ case. Who knows, maybe I should thank you. I might be promoted now that the second in command is dead."

"But you know the demon that holds the contracts?" Sam pressed.

This time the demon frowned. "You seek something far more powerful than Azazel could have ever hoped to be and you think _I_ know its true identity? Only one demon ever knew. It's chosen emissary—"

"The demon at the crossroads," Dean finished snidely, stepping forward and shaking off the aftereffects of being force pushed like a god damn pussy, "Yeah. We've heard that one. Send this bitch back to Hell, Sammy." Dean crossed to Sam and pat him on the back. Sasha came up beside them too. The women remained silently gaping.

A slow smirk pulled across Sam's face as he looked at the demon, showing true satisfaction in how the power was no longer only in the hands of the bad guys. "Well, if you don't know the answer," Sam said to her, "Maybe you can find out. _Return to Hell and seek out the keeper of the contracts until you find them. Discover everything you can and report back to me. If you're found out…then tell the bastard we're looking for him._ Them. Whatever. _Understood?_"

The demon said nothing, clearly too horrified by Sam's command.

"_Go_," Sam said with finality, and although reluctant, the demon obeyed and black smoke shot out of the host like they had seen so many times before.

"Think it'll work?" Dean asked as Sam lowered the Colt from being pointed at the frightened and disoriented woman left behind.

Sam shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

"That was frickin' awesome," Sasha added, squeezing Sam's shoulder with a warm smile, "And the legions of Hell tremble in your wake!" he said in a mockingly deep and rumbling voice.

Dean had to give Sasha credit; the incubus had a much easier time making light of Sam's powers. Then again, Dean had to remind himself that Sasha had powers too. His ability to get Sam to smile, for example, even after the most horrific of events almost rivaled Dean's.

Almost.

When the trio had collected themselves a bit better, they noticed that the three spooked women had gathered around their recently possessed fourth member and were still gaping. Explaining the supernatural to civvies was one of Dean's most hated past times. Although, these were women were witches, so they deserved at least a stern talking to.

"Hey," Dean said, grabbing his brother's shoulder with one hand and patting Sam's chest with the other, "You ladies just got your asses saved. From a real live _demon_. Any of you feel like practicing this shit anymore?"

The woman that had been the demon's host still looked confused, but the others all fearfully shook their heads.

"Good. Coz if we catch any wind of witchcraft in this area again, you can bet we'll be back." Dean nodded in satisfaction and gave a gesture back towards the door to his companions. He was _so_ ready to be out of here.

"Thank you," called the blonde woman meekly, "I had no idea the Mormon Church took care of things like this."

Sam and Sasha exchanged barely contained smiles but Dean just couldn't resist. He looked back at the women with the most serious expression possible and said, "All in a day's work, Ma'am."

--

They were less than a week to Dean's birthday and decided that they would hold up in Sturbridge at least until the day of, using the extra time to keep an eye on their supposedly reformed witches, research possible new hunts, and await the return of the she-demon. It made for a very anxious few days.

"I think I have something," Sasha said from the motel room table, staring expectantly at his laptop. There were still a couple days left until they planned to leave with no sign of any demons or witchcraft. "Might be some kind of demonic or cursed spot," Sasha explained as Sam and Dean gathered around him.

"Like a cold spot?" Dean questioned.

Sasha thought that over. "Maybe. Look," he said, pointing to the article on the screen, "After the curator of this historical building died, it was shut down. Closed up completely. There were reports of squatters after awhile but when the police caught them outside the building they were…" Sasha frowned, "It's hard to say what really happened to them. But they were incapable of speech, basic motor functions, everything. Almost like vegetables but they were all alert, awake…and pretty much hysterical. Sounds like more than a simple haunting."

Leaning closer to the screen, Sam's eyes swept over the article. "Maine, huh?" he finally said, "We're not too far really. Sounds worth checking out."

"After Dean's birthday though," Sasha said firmly, "The building is pretty well locked up now. It can wait a couple days. Besides, still no word from our contact downstairs," he said with a tap of his foot.

Well that was settled. Dean always liked knowing they had things lined up. He got too restless without a new hunt on the horizon.

Before heading out to grab some dinner that night, Sasha suddenly asked if he could give Dean one of his presents early, to which Sam said, "Do I need to leave the room?"

Sasha laughed and pulled out a small package from his duffle wrapped in newspaper. Sam smiled and nodded then, apparently knowing about this particular gift.

No dissention rose from Dean. It was rare that his birthday passed where he got even one present, let alone getting one with the promise of more later.

"It's from both of us," Sasha said, handing Dean the gift.

Dean grinned at his package and tore into it immediately. He was a simple man really, and wouldn't normally ask for or have need of many things, but when he revealed his present beneath the newspaper, his grin stretched wider. "It's one of those adaptor things, right?" he said, looking at the white cassette tape attached to a cord.

"Whatever ways we can continue moving you into the 21st century, Dean," Sam teased, "You can hook it up to your phone, pop the tape into the Impala's player, and play any of your MP3s."

"You know," Sasha chimed in, "For when you feel like some variety instead of going all the way through one band's tape. Wouldn't want to mar the original stereo by putting in a new one with a CD player, though, right? Couldn't call her a '67 Impala then." Sasha grinned.

Oh yeah. Dean knew he loved Sasha for a reason. "Sweet."

Of course Dean had to try the adaptor out on their way to dinner. He had a lot of Aerosmith on his phone ever since their jukebox prank on Jo and he had to admit that he enjoyed being able to jump to whatever song he wanted and hear it play instantly over his baby's speakers. "What's your favorite Aerosmith song, Sammy?" Dean smirked, clicking a selection on his phone, "Bet I can guess."

_(That, that)_

_Dude looks like a lady_

Dean mouthed along with exaggerated bobs of his head, grinning cheekily in response to Sam's eye roll. He looked up at the mirror to see Sasha in the back. "Sasha?"

The incubus raised a red eyebrow and said, "Do I actually get to say my answer or are you just going to start playing _Pink_?"

That got Dean laughing. "How'd you know?" he said, clicking the next song his thumb had been hovering over.

_Pink _

_It's my new obsession_

_Pink_

_It's not even a question_

"_Dean_," Sam said in exasperation, "Could you watch the _road_ maybe? I knew giving you a new toy was a bad idea."

"Here," Sasha reached up between the seats to grab Dean's phone from him, smartly hesitating before actually completing the act, "If I may, oh king of the stereo."

Well Dean couldn't exactly say no to that. He allowed Sasha to take his phone and then watched out of the corner of his eye as Sasha searched through his meager playlist. A phone didn't hold as much as an actual Ipod after all.

"You _do_ have it," Sasha said triumphantly, and as he clicked his song of choice it began to play throughout the Impala, "_This_ is my favorite Aerosmith song."

Dean smiled to himself as he listened to the opening. He had always liked this song too.

Beside him, however, Sam had a very concerned look on his face.

"Why do I know this?" he said warily.

_Gotta find a way  
Yeah I can't wait another day  
Ain't nothin' gonna change  
if we stay 'round here_

And then Sam just looked panicked. "_No_. Please no."

"You don't like this song?" Sasha asked, hurt.

Dean had to laugh. He remembered.

And apparently Sam did too.

"This song came out my senior year of high school and I swear Dean played it every time I rode with him just to drive me crazy."

"That's not true," Dean said, smiling over at his brother, "I also like the song."

Sam wasn't amused. "You thought it was an old song of theirs you'd never heard before and insisted on extolling the merits of classic rock to me for _months_."

"So? That's a good lesson."

After a few more minutes of bickering, Dean pulled into a nice, quiet looking diner, pleased with his choice even more when they stepped out of the car and the smell of non-fast food burgers and fries filled the air.

"So, just out of curiosity…" Dean said as they made for the door, bucking Sasha with his elbow and giving Sam a long glance, "What else have ya got planned for me come Thursday?" If Dean had a normal nine to five job then Thursday might be a bad day for a birthday, but thankfully a hunter's schedule left a lot of room for flexibility.

Sasha just grinned while Sam looked far too pleased with himself. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said, stealing the favored line for his own.

Great, Dean thought. Even he would readily admit that that made him worry.

The next couple days went by smoothly and a little boring really, centering mainly around where they got their food, random checks of the Sturbridge witches, and trying to pass the time as they waited for some sign of the she-demon. They played cards, fooled around on the internet—sometimes for other possible cases besides Maine and sometimes for fun—and even watched a few movies. One thing Dean had to say about Super 8 motels were that at least he didn't have to look at quite the usual horrific décor.

Come Thursday Dean was done, whether the other two idiots were ready to go or not. They were leaving for Maine Friday morning and that was that. If the demon Sam sent to Hell finally came back with some kind of report then she would just have to go looking for them. Dean was starting to wonder if his idea had been for naught anyway. Surely, the demon would have found out something by now.

"What time did Sam say?" Sasha asked, stepping out of the bathroom, damp and barely covered by the motel towel.

Dean was stealing songs off Sasha's laptop and putting them onto his phone. He looked up, unable to keep his eyes from wandering over all that visible, wet, and frankly lickable skin. "Huh? Uhh…five-thirty, I think. Said if we waited any later I'd complain about starving to death. Just how far is this place we're going?"

"Nice try," Sasha grinned, "But you're not getting any hints from me." Sasha walked over to the bed and started searching out something to wear for the night. Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that Sasha wear that long sleeved black T-shirt the incubus looked so damn good in. Sasha must have read his mind though, because that was exactly the shirt Sasha grabbed along with one of his more presentable looking pairs of jeans.

"Aw, baby, you getting all pretty for me?" Dean said over his shoulder, batting his lashes with extreme exaggeration.

Sasha merely smirked back at Dean, still gathering his change of clothes, before suddenly starting to look around the room as if he had just realized something. "How long has Sam been gone?" he asked.

"Ten minutes," Dean said with a shrug, "Said he wanted to go over some more things about Maine before we headed out, so he went down to the little coffee lounge place for some alone time. My guess is he's plotting something."

A very naughty expression creeped onto Sasha's face and he plopped his clothing back onto the bed. "Maybe he is…" Sasha said, casting his gaze once more around the room, "We are alone, after all." There wasn't even the slightest hesitation in Sasha's strides as he sauntered up to Dean and turned the entire chair towards him with one firm pull.

"Whoa. _Dude_," Dean said with his hands held up defensively and his back pressing into the chair, "You are _not_ suggesting Sammy set things up for us to have sex. That's just creepy."

"Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Doesn't mean we shouldn't take the opportunity when it's given to us." Sasha crawled forward onto Dean's lap without invitation, the towel hitching enough to leave very little to the imagination as he settled in. He was still a little damp, enough that Dean could feel wetness seeping into his clothing.

Sasha took Dean's held up hands and pushed them out of the way, giving him more access to scoot forward and for the very naked parts of him beneath the towel to press firmly against Dean through his jeans.

Dean couldn't help gasping. That was hot. Especially with how the towel stayed on Sasha's hips, hiding their intimate connection now like a tease.

"Damn you're heavy," Dean breathed through a smile, gasping again when Sasha bucked his hips forward.

"Shut up," the incubus smirked back. Then he was leaning in, his legs wrapping around the chair, his chest slick and smooth as Dean pressed his palms there and slid his hands along Sasha's skin to his back, pulling them tightly together. It made Dean so thankful his wounds were healed enough now for them to do that again.

Whenever Dean heard people talking crap about how love makes every kiss feel like the first time, Dean just thought they were nuts. Five months since his and Sasha's first kiss, and over one month since their first fuck, Dean was certain there had to be some truth to that. Not that he was ready to turn in his balls for a _Hopeless Romantic _plaque any time soon.

Maybe it was the way Sasha made Dean's whole mouth tingle, that skilled tongue caressing so deeply, lips soft and so demanding but somehow giving too. No one kissed this good, so completely and in _need_ that Dean felt himself drawn right into the incubus like a willing victim. Dean almost laughed to think that he kind of was. Offering his friend a ready meal every time the mood struck.

Dean's hands moved up to Sasha's shoulder blades and down again, feeling the dip of Sasha's lower back, and then straying lower right into the folds of the towel to caress down the smooth bare skin of Sasha's backside. Dean stayed only long enough to tug Sasha close before sliding his hands back up again, to which the incubus whined against Dean's lips.

"You're getting me all wet," Dean said breathily, their lips hovering so close when they finally pulled apart that even the barest movement from either of them bumped their lips together again.

Staring hazy and heated into Dean's eyes, Sasha's true blue glowed, honestly glowed with all that bright color, and the incubus licked his lips. Dean felt his lips get a taste of that tongue too, they were still so close. "Wet, huh?" Sasha prompted, "Let me be the judge of that."

Dean's brain was moving in slow motion with having a pretty much naked incubus in his lap, so it took him a moment to realize what Sasha was implying. The nimble fingers that slid down Dean's T-shirt to the button of his jeans made it pretty clear though. Sasha scooted back to give his hands more room, pulling the button free and drawing down the zipper. Even that small favor was a great relief for Dean after being trapped by denim. He had grown hard almost the instant Sasha started crawling onto his lap.

Covered so beautifully in that soft skin, Sasha's hand reached into Dean's jeans, beneath the elastic of his new shorts—replaced shortly after leaving the Roadhouse since Dean could only handle going commando for so long—and wrapped his long fingers around flesh. Dean instinctively shifted into the touch, both their eyes staring deeply into each others like they didn't dare look away. Then Sasha was pulling Dean out and the cool air made him hiss.

"Mmmm…" Dean hummed low in his throat, almost mimicking Sasha's usual purrs.

Sasha licked his lips again and this time he allowed for no error of feeling as he struck out with his tongue again, teasing a wet circle around Dean's lips in turn. At the same time Sasha's thumb passed over the found wetness at Dean's tip, making Dean harden even further. Sasha _was_ heavy sitting on Dean's thighs, but Dean kind of liked it, the weight of it, the firm, eminent presence.

"Gotta be illegal…somewhere…for a man to have hands that soft," Dean managed to say within Sasha's hold, his head wishing it could fall back against something but the chair was too short.

Sasha pressed his forehead against Dean's and he grinned, their eyes so close together Dean could only see blue. "Bet I can think of something better." Fiercely, Sasha stole a kiss in a single lunge, almost causing the chair to tip backwards in his urgency. Suddenly, Sasha's hand was wonderfully wet and coating Dean's length with firm strokes. That feeling of all over _wetness_ made Dean shiver.

Sasha's legs were on either side of Dean, curled back around his waist and the chair, but Sasha brought them back down so his feet could touch the floor for a minute, and he lifted himself up just enough to hover over Dean's hips. When Sasha was this urgent, the incubus never seemed to notice how much he put Dean into a daze, so it was very surprising to Dean when Sasha stretched himself only the tiniest bit before guiding Dean with a gentle hand and sitting back down to draw Dean in deep.

Dean felt a moment of panic. It was too tight at first with Sasha being so unprepared, and Dean couldn't help feeling anxious seeing the grimace that crossed Sasha's face.

"Hey…" Dean tried, his hands moving to Sasha's hips, touching the skin just beneath the towel and rubbing his thumbs gently, "I don't wanna…I don't want…to…"

"You don't want to hurt me," Sasha said evenly, the very words Dean couldn't quite get out, "Newsflash, Winchester. It's pretty hard to hurt me." As Sasha spoke, Dean raked his eyes over that pale, pretty face and the grimace he had seen was long gone, barely passing. "In fact, you could be rougher with me than you've ever been with anyone, and I'm pretty sure _you'd_ still come out the most worse for the wear."

"Well..." Dean sputtered, giving the hips beneath his hands a good squeeze, "_Incubus_."

Sasha just laughed and leaned in closer to Dean's lips. "Exactly…" Sasha pulled on Dean's lower lip, then his upper lip, and then he pressed forward, and pressed again, and finally plunged his tongue to dance with Dean's, the hunger for Dean building a growl in his throat. After assuring that Dean was dazed and horny again, Sasha wrapped his legs back around the chair, completely in Dean's lap, and rocked slowly forward.

Dean broke away with a sharper gasp this time. His hands moved at once to Sasha's back, holding onto the incubus for support, because he was certain they would eventually end up flipping the chair if they weren't careful. The larger person was not supposed to be the one in that position for lap sex. Not that Dean had any intention of complaining considering how incredible it felt with Sasha moving so damn slow like that.

Every roll of Sasha's hips pulled Dean in deep enough to elicit ready moans, and with Dean pinned as he was beneath Sasha's weight, there was nothing Dean could do but take it, wantonly captive.

Little by little as they rocked Dean started to feel that extra heat building—the signs that Sasha was connecting him to the circuit. Dean waited for the moment it would be too much and he would lose himself to the sensation as he had before, but Sasha held back just a little so that it felt like a cross between the first time and when Sasha merely gave Dean the smallest taste.

"Perfect…" Dean breathed into Sasha's neck without meaning to.

Sasha had pulled Dean's head against him, giving Dean leave to lick long lines up his neck and tease and kiss his collarbone. Now Sasha pulled back, holding Dean's face as he stared at Dean in bemused questioning.

There was no going back now. "Perfect," Dean said again, taking Sasha's hands and pulling them down so he could draw their faces together again, "Just like this. _Perfect_," Dean grinned, wanting only to devour those damp and reddened lips again. So he did. Diving up to capture Sasha heatedly, Dean felt a surge of energy rush through him that he knew was Sasha's response, Sasha's pure incubus echoed _joy_.

The slow rolls of Sasha's hips became more hurried after that, and with the force behind them Dean once again felt the chair tip. He couldn't begin to care though. His hands found Sasha's waist and slid around to Sasha's rear again, gliding down inside the towel and pulling Sasha closer in time with their thrusts. Sasha's hands had moved up to Dean's face, feathering fingers back into Dean's hair and just holding his head right _there_ so he could kiss him all the deeper.

That balance of sexual energy bouncing between then stayed constant, not overpowering but enough to send shivers up Dean's spine and make him feel close to climax already. Not a chance, Dean though. He was going to make this last.

Dean felt overheated with Sasha so wholly surrounding him that he wanted his shirt off desperately. He had just managed to get his hands down to the hem where he gripped and started lifting when a knock followed by a voice sounded from the door and made both of them freeze.

"You guys decent in there?" called Sam, already turning the knob and pushing the door open.

"No!" Sasha and Dean shouted in loud unison, enough to even startle themselves.

The door thankfully stopped its movement and quickly pulled closed again. "Okay. Good thing I asked first," Sam said, sounding amused, "Uhhh…I was thinking we should be getting ourselves ready to go, but…I can wait downstairs a few more minutes. If it gets passed five-thirty though, I'm coming in to get you no matter how _indecent_ you're being. Fifteen minutes!" Sam called as he left.

There were some days Dean just really loved his brother. He waggled an eyebrow at Sasha when the incubus chuckled and looked down at him. "Think we can last fifteen more minutes? No one's ever undone me like you, ya know. It's almost embarrassing."

"Is that a challenge? Because I can certainly make it one," Sasha purred, lunging down at Dean's neck to bite just firmly enough and bucking so far forward that Dean felt completely taken in, devoured.

"_Fuck_," Dean all but growled in reply, "Is this…nggnnn…one of my other presents, by chance?"

"Just wait till we get home."

Dean moaned in response to that as Sasha started shifting his hips at a glorious angle, those hands Dean loved lifting and removing Dean's shirt for him and then returning to stroke up Dean's chest. Dean no longer had to wear bandages but not all of the stitches had dissolved yet. Dean might have felt flawed by those ugly welts that would surely leave several scars, but Sasha looked at him, all of him, like there was nothing he would rather touch than what his hands were touching now and Dean felt beautiful.

"Do you love me more than your car, Dean?" Sasha asked teasingly.

Half of Dean was lost in Sasha's renewed rocking and the way his hands kept tracing over Dean's naked upper body, but he definitely heard that and had to reply. "If I could sleep with her, you might have some competition. But as it stands…"

Sasha playfully grabbed Dean by the back of the neck and jerked him close. "Oh really?"

"Well if we could get you in more leather some time…" Dean suggested with a leer.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Do we _have_ to go to dinner?"

Sasha laughed. "Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Damn."

"Don't worry," Sasha said, their movements back to where they had been before Sam's interruption so that Dean's eyes half rolled into the back of his head, "We can make these fifteen minutes last. I'll make sure of it."

Dean knew never to doubt the incubus, and certainly didn't now, though how Sasha was going to pull this off with Dean being so close to the edge already, Dean had no idea.

--

After thirty minutes in the car and much bitching from Dean at how long it was taking, the three boys arrived at their intended destination, driven by Sam with Dean forced to sit in the back. Dean would have kicked both their asses if they had tried blindfolding him or something, but thankfully they hadn't. They did insist that he close his eyes when they got close to the restaurant though. Apparently, something about the sign would give too much away.

Once inside, Dean had to admit that the place looked like a fun time. It was more of a bar than a restaurant but still served food, something Dean could always appreciate. They grabbed a booth and started looking through the menu. Dean really needed a drink. He wasn't on any medication anymore so he could get as drunk as he wanted. His chest still ached from time to time, but not enough that he needed any Vicodin.

"I'm getting a Cap n Coke. Gotta start off on a good note," Dean said before even looking at what he wanted to eat. He knew he wanted the ribs anyway, having passed a table on their way in where a guy already had some and it just made Dean's mouth water. He took a once over of the whole place, noticing a lot of music memorabilia on the walls and that the little stage in the corner had a pretty crazy sound system. "I got it," he said, nudging Sam beside him and pointing a finger across at Sasha, "Live music right? Some guys doing metal covers or something. _That's_ the surprise."

Sasha choked on a chuckle, shaking his head, and Sam was smiling way too wide.

"No? Then what? Come on, you're driving me crazy here! I know there's a catch to all this. We wouldn't have come all this way for the atmosphere and the food."

"You're right there," Sasha admitted, "But we've still got some time. By the time we're done eating…you'll know."

Dean didn't like those terms one bit but he knew he couldn't get either of them to crack. He just glared at both of them and returned to the menu.

Almost an hour later they had all pretty well cleaned their plates, Dean had downed two Cap n Cokes and only went that slow because Sam insisted he hold off a bit. Dean still had no idea what the angst twins had planned for him. It was really getting on his nerves. It was rounding seven o'clock! Dean opened his mouth to demand an answer when a microphone screech resounded throughout the room first.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen," came a voice that Dean saw came from a man not much older than Dean up on the little stage, "It's that time again here on Thursday nights, and as the tradition goes…first song falls to any birthday boys and girls." Dean felt panic creeping into his body as the man looked down at a card in his hand and said, "Can I have Sasha and Dean up here please?"

Oh _hell_ know. "You brought me to a karaoke bar!?" Dean hissed at his companions. Upon seeing the overly pleased looks on Sam and Sasha's faces, Dean tried to make a break for it out of the booth, but Sam's larger form easily blocked him. Dean realized then why they had insisted on that particular seating; he was completely boxed in.

"That's Sasha and Dean," the host said into the microphone again, casting his eyes over the various people enjoying their food or sitting up at the bar. It was actually pretty packed, which made Dean feel even more homicidal right now.

Suddenly, Sasha was waving at the man to make sure he didn't skip over their turn and then Sasha was out of the booth and Sam was making room for Dean to get out too.

Dean could totally break for it. He was smaller than both of them. He bet he was faster too. Sasha's couldn't exactly unfurl his wings in a crowded place. Regardless, Dean opted for glowers instead and his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"I do not sing in public. No way."

"Dean, you have to," Sasha said, hands on his hips, "You made me get up and perform in front of a crowded place on _my_ birthday, remember? Well…paybacks a bitch."

Ha frickin' ha. "You have talent. You like being in the spotlight. I am not even close to drunk enough to do this."

"I think we need a little encouragement, folks!" called the host suddenly, "Seems our birthday boy of the evening is shy. Let's hear it for Dean, huh! See if we can't coax him on out here!"

A round of applause erupted from the eaters and drinkers, and Sam joined right in, whistling long and loud with a pat on Dean's back.

Dean was going to kill them both. That was certain. But he was no pussy, damn it, and he knew they would never let him live this down if he didn't get up there. Kicking Sam in the shin, Dean pushed his brother the rest of the way out of the booth and got out after him. As soon as it was clear that he was up and both he and Sasha were heading for the stage, the applause and hollers grew louder. Some people may think Dean was the center of attention type, but he just played the part well. He would never choose to be put in the spotlight like this. Especially when it was singing.

"Dude, what song are we doing?" he asked Sasha angrily, throwing fake smiles and nods at the people cheering him on as he walked across the restaurant, "And if you say _Stairway to Heaven_ you're sleeping with Sam tonight."

Of course, Sasha merely laughed. He leaned over to Dean then and whispered, "Don't worry, Dean. You know it. And I expect harmony or I'm making you sing Mariah Carrie by yourself."

Dean had no doubts now—Sasha was the devil in disguise. There always were those sayings about how the devil appeared in pleasing guises.

They reached the stage and the host, who smiled bright but genuinely as far as Dean could tell, and indicated the mics they were supposed to use. The problem was, Dean didn't see any screens, so he didn't know where he was supposed to look for lyrics. This couldn't be some kind of fly by your pants karaoke bar, could it?

Just as Dean thought that, a screen dropped down just off to the side. It went to that little title screen as the music started to play and Dean couldn't help smiling a little as he recognized the song. He had so walked right into this. He should have known he wouldn't be able to maintain his surly disposition either, but if this turned out to be the most embarrassing moment of Dean's life, there would definitely be consequences.

"Let's hear it for Sasha and Dean!" the host called before stepping off the stage. Dean distinctly heard Sam's voice rising above the others in the crowd to cheer them on.

Dean nodded to Sasha to make sure the incubus was taking the lead, and as the words started popping up on the screen, Sasha's smooth baritone poured loud and wonderful into the mic.

_Gotta find a way  
Yeah, I can't wait another day  
Aint nothin' gonna change  
If we stay 'round here _

Dean swallowed thickly, held the mic up to his mouth and tried to pretend that a restaurant full of people wasn't listening as he joined in to add the harmony.

_Gotta do what it takes  
Cause all in our hands  
We all make mistakes_

Then Dean stopped again. He planned to drop out at every spot he remembered Steven Tyler singing alone, because there was no way he was going to try and make up harmony he didn't know. Besides, Dean preferred hearing Sasha anyway.

_Yeah  
But it's never too late _

Even when he joined back in, he listened to Sasha not the music, not his own voice certainly, just Sasha and how somehow what was coming out of him made Sasha sound that much more amazing.

_To start again  
Take another breath  
_

Sasha smiled over at Dean as he sang another line alone and there was no taunt, no superiority in the look, just genuine pleasure.

_And say another prayer  
_

Dean still might kill them both later, but if he was going to be forced into this, then he was going to own it. They hit the chorus and their voices rang out loudly together. Dean didn't think he was anything special, but together it was something else, and one thing he could be sure of was that they were definitely giving these folks a better show than they probably ever got on a Thursday night.

_Then fly away from here  
Anywhere  
Yeah, I don't care  
We'll just fly away from here  
Our hopes and dreams _

Sasha winked and gave a nod to Dean who reluctantly but as assuredly as he could sang the last of the chorus alone.

_Are out there somewhere  
Won't let time pass us by  
We'll just fly_

By the time the song ended, Dean couldn't deny having enjoyed himself and they earned a good many applause. Dean was still quick to return to their seats though, and he had a feeling his face was flush when he finally sat back down.

"You are buying me so much liquor to counter that," Dean said with as much of a glare directed at Sasha and Sam as he could manage through his adrenaline created smile, "And _you_," he said, smacking Sam hard upside the head with no sympathy for his brother's cry, "Better sure as hell know you're getting your jumbo ass up there too."

"Wh-What?" Sam stammered, eyes wide with fear in the face of Dean's smirk and Sasha laughing at him, "No, no, no. I don't sing. You can't make me go up there."

"Sure I can," Dean grinned evilly, "And I get to pick the song too."

Well that sure knocked Sam down off his damn pedestal. A Whiskey Sour and two beers later, Dean was feeling just fine, and he nearly fell over laughing when Sam was finally called up to take his turn and sang so stiffly Dean teased him the rest of the night about having a stick lodged up his ass. That at least would have explained the pitch problems. Dean would never be able to think of Barry Manilow again without breaking into guffaws at the expense of his brother.

_Well you came and you gave without taking  
but I sent you away, oh Mandy  
well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking  
And I need you today, oh Mandy_

Eventually, Dean was halfway to wasted, Sam was right behind him with all the beer he downed when he got back to the table after singing, and Sasha was at least buzzed if the flush to his cheeks were any indication. Dean couldn't say a thing against them now, but even though he couldn't imagine really being upset with them anymore, that didn't mean he wasn't already cooking up plans to make them pay. The worst rendition of _Mandy_—probably ever—just wasn't good enough.

The evening would have continued without a hitch after that, aside from a few really awful singings, if not for the surprise none of them could have expected.

Sasha was getting up to grab another round of something—they hadn't decided what yet—when the incubus' face suddenly went pale. Slowly, he slid back into the booth, staring over at the brothers and remaining very still.

"Dude, if you're gonna hurl, make for the bathroom, don't aim it at us," Dean chuckled.

But Sasha didn't look sick or amused by Dean's joke. He just looked very, very worried. That made Sam worried too, and Dean couldn't help but fall in line.

"What is it?" Dean asked after a whole minute of Sasha just sitting there.

It was easy to see the large lump that formed in Sasha's throat and he had trouble swallowing it down. Finally, he spoke, but his voice was shaking. "I can sense another incubus in the restaurant."

At first Dean felt his trigger finger itch for the small blade he carried on his ankle, but then Dean came back to his senses and he had to pause. "But…you're good guys." Wasn't that now universally accepted among them, proven only too obviously by Sasha's presence in their lives, and even more notably in Dean's bed?

Sasha still looked troubled though and he didn't say anything. Dean looked over at Sam for some kind of encouragement or help here but all he saw was the puppy eyes working both ways. Dean had to wonder if being set across from each other like that would create some kind of vortex of angsty doom.

Then Dean realized. Sasha wasn't exactly on friendly terms with…any of his kind. Only his aunt. All the others thought of him as an outcast. He _was_ an outcast. Dean felt so stupid for not getting that right away. Sasha was scared to face another of his kind because they would undoubtedly look at him with scorn.

And then it was too late to say anything because Sasha's eyes lifted, wide and unreadable to the side of their table. Dean followed that frightened gaze and his eyes landed on what appeared to be a beautiful young woman with copper hair and eyes like a thunderstorm. She clearly wasn't an incubus, but Dean was pretty sure her and Sasha were still on the same wavelength.

What he couldn't have expected though was the way she said, "Sasha?" with perfect recognition.

tbc...

A/N: Any guesses?

Man do I have notes on this one. Okay, so we got a little redo of the witches episode. See this timing is before that episode happened so I'm going with the one girl not having committed murder or dying herself quite yet. I like to save extra lives where I can, and this just happened to work out. But will we see that demon again? You'll have to wait and see.

The Mormon names Davis and Markelli are taken from the movie "Latter Days" which I recommend to all slash lovers. Elder Davis is one of the characters, but Markelli is the last name of the guy who becomes his gay lover. Hee.

Lots of Aerosmith, the duet needing a big thank you to go out to Winterheart who helped me choose it. It came out in 2001 but just seemed so fitting. YouTube it. It's Fly Away From Here and has a very...interesting video.

Find any good plot bunnies, Lisa? ;-)

And please review people! I feel neglected... ;-)

--

And onto the rant. OMFG! I am so disappointed. Lilith is SO the easy way out with this. I remember thinking, ooo, I wonder who holds the contract. I'm sure it will be cool. Well, as long as it isn't LILITH since that's too obvious. You LOSE Kripke. I'm sorry, but that's how I feel. We'll see how things go in the season finale. At any rate, though I may throw my own version of Lilith in at some point, she does NOT hold the contract in MY version.

On the other hand, I LOVE Bela and I thought it was interesting that she sold her soul too. I know she's a bitch, but I'm sad to see her go, because I think she is a very well-rounded and interesting character. Unlike certain blonde demons.

And finally...I'm so scared for Dean. Oh I don't plan on being nice to him in my version--apparently I like torturing my characters--but part of me is wary of next week. Regardless of what happens, boys, we're with you.

Crim


	33. Part 3: Where Were You When

Song choice for this chapter: Breaking Benjamin's "Away"

--

Part 3: Where Were You When

--

Dean had to quell his then second urge to reach for his ankle blade now that the supposed cause of Sasha's distress had appeared. And she knew Sasha. That got Dean's head buzzing. Random incubus was one thing. But hot chick with silvery doe eyes was so totally different. Sasha hadn't ever mentioned any exes but that didn't mean he didn't have any. It made Dean scowl to think that that might be what she was.

The girl was gorgeous too, wearing a deep burgundy shirt, jeans, and a silver necklace that sported two rings as a pendent and rested gently on her chest. Her hair was like new copper, shimmering and hanging straight and thick past her shoulders with wispy bangs. Her trim figure was very different from Shiarra's voluptuousness, but it seemed fitting, and she even had a dusting of freckles that just _added_. There was also that ethereal glow to her eyes that told Dean _definitely not human_.

Sasha just sat there so frozen at first, watching her as she was watching him. Then the slightly shocked expression melted from the girl's face and as soon as she smiled—soft and hopeful—Sasha broke into a smile too. He was out of the booth then. Hugging her.

"Charis," Sasha sighed like the greatest relief, enveloping the delicate looking girl as Dean had only ever seen Sasha do to a select few, "You look…you look so…" Sasha trailed, pulling this Charis person away so he could hold her in front of him and look her over better, "So grown up," he said finally.

Charis laughed—a shy giggle. "You too. Almost didn't recognize you. Hair gave you away though," she smirked a little as a hand came up to brush through Sasha's crayola red hair with fingers that just seemed so at home touching him.

Their smiles were so affectionate towards each other too that Dean felt his jaw clench. He cleared his throat loudly, hating that he was on the inside of the booth, blocked in by Sam. "Hey," Dean said when Sasha and the girl turned to him, "Introductions might be nice." Dean hoped his own smile didn't look quite as tense as it felt on his face.

"Oh, uhh…right," Sasha smiled sheepishly, like maybe he had forgotten Sam and Dean were there. His large hands were still holding Charis' shoulders, and while one fell away to gesture at Sam and Dean in turn, the other slid down to Charis' lower back with familiar ease. "Dean, Sam," Sasha said, "This is Charis. We grew up together."

Which meant she probably knew a lot of things about Sasha that Dean didn't. It made Dean's jaw clench tighter, staring at where Sasha's hand was now hidden behind this _girl_.

Thankfully, Sam salvaged them from whatever tension might have arisen by standing just slightly from the booth and reaching over to shake the girl's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said with all that annoyingly genuine friendliness, "Charis, huh? That's an interesting name."

Charis' smile flashed a little wider with a sort of bashful lowering of her head, and she accepted Sam's hand gratefully. "It's for Charismatic. I think my parents were being wishful thinkers."

Sam returned her smile and gave a polite chuckle. "I get the feeling you're probably being modest," he said.

"Sort of goes with the territory being a _succubus_, right?" Dean chimed in, noting how startled Charis looked upon hearing that he knew what she was, "Unless there's some incubus/succubus transvestite thing I'm not aware of." Dean immediately felt Sam's foot stomp down onto his and he turned a ready glare onto his brother in rebuke.

"What he means is," Sasha said, shaking his head at Dean before turning back to Charis, "Well, _before_…I…" he smiled humbly, "I thought I sensed an incubus."

Charis' expression maintained its look of unease and her eyes darted from the brothers back to Sasha like she had something to say but wasn't sure how to word it.

And then a new voice sounded close beside their booth, this one undeniably male.

"You _did_," it said, fiercely low and not at all pleasant. Dean saw an arm reach for Charis before he saw the whole man, and when this new stranger stepped forward, jerking Charis away from Sasha to rest securely and possessively against him instead, Dean knew to be worried again.

A quick glance at Sasha confirmed that thought too. The redhead looked downright scared now. "Lin…" he said like a breath, but not one of relief this time.

Dean eyed this newcomer and would have laughed if the air wasn't so thick with tension. The guy looked that same end-all incubus age of twenty-five, but he had white hair—not platinum but _white_—like that damn lutin from Danville. The hair was longer than Sasha's, though still not as long as Sam's, and his eyes were an angry, intense green. It made Dean think of nuclear waste or acid. The guy's expression sure was acidic enough. He was in jeans and made a strange parody of Sasha since he too had on a long-sleeved black shirt.

Beside Dean, Sam was pretty tense now too and he nudged Dean's thigh as if to say they needed to be ready to defend themselves even in a crowded karaoke bar. Dean couldn't have agreed more. This guy was not looking to be friendly.

"Lindsey, please," Charis was saying, turning in her companion's hold to stare at him beseechingly. He ignored her and kept his eyes dead-centered on Sasha. Dean almost expected to start picking up on the sounds of growling.

"Okay…" Dean said, holding up his hands in hopes of deflating things before this guy threw any punches, which for some reason he looked very close to doing, "Nobody wants a fight here. Why don't we all just stay calm and—"

"Stay out of it!" the white-haired incubus snarled at Dean, more than just growling but flashing red eyes and fangs for a moment too. Dean felt something like fear climb up the back of his neck. He'd be damned if he'd show it though.

Charis was still trying to calm her…well, Dean assumed Lindsey was more than just her _friend_. "Lindsey…" she implored again, a hand pressed gently to his chest, "After all this time—"

"Don't you even _begin_ to defend him," Lindsey said, his almost neon green eyes looking down on Sasha with revulsion. Looking down literally, Dean realized, because Lindsey was just as trim as Sasha but he was taller and would probably be eye to eye with Sam if the younger Winchester were standing. "Sitting here with _hunters_," Lindsey said then in distaste.

The pleading on Charis' face vanished upon hearing that, leaving sudden fear instead as she clung to Lindsey and stared wide-eyed at Sam and Dean. So much for her being on their side.

With an arm around Charis now, tight in his claim over her and how he had seemingly won, Lindsey snarled one final blow at Sasha before walking away. "Traitor," he said. And then they were gone, heading right back towards the door they must have only recently come through.

Angry as Dean was, he realized that what bothered him the most was how Sasha had just stood there. Not once did Sasha try and raise his voice to defend himself or even raise his head, lowered as it was like a child being scolded. It was as if Sasha believed he deserved that treatment.

Dean might have turned his anger onto Sasha because of that too if it weren't for the way those brilliant blues were swimming, and how Sasha just looked so damn young and broken down.

"Hey…" Dean prompted since Sasha was just standing beside their booth, staring at nothing. Dean waited a moment for Sasha to turn to him but when that didn't happen he forced a smile and called, "So, who was that asshole, huh?"

That at least got Sasha to raise his head, but he didn't look at either of the brothers. A sickly smile crossed his face like he was trying so hard not to cry. It broke Dean's heart to hear the exhaled false laugh before Sasha finally said, "My best friend," and then almost lost it completely, having to rub at his eyes as his tears betrayed him. "I need to, uhh…I-I'm just going to…" Sasha trailed, and before Dean could think of anything to say his friend was headed off to the bathroom.

"Sasha!" Sam called as the redhead hurried off. Almost immediately, Sam turned back to Dean and Dean took the hint. They had to do something.

"Out," Dean commanded, already scooting across the seat and nearly hip-checking Sam in the process. Once they were both on their feet Dean pushed Sam in the direction of the bathroom and made to head out the main door himself. "Go check on him," Dean said as he turned away.

An almost painful grip took hold of Dean's arm before he could get even a step. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Dean shrugged, only turning to face Sam halfway. "Just thought I'd get some air."

"Dean…"

"What? There's a law says I can't get air?"

"_Dean_," Sam said more firmly, "Don't do anything stupid."

This time Dean did turn fully to face Sam and he cracked his most unassuming smile. "Don't know what you mean, Sammy. Now get your ass in that bathroom and make sure Sasha's okay, or I swear I will put you _down_ and make you look like a bitch in front of all these nice people. Got me?"

Sam just frowned, much as Dean thought that deserved at least a small laugh. Still, Sam released him and Dean didn't look back again as he made for the door.

The first thing Dean was certain of was that they hadn't left in a car. There were no sounds of a nearby engine, the parking lot still and empty, leaving only the highway, and there hadn't been enough time for the pair to get that far. They also couldn't have risked using their wings in the open, but Dean had to guess that using them somehow had to be their plan since he couldn't see them walking anywhere either. That left only one option then for a place to unfurl said wings and take off—the makeshift alley behind the restaurant, where a few other buildings converged as well.

Dean headed there without a second thought. Part of him itched to draw his gun as he walked into the darkness, but that would probably lower his already zero credibility with these people. Dean also thought about calling out, but he still wasn't exactly sure what he planned to do. He just couldn't leave things as they were. Sasha deserved better.

This was probably a time where that incubus night vision would benefit Dean, though Sasha had said it wasn't good enough to see through pitch black. Dean could barely see anything though, and just as he was about to say _'fuck it'_ and call out after all, what he was actually not at all surprised about finally happened.

The blow came from Dean's right, sudden and so brutal that Dean's shoulder was only one small pop from being dislocated after he hit the wall. At first he was pinned so hard he could barely breathe. Then he _really_ couldn't breathe because a grip like a damn vice was on his neck and clearly didn't care about the damage it was causing.

"Lindsey!" Dean heard in Charis' light, concerned voice, but all Dean could see was red, vibrant and fierce in front of his face. In hindsight this may not have been the best idea.

"Is this what you do, _hunter_?!" Lindsey growled in nothing even resembling a human voice, "Is this how it works!? You keep him around, keep him alive, and in turn he leads you to us?! Is that it!?"

Much as Dean wanted to say no, shake his head, anything, the hold on him was too tight. Crush your windpipe tight. He wouldn't be conscious for long if this kept up. He tried to speak with his eyes but he knew they were bulging, so he went with his emotions instead. He doubted Lindsey was listening, but he tried to emote, well, everything. That sure, he was angry, but he didn't mean any harm. That he cared for Sasha. A lot. That he really, really didn't feel like dying right now.

"You're all the same," Lindsey said in a furious whisper, his breath hot on Dean's face and his fangs glinting, "You're just using him. Biding your time until you kill him too. And he'll allow it. He'll probably fall at your god damn feet, thinking at least he did some _good_." Lindsey growled low in his throat as he said that. "He's just a fool."

"Lindsey…" Charis said again, softer this time but closer, as if she was standing right next to them, "Please, if you'd only listen for a moment you'd know he doesn't want to hurt us."

"He _won't_ hurt us," Lindsey promised, though to Dean it sounded much more like a threat.

"_Lindsey_."

Things were getting hazy. Dean felt his body growing limp and he hated that he was so helpless. He started counting down the seconds to when he'd be out, passed out and who knows what else afterwards. Therefore, it was almost more painful to suddenly be released, Dean's throat burning and his body so sore as he fell straight to the ground.

Dean was hauled up almost immediately, pinned again though not quite as harshly. In fact if not for that hold, Dean doubted he would be able to stand. He started to feel hands patting him down and he blinked unfocused at the white blur of Lindsey so close to him.

"Dude…" Dean tried, even though it hurt to talk, "If you…wanted to get frisky…you could have just said so." Dean hoped his smirk actually looked something like a smirk but he couldn't be sure.

Lindsey huffed in response. His hands came around to Dean's back, up beneath his leather jacket, and he found the gun tucked into Dean's jeans.

Shit. "Never…leave home without it?" Dean said by way of explanation, starting to get his breath back a little.

"You expect me to believe you wouldn't have used this?" Lindsey replied sharply.

Dean could focus better now, felt at least a little steadier, and he stared right up into those once again green eyes. "No. I do expect you…to survive lead bullets though. So if I had fired…it really just would have been…me blowing off steam…at your bad Billy Idol impression." Dean flicked his eyes up over Lindsey's hair. Even Billy Idol never had hair _that_ white.

Lindsey did not look amused with Dean's snarky comments, but he released Dean completely then, apparently seeing no threat in the hunter as he unloaded the bullets of Dean's gun into his palm.

Wavering a little, Dean had to lean back against the wall to keep from falling, but at least he could somewhat stand. He had to smirk again when Lindsey grimaced at finding the bullets to be lead after all, just as Dean had said. "Missed something though," Dean said, raising his right foot a little.

Fresh anger rippled over Lindsey's face. He bent down, pulled up Dean's pant leg and promptly removed Dean's ankle blade.

"Now _that's_ iron," Dean admitted, "But I didn't have to tell you about it. I'm also kind of fond of that thing if I could have it back at some point."

Lindsey now had all of the weapons Dean had bothered to bring along for what should have been just a night out. Yeah, Dean felt defenseless considering even his hardest punch would barely faze an incubus that actually meant business. He was confident now though that his encounter did not have to end as badly as it had begun.

"You done spewing your bullshit now?" Dean asked.

"What do you want?" Lindsey asked right back, tossing both gun and blade over his shoulder onto the dark ground behind him, "Did he send you out here like a coward? Huh? He can't defend himself?"

Dean had to laugh. His neck and throat throbbed but he was more or less back to his senses. "I thought you knew him. Or at least used to," Dean countered, "No, _Sasha_ didn't send me. He'd probably filet me if he knew I was out here. See, whatever you may think, we don't have any power over him. No deals or bargains. We're a team. _Friends_."

"Who just happen to be _fucking_?" Lindsey shot back, looking Dean up and down like he could smell Sasha all over him. Maybe he could. "So tell me, is that his trade off or _yours_?"

Okay, now this guy was getting on Dean's nerves. He glanced to the side where he saw Charis not too far away from them. "You actually put up with this?" he said.

Not Dean's brightest moment considering Lindsey reared back and immediately slammed Dean into the wall again. That was it for Dean's right shoulder. It was definitely dislocated now. "_He_ left _us_," Lindsey snarled, "Say what you want, but he's the one who turned his back on his own people, on his _friends_. He's the one who kills his own kind now. And in the name of what? Justice? She was family."

"She was a murderer," Dean grit out in reply. He had no sympathy for Sasha's girl-killing aunt. Right and wrong had plenty of grey areas, but some things were too clear to ignore.

Lindsey just shook his head. He wasn't listening. "If he can turn on family, how soon until he leads you to the rest of us? And what then? You kill us all and he gets a free pass? I know better."

This was a lost cause, Dean realized that, and it wounded him for Sasha's sake. Especially since it was so painfully obvious that Lindsey didn't hate Sasha at all like he let on. "You don't know anything," Dean said, "And it's a shame. It's a shame that the same story keeps repeating. Good guy gets the shaft because the people that are supposed to care about him won't listen. Well…I listen."

"Really?" Lindsey practically scoffed.

"Yeah. I do," Dean said evenly, "Loving him kind of makes it hard not to."

That got an interesting reaction.

For a moment Dean almost thought he was getting through to Lindsey. The green eyes lost their malice, the incubus' expression drawing blank, maybe even questioning with curiosity. But too soon the sternness was back and Lindsey stepped in so close that Dean wondered if he was done for.

All Lindsey said though was, "Never come looking for us again," before he turned to walk into the darkness of the alley and left Dean behind. "We're leaving," he said to Charis as he went. Then he was gone like a ghost melted back into the shadows.

Charis didn't immediately follow him. Her face exuded sympathy, clearly torn between two men she obviously cared much about. Dean could only imagine that her choice to ultimately side with Lindsey was out of love, and as much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't bring himself to hate her for that.

While Dean was in a pretty sad condition right now, leaning into the wall behind him, neck throbbing in pain and his right arm hanging limp out of joint, he attempted a weak smile. The pretty succubus seemed to be made up of all these delicate little pieces that somehow still made her strong but not strong enough to get in the middle of this fight. But despite that she remained behind long enough to walk up close to Dean and speak tenderly.

"You look out for him?" she asked, that same beseeching in her tone.

Dean sighed a little before nodding. "We look out for each other."

"Good," Charis said, returning Dean's smile finally in a way that lit her whole face and got Dean lost for a moment in the metallic beauty of copper and silvery blue, "Keep it up then. Sometimes…it's the good guys who need the most help, you know?" she said, turning her head to look after Lindsey.

"Yeah," Dean had to laugh a little, reaching his left hand up to hold his right shoulder, "I know."

Again, Charis didn't immediately leave but instead leaned up and kissed Dean on the cheek. When she did finally turn to follow after Lindsey, Dean felt a small sense of accomplishment despite all his failures. He better have accomplished something given his sorry state.

Dean managed to retrieve his gun and his ankle blade before the sounds of running feet approached and Sam and Sasha finally appeared before him from around the building. Both of them frantically looked Dean over, even in the meager light of the alley. They weren't happy, that was for sure, and Dean expected to be given a lot of shit for what he had done, but he also assumed it would mostly be wrapped in sympathy considering how beat up he was.

He was wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking!?" Sasha growled, just as fiercely as Lindsey had before, blue eyes shimmering in anger, "He could have killed you! Did you think you could make things better by hurting me more!?" As Sasha yelled, he ran his hands none too gently over the bruises forming on Dean's neck and over Dean's injured shoulder.

Sam looked just as upset at finding Dean like this, but even he was slightly shocked by how angry Sasha sounded and how rough the incubus was being with Dean's wounds.

"I didn't ask you to come to my rescue!" Sasha pretty near shouted in Dean's face, "You had no right to interfere in this!"

"Well excuse me!" Dean yelled right back, easily falling into the fight since Sasha seemed so intent on making it one, "Maybe if you had actually stood up for yourself instead of cowering like a fucking child I wouldn't have needed to!"

Sasha's eyes flashed red so fast that Dean didn't even have to time to defend himself as the incubus pushed him hard enough in the chest to knock him back against the wall yet again. "I don't need you to protect me!" he cried, almost hysterical, "Don't turn me into your fucking damsel in distress! I'm not another brother for you to throw your life away for, Dean!"

All the fight in Dean instantly drained. His chest burned now, but not because of the remaining stitches that had been struck by Sasha's blow. The redhead looked ready to punch Dean hard enough to snap his neck, and Dean almost wished he would. But the weight of what Sasha had said suddenly hit the incubus and those glowing red eyes returned at once to blue.

Sasha stumbled back, staring with horror in his expression at Dean. At Sam. At _Dean_. "I didn't…I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, I think you pretty much did," Dean grumbled softly, feeling so heavy suddenly, like his body carried more weight than his bones could support.

Sasha just looked crushed, completely and utterly undone, and not in any way but the worst kind possible. Dean's instincts told him to help, comfort, save, protect, make better, make okay, make _right_. Sam always told Dean that he was too self-sacrificing. Like Sam was any better. Like any of them were. But did it have to be such a horrible thing?

Sam was just standing there, tall and still and silent, but Sasha was looking around frantically now, like he felt trapped and just wanted to run. Dean saw that very urge in Sasha's eyes, the belief that running was his best option. Running. _Leaving_.

"I…I'm gonna find a way back to the hotel," Sasha said too fast, his eyes never staying in one place and his feet shuffling compulsively. He tried to move off out of the alley then but Dean leapt forward, wounds be damned, and grabbed Sasha's arm as hard as he could with his left hand.

"You're not finding anything," Dean said, wishing those blue eyes would look at him. Just look at him. "We'll…we'll just go. Okay?" Dean tried to look around Sasha, find his face, his eyes, any part of him that would at least acknowledge that yeah, Dean was still there. Dean wasn't going anywhere.

"Okay," Sasha said, so softly that Dean barely heard it.

Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's face, one he knew so well, was just so damn empty. He hated when Sam looked like that, like he was thinking so much that even humanity got left out of the expression. Sam was agonizing over all of this, over all the ways he could blame himself for it probably, and Dean wanted him to stop. He wanted both of them to stop wearing these burdens on their backs when Dean was more than willing to share the load. It would be okay. Somehow it would be okay. _Dean_ would make it okay.

He just didn't know how.

The three of them trod sluggishly back to the car soon after that. Sasha and Sam apparently thinking that Dean's shoulder was just hurt, not completely out of socket since Dean's leather jacket covered it. The shoulder really did hurt too, but Dean didn't want to draw attention to it. Not right now. He hadn't even bothered to ask if the other two had paid the check.

Sam climbed into the front to drive again and Sasha went straight for the back. Dean wanted to climb back there with him but he got the feeling that that might not be the best idea right now. So Dean allowed Sasha his space and climbed into the front passenger seat instead.

It was a horrible half hour, quiet and suffocating. Dean spent the entire trip thinking about how he could salvage the night in some way. Nothing came to him.

_Happy Birthday to me_, Dean thought wryly. Twenty-nine years down…three and a half months to go.

--

They arrived back at the hotel and Dean was about ready to burst. He couldn't take this kind of unresolved silence, thick and hot like walls encasing them. They were barely through the motel door when he grabbed Sasha with his left hand. "Hey. Come on, cut this shit out. You need to talk about what happened, fine. We'll do that. But I need you to _look_ at me."

Sam was behind them, stuck halfway out the door because of how they had stopped. Dean knew his brother had to be feeling like the most obvious and awkward third wheel in all of history right now, but Dean couldn't be bothered by that. He just wanted to see some sign that was Sasha was still in there, hidden somewhere behind all that god damn pain.

That pain and something like guilt was what Dean saw when Sasha finally did turn to look at him. The incubus' eyes were so wet that Dean had to wonder if there had been tears shed in the car he hadn't seen.

Sasha turned in Dean's grip, twisting his arm so that Dean had to let go but in turn squeezing Dean's wrist in what Dean took for apology before he pulled fully away. "I…I think I just want to get another room, if that's okay," he said.

"Okay. Sure," Dean nodded, "We'll get another room."

Sasha's face cracked further into anguish and he shook his head. "Not we, Dean. Just me."

_Come again_, Dean almost said aloud. Those words were too much for him. It just wasn't in his nature to hold back the anger that rose within him after hearing that. Sasha and Sam both complained about how Dean shut them out instead of dealing with things. Well if they thought that was purely one-sided then they were idiots. Dean expected more from them. He expected them to try, at least try when he so often couldn't. This felt too much like betrayal. Like Sasha didn't trust him. And it filled Dean with fire.

_Fuck him_, Dean thought. He didn't need to put up with this shit.

"Fine," Dean said through clenched teeth, "Do whatever. Sulk all fucking night for all I care. You want rid of me, I'm happy to oblige. Won't have to put up with me much longer anyway." Ignoring whatever calls there might have been made after him, Dean pushed past Sasha into the motel and headed for the room.

He didn't notice that Sam was right on his heels until he reached the room and slammed the door shut behind him only to have Sam open it again a moment later. "Dean."

"You fucking say anything to me, I'll knock you're fucking teeth out," Dean warned. He needed to work this out of his body, drown in the shower for an hour and go to bed. He didn't care that it was barely ten o'clock. He didn't want to deal with any of this.

Achingly, Dean slid out of his leather jacket, hissing as his dislocated shoulder jarred when the heavy fabric fell from it. He ignored Sam's concerned gasp now that the truth was revealed. Dean just needed a wall to brace himself against; he didn't need sympathy.

Walking towards the bathroom, Dean grabbed onto the doorframe for support and prepared himself to just do this. But before he could there was a gentle hand on his good shoulder. Dean whipped his head up with a ready glare, but what he found was the most pitiable version of the puppy eyes he had yet seen. Sam didn't say anything but he turned Dean towards him and Dean understood. At least the anger he felt towards Sam started to ease out of him. Dean took a deep breath and nodded.

All it took was one good jerk aided by Sam's super strength and Dean's shoulder was back in place. It happened swift enough that Dean only grunted and grit his teeth for a moment. He'd certainly had worse. A weak 'thanks' fell from Dean's lips and then he turned into the bathroom. Sasha would be back to grab his stuff after getting a new room. Dean didn't want to be out there when he did.

The hot water felt good against Dean's sore muscles, beading over his shoulders and down his back. He held his whole face under the stream for a few minutes, near scalding as it was, and just tried to drown everything out. He pretended not to hear the muffled voices when Sasha did finally come back to the room. He didn't want to know what they were saying. He just wanted Sasha to leave as quickly as possible.

As time passed though and the rumble of Sasha's baritone continued to remain, Dean realized how much he wanted Sasha to stay. Therefore, the eventual sound of the room door shutting and the following silence made Dean angry all over again. This was all a big mess and it wasn't fair.

Dean emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, pulled on sleep pants and a T-shirt and did his damnedest to avoid looking Sam in the eyes. It was past 10:30 now. Still early, but good enough for bed time when Dean was aching and sick of the waking world. The problem was Dean couldn't seem to get into bed. He started pacing without realizing it, back and forth across the room.

Sam was sitting on his own bed, clad in only his boxers, and he watched Dean for awhile before finally giving a loud sigh and calling, "Dean."

"_What_ did I tell you?" Dean snapped without looking.

Sam sighed again. "That you'll deck me if I say anything," he droned, "No offense, Dean, but I'm not really feeling the threat right now. You're a frickin' basket case and you're blazing a trail into the carpet. He's in room 309. Go talk to him."

A huff left Dean like that was the very last thing he wanted to do right now. He kept pacing in front of the beds and turned his head to glare at Sam properly. "Not so fun being the one in the middle is it?" he taunted, having absolutely no problem throwing back in Sam's face what it was like for him when Sam and Dad fought so damn often.

The expected return glare didn't come though. Sam just looked all pitying again. "He didn't mean to hurt you, Dean. And you didn't mean to hurt him. So…" a strangely satisfied smirk started to form, "Maybe you should stop being a _girl_ for two seconds, shake it off, yell, hit each other, whatever you need to do, and _get over it_. Sasha has some issues he's working through. Sometimes that means a person needs to be alone. But I don't think he should be alone right now, Dean. I'm really worried about him." And just as quickly that small smirk was gone.

Dean's brother was a chameleon. He was also probably right. Dean stopped his pacing just in front of Sam, his brows furrowed but the actual anger fading away again. "Did you…just call me a girl?" Dean said, fighting the smile that tugged at his lips, though not really fighting it since Dean would take a smile over a scowl any day, "What's that called? Oh yeah. Role reversal."

Sam breathed out a small laugh and shook his head. "Dean…"

"Yeah," Dean said, taking a few deep breaths to just calm down and realize how right Sam was. Dean could be resentful and angry if he wanted, but not at the expense of…well, anything involving Sasha. Sasha was hurting too. Sasha was hurting _more_. "Yeah, he shouldn't be alone. Probably starting up a marathon of brooding in there. Can't have that. Wish he wasn't so damn stubborn though. Sometimes I can't figure the guy out at all, ya know."

Sam's brown-green eyes turned patronizing. "Me? Oh no. I don't know what it's like to live with someone like that at all," he said a little too sarcastically, "However will we cope?"

Right. "Bite me, Sasquatch," Dean grumbled.

"Make me," Sam snarked back.

Dean fought off another grin. "Bitch," he said as he turned away, heading immediately for the door whether he was ready for this or not.

"Hey. _Jerk_," Sam called after him. Dean turned back and Sam tossed him one of the hotel keys with the number 309. "Swiped the extra key from him," Sam shrugged.

Leave it to the giant to have the nimblest fingers. "Go to sleep, Sammy. If something comes up, I'll let you know." Dean headed out the door.

As he was making his way down the hallway, Dean decided that he was not going to bother knocking when he got there. He probably had a better chance of forcing his way in than smooth talking anyway. He was still too on edge not to get upset, and he really didn't want things to escalate again. He knew he had been wrong with some of the things he had said. But so had Sasha. Dean just hoped the incubus hadn't slid home the chain lock.

Room 309 wasn't far from their other room so Dean didn't have much time to think about what he was going to say or do. Going in and seeing how things went from there seemed like the best option right now, but maybe that was because Dean was afraid to imagine all the ways this could go horribly wrong. It wasn't as if he and Sasha hadn't ever had a fight before. This was just…different. This was Sasha hiding things from Dean. When it came to some things, Dean actually didn't know Sasha all that well. He kind of hated that.

Bolstered as much as he was going to get, Dean took a breath and tried to be quiet with the key. Thank goodness this was one of the newer hotels that had those swipe cards. Dean was used to older places that still used actual keys. It made it easy to slip the card in, get the green light of approval, and slowly open the door. Maybe if Sasha was in the bathroom or something Dean could get himself settled and think over what he was going to say.

But Sasha wasn't in the bathroom. That became pretty clear to Dean as soon as he cracked the door even the smallest bit. He could hear the faint strums of his dad's guitar, a little shakier than usual, but definitely by leave of Sasha's long fingers. And then came Sasha's voice, also shaky, uneven and broken up, filling Dean's ears as he slipped inside the room.

Sasha was turned away, facing the wall. He didn't see Dean enter.

_Cold am I  
I'm beside myself  
Because there's no one else  
Have I grown  
So blind  
Only god could save you  
If you knew your way to the light  
_

Dean didn't know this song, but he got the feeling that Sasha wasn't singing about Lindsey or Charis. It made Dean's throat clench. He managed to close the door behind him without alerting Sasha either, and for a while he just stood there, listening to the somber tones of Sasha's voice.

_So fly away  
And leave it behind  
Just stay awake  
There's nowhere to hide_

Everything about Dean's life was made up of music. He spent more time in the Impala then he did on cases really, and his music accompanied him even when he was on the road alone. Sasha was made up of music for Dean too. Playing. Singing. Music always reminded Dean of something—Sammy, Dad, this damn war, but so much now of how he felt for the incubus that had weaseled into his heart. Lately though, every song Dean heard reminded him of the end of the year. His year.

And Sasha was right there with him.

_I see you  
Cause you won't get out of my way  
I hear you  
Cause you won't quit screaming my name  
I feel you  
Cause you won't stop touching my skin  
I need you  
They're coming to take you away_

Sasha's voice choked on the last word like a sob and his fingers faltered and stopped on the strings. Dean froze, afraid to breathe and draw Sasha's attention now. But Sasha was up in his own head. He wouldn't have known Dean was there even if he had been looking right at him.

"What am I doing…?" Sasha said to himself, a hand coming up to wipe at his eyes that Dean knew had to be leaking tears.

Silence raged then, filling the room. Sasha was just sitting there staring forward, the guitar resting on the floor now but its neck still gripped tight in Sasha's left hand. Dean could see how Sasha was just shaking and _shaking_. Something about all this made Dean think things were far more serious than he first realized.

The tension started to build like an electric current, static and pulsing throughout the room. Dean thought of Nicollet Avenue in Minnesota when he felt Sam's power about to erupt just before it did, bending over all those signs with TK. This felt too much like that and it filled Dean with panic.

He was moving forward before he had the chance to second guess himself. Just as he reached the bed, Sasha rose to his feet, his left hand lifting the guitar so that his right could grab further down the neck, raise the whole thing high above his head and _swing_.

Sasha howled, ready to smash the guitar into splinters on the floor if Dean hadn't stepped in, swift enough that he was in front of Sasha and grabbing Sasha's hands on the guitar before it could happen. The guitar came to a sharp stop mid-swing between them. How Dean had managed to move fast enough or find the strength to stay Sasha's blow, Dean had no idea. Sasha looked pretty surprised too.

"Dean…" the incubus said in an almost frightened whisper.

If Dean needed any more proof to know that Sasha was barely holding himself together then the flickering of those beautiful eyes from blue to red and back again was definitely enough. "Your dad's other guitar didn't get smashed on a _hunt_," Dean said, realizing the truth even as he spoke, "Did it?"

The tears in Sasha's eyes flooded further and more of them streamed down his already wet cheeks. He shook his head. He was shaking so hard now that he couldn't keep the guitar up anymore. Neither could Dean with his shoulder still sore. It fell limp to the side right out of their hands. Dean tried to guide it as best as he could, and at least managed to save it from falling too hard, though it still thumped onto the carpet.

Dean wasn't prepared for how Sasha fell limp right along with it, pitching forward into Dean so that the weight of the incubus brought Dean down too, causing them both to sink and land hard on their knees. Sasha was sobbing, pawing and clutching at Dean's T-shirt as he buried his face in Dean's neck. All Dean could do was hold him, arms wrapped tight around Sasha's larger body to keep them both steady.

"I can't…" Sasha wept, gripping Dean's T-shirt so tight in his fingers that it almost tore, "I can't do it again. I _can't_."

"Hey, slow down," Dean said as comfortingly as he could into Sasha's hair, sliding one of his hands up into those soft locks to hold Sasha against him, "What are you talking about? You can't do _what_ again?"

A few more sobs broke free before Sasha replied with a trembling, "This. _Mourn_," he said, "Losing everything again, I…I can't do it, Dean. Mom and Dad I didn't even know. But it still hurt. Every day. And it was so much worse later…when it was _friends_ leaving out of _choice_. They were my whole life. I…I didn't w-want…anyone else to be that, but I _did_ want it too because I missed it so much. And then…then there was you and Sam, and I…I just wanted it to be real. I wanted _this_ to be real."

"This is real," Dean said, "_I'm_ real. You feel that?" he said, pulling Sasha even more firmly into his chest, "That's real. Do I look intangible? Like a god damn ghost? Huh? Do I look like I'm going anywhere?"

Another sob replied. Damn it. Dean realized like a blow how foolish his last words were. As far as the order of the world was concerned, Dean was still bound for Hell. He couldn't promise that he would beat that. He could hope. He could try. He could put all the faith he wanted in Sam and Sasha to save him. But there was no guarantee. The only guarantee Dean could give was that he would never leave out of choice.

Never.

"Okay…not my best argument," Dean admitted, squeezing Sasha a little tighter, "But you can't go taking up Sam's slack like this in the breakdown department. You were the one getting on his case about losing hope and giving up back at the Roadhouse."

"H-How…how did you know about that?"

Oops. Dean shrugged within their embrace. "Eavesdropping's part of the life," he said, "Now come on. You're making Sammy look butch in comparison with all this sorry for yourself crap. And the sorry for me crap is a helluva lot worse, I can tell ya. I don't need sympathy. I need you stronger than this. If we're gonna beat this then we gotta hold it together here. I'm sorry you had to deal with that asshole Lindsey, but I don't think those ex-friends of yours are as out of reach as you think. You know what the chick said to me before heading off?"

Sasha didn't prompt Dean further, but the stilling of his now gentle sobbing told Dean that Sasha was listening.

"She wanted to make sure I was keeping an eye on you. Kissed my cheek even. She was kinda cute actually…" Dean let his voice trail like he was thinking about Charis.

As always, he managed to pull out the very reaction he wanted. Sasha lifted his head, turning towards Dean with their faces too close together, and said, "You're already…taken," almost in a pout, trying so hard to go along with the joke and stop crying.

"Yeah…that I am," Dean grinned, "Guess it's just my bad luck that I love you so much."

Sasha laughed through the last of the tears drying on his cheeks. He had the strangest glow about him after crying, his eyes sparkling even more unnaturally blue than usual and no longer flashing back and forth to red. "You know," Sasha said, leaning back to make it easier for them to look at each other, "You're really very sweet when you wanna be."

"Only when I wanna be?" Dean sulked, "Not all the time? Coz personally I think I'm adorable."

A snort rose up out of Sasha again. "Or you just need your ego stroked once in a while."

"Eh. Whatever works for ya," Dean said, "Can we maybe get off the floor now? I think you bruised me with that whole crumbling in my arms thing. And I've had enough of being manhandled by an incubus for one night. Unless we're talking the sexy kind of manhandling." Dean waggled an eyebrow as they helped each other to their feet.

Sasha was still a little unsteady. He shook his head at Dean and his expression turned serious again. "Dean…"

"Yeah, I know," Dean jumped in, "I'm an idiot. Never should have gone after Brangelina alone. Just pissed me off so much to see how that guy treated you. Didn't even give you a chance. Besides, I think I deserve a little credit for managing not to get killed."

Sasha laughed again and Dean also detected a slight roll of the eyes.

"But I mean it when I say there might be something there. And not just with Charis. Seemed to me Lindsey was more concerned with us turning on you someday then actually having any real hatred for you. Might take a bat upside the head but…I think there might still be some of your friend in there. Doesn't mean I'm ever gonna like him," Dean finished, wrinkling his nose, "Dude, what was with the white hair? Seriously? That can't be natural."

Quickly drying blue eyes looked at Dean skeptically. "You've met _me_ before, right?"

Dean flicked his eyes up at the red hair he loved so much. "Yeah, but…that looks cool." Hearing yet another laugh, Dean decided he had officially broken the last of the tension. "Wanna head back to the other room or…still feel like sleeping alone?" Dean asked, smirking a little but betraying his insecurity only too easily at what Sasha's answer might be.

"Can we maybe stay here?" Sasha asked hopefully.

"We?" Dean repeated.

A warm smile flashed. "Yeah," Sasha said, pushing a hand around to the back of Dean's neck and scratching lightly at the short hairs, "I'm kinda tired. But I…I don't want you to…go."

Sweet victory. "Okay," Dean smiled wide, "Gotta go for a second though. If I don't tell Sam's what's up he'll think I ran off or something."

Sasha nodded, understanding of that, and used his hold on Dean's neck to pull their heads together. That light brush of lips, a flick of Sasha's tongue, and everything was okay. It wouldn't be forever, it might all end in a blaze of blood and gunsmoke—probably would—but whatever they could have while things were okay, Dean would take it. There were no guarantees but he'd be damned if he didn't plan on hoping till his last breath that he could beat anything. Even Hell.

Dean felt all around better about things as he headed for his and Sam's room. Not the best birthday, but Dean didn't mind. He knew something new about Sasha, having met those old friends. Dean wanted to ask more about them, about Sasha's other friends, and find out everything he didn't already know about Sasha's life before hunting. He'd have to give the incubus a little time before he brought all of that up, but he knew when he did that Sasha would tell him.

Slipping quietly into the room, just as he had with Sasha, Dean was pleased to discover that Sam had taken his advice and was already sleeping. That kid could go out like a light when he wanted to. Dean snuck over to the bed. It hadn't been that long since he left, so he didn't feel too bad about waking Sam up. He knew Jumbo would sleep better anyway knowing things were okay.

But maybe Dean was wishful thinking. As he approached the bed he saw that everything was not alright. Sam looked like he was…having some sort of all over spasm? Convulsing? Seizing? But it was so subtle that had Dean not been really looking, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for Sam's shoulders to shake him, wake him up, anything.

What happened after that happened so fast, so sudden that Dean actually cried out.

Sam's hands shot up to grab Dean's wrists tight enough to make Dean cringe. And then Sam's eyes were open, staring not at Dean but straight up at something Dean couldn't see, and probably was glad he couldn't see considering the clear _mottled yellow_ color that shouldn't have been there. Those damn yellow eyes weren't supposed to have anything to do with Sam when Dean was awake.

Dean tried to tug his hands away but Sam's grip was too tight, his face otherwise benign if not for the eyes. "Sam," Dean called again, hating how small his voice sounded, "Sammy..."

This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Not _Sam_.

And then it was over. Sam blinked and his eyes were hazel. His grip loosened on Dean and he pulled back, blinking in confusion and staring at Dean like he had just woken up and Dean was to blame for waking him. "Dean? What is it?" Sam asked groggily, running a hand through his hair but not bothering to sit up, "Did you talk to Sasha?"

Dean didn't know how to respond. Had he imagined that again? No, he couldn't have. It was too vivid. He could still feel the bruises forming on his wrists.

"Dean?" Sam prompted again, more concerned now since Dean was just staring at him.

"Nothing…" Dean managed, slow and careful, "Just, uhh…came to tell you it's all okay now. I'm…gonna go back and stay in Sasha's room."

Sam smiled tiredly. "Good. That's…_good_, right?" Sam looked Dean over like Dean had the most cryptic, traumatized look on his face. Maybe that was what Dean looked like right now, and Dean wouldn't be surprised by that either, because traumatized was about the best word he could think of for how he felt.

And Sam didn't seem to know. There was something inside of him and he didn't even know. "Yeah…" Dean said, forcing a smile, "It's good. We're…good. You just…you go back to sleep, okay? We'll leave bright and early for Maine."

"Dean?"

Sam still sounded worried and when Dean looked down at his own hand he realized why. Dean had reached over and was smoothing Sam's hair back from his face tenderly. "Uhh…" Dean instantly pulled his hand back, "Man, you…need a haircut so bad it's embarrassing," he said quickly, smirking wide, "You ever look at yourself in the mirror with that bedhead? Best laugh of the day I get."

Either Sam was just willing to let Dean get away with that or he actually believed it, because he swatted Dean's hand further away and resettled back into bed. "Asshole," he grinned, "Get back to your incubus." Sam promptly closed his eyes to go back to sleep.

Dean might have sat there another minute or more but he didn't want Sam to try questioning him again. So he just got up, looked over his shoulder at Sam so peaceful in the bed, and left the room. The hallway was quiet when Dean stepped into it. He couldn't move. Not yet. So he fell back against the door and closed his eyes. He wanted to tell himself that that hadn't happened, but he knew better. He knew he wasn't dreaming this time.

Opening his eyes again, Dean stared down the hallway towards the room Sasha was in, waiting for him. There was chaos there too. Sure it was stilled for now, but what if Dean did go to Hell? Would what happen to Sam and Sasha then? Dean didn't want to think of all the frightening possibilities. All of them lead too close to his nightmares.

And the worst of it was…Dean had no idea how to make it better.

tbc...

A/N: The angst returns. I must first direct all of you over to deangirl1 to begin reading her new story Incubus Redux III, a furthering of the kisses arc that will show things later in the relationship, beyond chapter 19. It is an 'M' rating folks, and the first part is hot, hot, hot fun with the jukebox in the Roadhouse. Go now!

Again, Sasha's angsty song is "Away" by Breaking Benjamin. Here is the second verse, because I think it also fits the story quite well:

_Frail and dry  
I can lose it all  
But I cannot recall  
It's all wrong  
Don't cry  
Clear away this hate  
And we can start to make it alright  
So fly away  
And leave it behind  
Return someday  
With red in your eyes_

Thank you all for staying with me. So, what's up with poor Sammy and shall we be seeing more of Sasha's old friends? Stay tuned.

Crim


	34. Part 4: Haunted

Part 4: Haunted

--

The biggest insult to injury was that once again Dean had been confined to the backseat of his car. Mainly because it was considerably difficult to drive while holding an icepack to his severely swollen and recently dislocated shoulder.

Sasha was in the back with Dean while Sam drove them on their way to Ellsworth, Maine. Dean hissed as he pulled the icepack away so Sasha could get a look at his shoulder again, running gentle fingers over the bruised skin to check if the swelling was going down or not. Dean was chilled to the bone what with it being the dead of winter outside, having his shirt off, and the presence of the damn ice.

"Geez, Sammy, turn up the heat, will ya?" Dean grit out, hissing again when Sasha took the icepack from him and held it back on his shoulder more firmly.

"Stay still, Dean," Sasha said, looking annoyed, "I can't believe you didn't ice this last night. It's bruised all to hell, the swelling's barely going down. You're a mess. Why didn't you tell me Lindsey dislocated your shoulder?"

"Yeah, coz that would have made everything so much better," Dean grumbled, taking at least some small comfort in the burst of warm air that started filtering into the backseat, "Forgive me if I was a little preoccupied."

A huff rose up from Sam and Dean saw his brother shake his head. "You still know better, Dean. It's your right arm. What if we're wrong and we're dealing with a creature instead of a cursed spot when we get to Maine? You won't be much use in a fight."

"Says who?" Dean dissented. He'd fought tooth and nail with less useful limbs before. And he resented that they were giving him such a hard time over forgetting to ice his shoulder. Of course Dean had meant to. He was going to fill a towel at the ice machine and take care of things before going to bed last night.

Dean couldn't be blamed for forgetting though, not after what he had seen in Sam's room. But since he couldn't exactly tell the others that, he had to put up with the bullying for awhile. Dean knew it was foolish to keep the incident to himself but a part of him still believed he could dismiss it. A part of him had to believe it hadn't been real.

Everything about Sam lately—other than the freaky powers—was just so _Sam_. Even the pout and furrowed brow of concentration the kid had been wearing since that morning was about as Sam-like as things could get. Dean empathized with the expression because he had been pretty upset that morning too when Sam tried to summon the demon they had sent after the contract holder only to get no response. No sign. Nothing. It was as if she no longer existed. So much for plan B. Or was it plan C now? Dean had lost track.

"We'll want to explore the Animus house in the morning," Sam said, staying in case mode—also normal, "So I say we set up shop when we get there, visit the victims for some ground work, and then get some rest tonight. Should help your shoulder too, Dean. We can hit the house tomorrow."

"In broad daylight?" Dean said incredulously. The Animus Historical Museum was currently in lockdown and was being watched by the police ever since those crazed squatters were found on the grounds. Dean therefore couldn't help seeing flaws in Sam's plan.

"The police have only been sending a detail to watch the house at night," Sam countered, "And when I say morning—"

"You mean 'sun's not even up yet' morning," Dean broke in. He should have figured. "We have any way of protecting ourselves against this cursed spot before we go charging in? I'd actually prefer not to spend my last few months as a vegetable, thanks. Ow!" Dean's head snapped to Sasha who had pressed the icepack a little too hard onto a particularly tender spot.

Sasha blinked innocence. "Sorry."

"The police have already been through the house," Sam was saying, "Only one officer was found later in the same condition as the squatters. Report says he went up to the third floor alone. I'm guessing our trouble's up there, and the clues we need will be along the way. I could fill you in on what I know about the deceased owner, but nothing I've found so far has told me anything interesting. Ellsworth has a history of incidents like these though. Other years. Other people turning up like our victims. Right, Sasha?"

Sasha nodded, his hands more caring again as he held the icepack in place for Dean. "No real pattern though as far as time or types of people. The building only used to have private tours led by the curator himself. One woman who didn't come out a vegetable said…well…" Sasha chuckled to himself, "She said she saw her dead husband. No other accounts of ghosts besides that so I'm thinking it was a fluke."

"What about other witnesses?" Dean questioned. Didn't anyone know what really went on in this place?

"Most people who went on those private tours," Sam said, solemn and steady of voice, "either tended not to remember anything—so they said—or…ended up in psychiatric wards."

Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. "Sounds like our kinda place all right," Dean said, "How many recent victims?"

"There were three squatters," Sasha replied, "I doubt we'll be able to get much out of them even if 'vegetable' isn't quite the best word for what they're like right now. But I still agree with Sam that we should start there. We'll get to Ellsworth around four o'clock if we stop for lunch."

"If? What's this 'if' crap?" Dean jumped right in, fairly gaping at the incubus, "I don't know what fantasy world you're living in, but I'm gonna need some food. Now can I put a shirt back on already? I'm frickin' freezing here," Dean added with a shiver, wanting to further his point by wrapping his arms around himself but his right shoulder hurt too much for him to do that.

Again Dean caught sight of Sam shaking his head at him from up in the driver's seat. Sasha just chuckled though and pulled the icepack away to give Dean room. "You could have put one on about twenty minutes ago actually. Doesn't mean I was gonna say anything."

Sam laughed then too.

Real funny. Dean pushed at Sasha with his good arm, scowling around a smile as he reached for the zip-up he had borrowed from Sam. It was hard enough pulling on a shirt with a recently dislocated shoulder; Dean didn't want to deal with the pain of pulling one over his head. Sasha helped him, fitting the icepack underneath the sweatshirt so it would still rest on Dean's shoulder. It would seep water through the fabric eventually but if Dean just leaned back and closed his eyes it wasn't so bad.

Truth be told, Dean was exhausted. He hadn't slept a wink all night what with Sasha curled possessively around him and Sam haunting his thoughts. Well, not Sam. Just the yellow eyes.

Suddenly, Dean was running through a large house he didn't know with thousands upon thousands of rooms all blocked by closed doors. He knew that if he could just find the right door then he would be safe. Free. But every door Dean tried, every room…held Sam, grinning at him the way Yellow Eyes used to grin and with Yellow Eyes' god damn stare.

When Dean finally found an empty room, he tried to hide in it. But the walls had eyes too, so many eyes, and they were all yellow, all staring, watching Dean and waiting to devour some secret part of him. Dean tried to block it all out, huddled in a corner on the floor of that empty room. He felt like he was five years old having another dream about the fire and Dad wasn't there. Why wasn't Dad there?

It was Sasha's voice that called to Dean in the dark, close beside his ear form behind. But that shouldn't be possible because there was a wall there. Dean could feel it at his back.

_Hush now baby don't you cry…_

Too strong arms grabbed Dean from behind, completely encasing him and smelling of Sasha. Why Sasha? Why Sam? Why did even the darkness look and feel like them? Dean couldn't really see anything, but he could feel their hands, their arms, and hear that awful laughter like it was the first time.

No, Dean thought frantically. No, no, _no_!

"_Dean_."

Dean jolted awake with a gasp. Sasha was shaking his good shoulder and grinning in his face. The car was stopped. Sam was looking back at Dean from the front seat.

"I thought someone said he wanted lunch," Sasha teased, "We only have a few hours to go after this. Let's take a break, okay?"

Yeah, Dean thought idly, nodding and willing his pulse to return to normal. A break. At some point he deserved a break from all this, didn't he? At least his shoulder was feeling better. Wet. But better. The swelling must have finally gone down.

They ate in a diner that reeked of its deep fryer but the food was good enough. Dean ignored the occasional worried glance from Sasha. He had to pull himself together so Sasha wouldn't pick up on his emotional turmoil. They had a case. That alone made Dean feel better. As long as he could do his job then he could forget about everything else. At least for a little while.

--

The three victims of the Animus house were all being held at the Maine Coast Memorial Hospital in the psychiatric ward. Even though none of them had been able to walk or control the majority of their basic motor functions since their arrival, nothing was physically wrong with any of them. The doctors had no lead as to the cause, something they readily told the handsome young _detectives_ and their redheaded _criminal psychologist_ when the group came calling. It was as if the victims' brains had simply restarted from zero.

The two male squatters were completely unresponsive and gave Dean and the others nothing more than they already knew, but they went to see the third victim anyway.

She was a young Jane Doe runaway with a tender face who stared at Dean with too wide brown eyes like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. She wouldn't even look at Sam or Sasha, though she did tilt her head at the incubus' red hair for a moment.

"Hey," Dean said since she was at least responding to him, "My name's Dean," he said slowly, "These are my partners. We're gonna figure out what happened to you okay? Do you…do you understand me?" The doctors had left them alone and they were encased in curtains, not a private room.

The girl smiled large and toothy at Dean. She tried to reach for him and Dean took it as a good sign, leaning further over her in the bed. She reached right for Dean's pendant that he hadn't bothered to tuck beneath his shirt. The necklace hung a little misplaced against his tie and the girl fingered it fondly. At least some motor functions still worked.

"Yeah. That's pretty cool, huh?" Dean said, carefully searching the girl's eyes for some sign of actual understanding. The most he could pick up from her was the obvious 'ooo, shiny' she was thinking about his pendant. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

The girl didn't even look up. Strike three and they had learned absolutely nothing. Well, not _nothing_.

"They're not crazy," Dean said as they left the three victims behind in the psychiatric ward, "It's like they're…I don't know…"

"Children," Sam supplied.

"More like newborns," Dean said, "What kinda thing could do this?"

Neither Sam nor Sasha said anything as they left the hospital but things were definitely pointing towards some kind of curse. They drove past the Animus house on their way back to their motel. It looked like most historical buildings—big old house, freshly renovated and kept up—not imposing or spooky really. There would be a lot of rooms to search tomorrow and Dean did not deny being wary of that third floor.

They ordered in pizza for dinner to keep things simple and to give them more time to go over what they knew. Bill Hollander, the owner and curator for the last fifty years died about a month ago. He had inherited the building from his father but had no close relatives to pass it down to himself, save a distant cousin that wanted nothing to do with the place.

Everything pointed to the house itself, so even if the boys didn't find any useful information inside, they could still sanctify the grounds and hopefully break the curse. Whether or not that would help those already affected was always a crap shoot. Dean hoped it would help though. That girl's brown eyes haunted him almost as badly as Sam's yellow ones.

Dean laid back on one of the beds, relaxing his shoulder while Sam and Sasha went over the research again to make sure they were at least as prepared as they could be. It made Dean feel like a useless lump just lying there. Dean didn't like dealing with curses either. They were too unpredictable when you didn't know the rules, and lack of any discernable pattern with the victims over the years didn't help matters.

The private tour part was what got Dean thinking. The people who went into that house when Hollander was alive knew exactly what they were getting into, Dean was sure of it. Too bad none of the people who had come out of Animus house the same way they went in were alive anymore. It seemed those tours had been open only to the elderly.

"You don't suppose it's some crazy fountain of youth gone wrong, do you?" Dean mentioned casually, partially because he was bored having to just sit there and rest. The others had asked him not to turn on the TV until they were done.

Sasha gave Dean a thoughtful look but Sam just pursed his lips. "No one's ever come out of that house younger, Dean. Only mentally if our guess is right."

"That's why I said 'gone wrong'. Pay attention, will ya?"

A sigh. "Dean…"

"I'm just trying to be useful."

"Well you're not."

"Yeah," Dean had to grimace, "What else is new."

Getting up out of bed still favoring his right shoulder Dean slipped his shoes back on and went for his coat. He was tired of being the third wheel. How was that even possible anyway—him being the third wheel? He was one half of a pair of brothers, one half of a couple, and yet he was the one who felt left out.

It was kind of hard to put his usual skills to use when superpowers got everything done easier. And there was also the little fact that Dean kept getting seriously injured.

"Where are you going?" Sasha asked, sounding concerned.

Dean was sick of being babied too. "I'm going for a walk." He slid his leather on slowly, willing himself not to let the others see how much that still hurt.

"It's below freezing," Sasha said, "And snowing."

"I'm just walking across the street to the gas station, okay?"

"But why do you need to—"

"_Dude_," Dean finally said in exasperation, halfway to the door, "It's just a sore shoulder. I haven't been shot for several weeks, remember? No one's after us. We're not even looking for a thing in this town. We're dealing with a house. A damn building is not going to sneak up and get me. I do know how to take care of myself without either of you around, ya know. And I'm not _mad_," Dean threw in, since he knew Sasha would be thinking that, "I'm just…" Dean sighed, "Just let me know if there's actually anything useful I _can_ do at some point. It'd be a nice change."

Dean fully recognized that he was being a petulant child and that he would probably have to answer for all of that later, but right now he just wanted to get away. Being injured was one thing; Dean had been dismissing these feelings of inferiority for a lot longer.

But that was stupid too, Dean thought, shivering against the cold and snow as he made his way across the street to the gas station. The amount of times Dean had saved the other two without aid of superpowers was just as much if not more than the other way around. It just didn't feel that way, not with how powerful Sam was getting. Not when Dean couldn't help wondering whether he'd be able to even do anything if Sam ever…

A great shake freed Dean of his covering of snow and also reminded him that _oh yeah, I dislocated my fucking shoulder last night!_ Dean wanted a soda. Or maybe some coffee. Of maybe just a god damn donut. Dean just had to remind himself that they had a case that did not require any heavy lifting or mojo. Dean was still needed. Dean could still fix this. He was the only one who could fix this…

Sam and Sasha didn't bring up Dean's minor outburst when he got back to the room totting three bottles of Coke. They were watching _The Producers_ on TV. The new musical one. Sasha handed Dean the last slice of pizza and said, "I love the songs but Matthew Broderick's no Gene Wilder," and everything shifted back to normal.

They sat up watching the movie, all of them sprawled together on Sam's bed with barely enough room to breathe let alone laugh at the jokes without tangling limbs. Once again the threat of yellow eyes and 'what ifs' seemed far away for Dean. He liked that. He liked the brief glimpses of a real happy life that seemed to happen more often when the three of them were together.

By the time they went to bed, Sam alone in his and Sasha and Dean in other, Dean had forgotten to fear falling asleep. That was fine. But he should have worried more about waking up.

It was some ungodly hour in the middle of the night when Dean felt it. He couldn't have described the feeling as anything more than just that—a feeling. Dean's intuition, even while asleep, had always been exceptional, aptly honed by years of 'protect Sammy' playing like a recording in his head. Night was always the hardest time because Sam was the most vulnerable then, especially back when they were kids and Dad would leave them on their own so often.

This time Dean woke up with the same thought as always—_Sam_. Where's Sam? Is Sam okay? Did something happen to Sam? Waking like that almost always meant those questions were warranted, even if all that was wrong was that little Sammy had had a bad dream.

Dean opened his eyes and felt panic grip his heart. Sasha was lying on the side of the bed closer to Sam, so Dean had to lift up to look over and see if his brother was okay. As soon as Dean did that though he realized how unnecessary it was. "Sammy…" Dean whispered into the dark, "What are you doing?"

Sam was standing between the beds, still as anything. It took Dean a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark but when they did he saw that Sam's eyes were closed, like maybe the kid was sleep walking or something. Dean noticed something else too. Sam was shaking, so subtly it almost wasn't noticeable. Just like last night.

"_Sam_," Dean said more firmly though still a whisper, not wanting to rouse Sasha and therefore have to explain things. But there was no easy fix to this, not like Dean wanted to believe so badly. At the sound of Dean's voice Sam responded, and in the very last way Dean wanted.

Mottled yellow eyes opened wide, their color clear in the dark. At first they just stared forward, but then they began to shift and Sam's head shifted with them, changing his gaze from distant to down at Dean and Sasha's bed. But Sam didn't look at Dean. Instead his attention moved directly to the sleeping incubus who was currently spread out on his stomach with one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. Sam stared at Sasha with those eyes, those horrible eyes, and a moment later his hand was reaching out.

"No!" Dean gasped, his reflexes faster than this slow, calculating Sam as he sat up completely and grabbed Sam by the wrist before his brother could do what he intended.

Sam wasn't shaking anymore, but Dean sure as well was. Those yellow eyes slowly refocused onto Dean, looking right at him and making it unmistakable now that this was very real. The blank unfeeling color of those eyes made Dean tremble.

What made it all so much worse was that as Sam looked at Dean his expression started to change for the first time. It had been so blank before but now…now Sam smiled, wide and dimpled as if Dean had said or done something wonderful. It was awful. Because it was so _Sam_. It was Sam…

The tall form of Dean's baby brother gave a slight convulsion then and his eyes closed. Suddenly, Sam's whole body went limp and Dean had to let go of Sam's wrist or risk being dragged right over the bed as Sam fell to the floor. Dean immediately jumped out of bed and went around to see what had happened. Sam was shaking again, all over under his skin like he was having some kind of seizure. Dean fell to the floor beside him and reached his own shaky hand to Sam's forehead. Sam didn't feel warm or cold. He felt normal.

Sam's eyes sprung open then and Dean held back a cry. Hazel. They were hazel. And Sam was no longer shaking. "Dean…?" he said in a sleep-roughened and very confused voice, "What…?" Sam looked around, realizing just where he was and that it wasn't exactly normal to wake up crumbled on the floor in the middle of the night, "Did I fall out of bed?"

That was Dean's out. Sam had just given it to him and it was so tempting to take it. Dean could just keep on pretending this wasn't happening, pretending something wasn't waking within Sam whenever he slept and threatened to…well, Dean didn't know what, but he knew he was afraid. Too afraid to lie.

"Dean?"

The words "It's okay, Sammy" danced on Dean's tongue, but he couldn't say them. It wasn't okay. It was as far from okay as things could get. "Sam…" Dean tried, just sitting there on the floor in the dark as Sam sat up next to him and looked on imploringly, "Do you know what's happening?" Dean decided on saying. He didn't know if it would make him feel better or worse if Sam said 'yes'.

Sam's brow creased. "Happening? What's happening? Did I…" Sam glanced frantically around the room, finally returning his wide hazel stare back onto Dean, "Did I sleepwalk again?"

_Again_. Dean swallowed deep in his throat. "How long have you been sleepwalking?"

"I…" Sam's eyes darted down and Dean knew before Sam spoke that keeping things about this a secret from each other went both ways, "I don't know. I guess…a while now. But it's no big deal. I just…I wake up…sometimes…out of bed. But never too far. The farthest I've ever been was the bathroom. I think I just have too much on my mind, that's all."

"Do you remember anything from when it happens?" Dean pressed on. He needed to know now. It was too serious. Too real.

Again Sam looked sheepish and hesitant like there was so much he wasn't saying even before he opened his mouth. "I don't…remember really. Just…what I dream. And that's vague too. It's…it's nothing." Sam started to get up. Put his hands underneath him and started to push.

Dean reached out with his good hand and forced Sam back down to stay on the floor with him. "You gotta tell me, Sammy. You gotta. This isn't…this isn't just sleepwalking. I think you know that too."

The silence that followed was all Dean needed to know he was right. "It doesn't mean anything," Sam said again, but his tone told Dean different, "The dreams are just…just me, like…like I'm drowning but there's no water, just darkness everywhere and I'm trying to find some kind of surface, some kind of…light, but I can't. And I can almost see…almost tell what I'm doing, what's going on, but I…I can't…I just…I don't know. It's like some kinda veil keeps me just outta reach from really knowing, and I…I just don't know."

It was almost a comfort to Dean that Sam seemed just as afraid as he was. It made it easier for Dean's hand on Sam's shoulder to move up to Sam's face and just hold there for a moment. Then he pulled away, took a breath and tried to think how to finish the conversation. He had to tell Sam now. He had to tell him what he had seen.

Sam just had to go and look at him like _that_, all big dark puppy eyes filling with water like he was going to cry. This shouldn't be happening. Sam was…Sam was _his_, damn it. He didn't belong to those demons.

"Dean…? Sam?" called Sasha's voice from above them in the bed, foreign and quiet against the silence that had overtaken them, "What's going on?"

--

It was four in the morning and they were nowhere near ready to head back to sleep. Dean was sitting next to Sasha on the edge of their bed, and Sam was sitting across from them on the edge of his. All of them were in boxers, bare chests open to the cold of the room since it was near blizzarding outside. None of them had said anything for a solid minute, and a minute that tense always felt more like five. Like ten. Like an hour.

"This was…this was the third time?" Sam finally started to say, too loud for the middle of the night. Dean was glad they had turned on the bedside lamp. "You saw me like that three times, Dean, and you're just telling me now?"

"Hey, for one thing the first time doesn't count," Dean protested, "I could have just imagined that one. It wasn't like the other two. Last night and tonight you were…you were shaking first, like…like you were trying to fight it maybe. Probably like what happens in your dreams. And I didn't…I didn't say anything last night or this morning because I…I don't know. I thought…maybe I'd imagined that too."

"_Dean_," Sam said with a snarl on his face, "You tell me anyway! You tell me! You don't lie right to my face! I don't…I don't care if you wanted to convince yourself it wasn't real, you should have told me."

"Like you told me about your dreams or all this sleepwalking?" Dean shot right back, "Pot," he said pointing at Sam, and then pointed back at himself with a firm, "Kettle. So shut up. We're both idiots. The end. Now can we get back to the issue here? What the hell is going on, Sammy? What else aren't you saying? Are you…are you losing yourself to these powers or what? Coz if you think—"

"It's not…it's not like that," Sam tried to say with confidence but ended up sounding like a frustrated child, "I don't…I've never…I've never really ever given in. I'm always keeping my powers in check, just a step away so giving myself over to them completely never happens. If I thought I was losing that control, Dean, even a little, I'd…I'd tell you. _Immediately_. Of course I would. And god, I'd stop. I'd push them out and never use them again."

A humorless laugh fell from Sasha's lips. He didn't look at all ashamed for releasing it either when Sam and Dean turned to look at him. "Push them out?" the incubus said skeptically, "Sam, these powers aren't something you can turn off anymore. You've opened yourself up to them and now they're apart of you. I couldn't read people's emotions from birth, ya know, but I couldn't just suddenly stop now no matter how much I might want to sometimes. They're in you, Sam. And maybe…maybe trying so hard to cap them is what's manifesting these dreams and episodes while you sleep."

Silence fell between them again. Dean had thought of that as well. He knew Sam wasn't allowing his powers to expand as much as they could. As far as they knew there _was_ no cap, and for Sam to limit himself purposefully after opening the dam, well…maybe there was only so much pressure his mind could take.

"Red eyes are always seen as evil," Sasha went on, his voice softer, gentle, "But they're just eyes. Why should yellow be any different. It's part of your powers coming to life inside of you. Does that have to be bad?"

"Yes!" Sam said, standing suddenly from the bed and staring down at them both angrily, "Because they're _his_. I wasn't born with them. _He_ gave them to me. Gave me these powers. Made me this…this…" Sam's hand gestured wildly like he was trying to dig the word he wanted right out of the air.

Sasha looked on humorlessly and just said, "Monster. That's the word you want, isn't it? Because that makes it easier to say it isn't you. It's some foreign thing inside you, is that it? Well guess what, Sammy. I don't think so. Like it or not, this is you now. That demon blood you hate so much has been apart of you for almost twenty-five years and you think it's still something separate? It's _you_."

"Shut up!" Sam growled, lunging for Sasha suddenly like he meant to strangle him.

Dean dove between them without even thinking, catching Sam's arms and bringing himself up onto his feet too to make it easier to push Sam away. "Back. Off," Dean warned, looking Sam square in the eyes, "You need to calm down. You think fighting each other is going to make any of this easier? He's not wrong, Sam," Dean said quietly, still holding Sam's forearms like he was afraid to let go, afraid to even loosen his grip, "This is you now. You chose to conquer this, to conquer these powers so you could be stronger for it, strong enough to help me and get rid of these damn demons once and for all. That does not mean you're a god damn monster. It doesn't mean Yellow Eyes is in you."

"You don't know that," Sam said miserably, all the fight drained from him and replaced with that horrible anguish, "You don't know that."

"I believe it," Dean said firmly, "Just because this is you doesn't mean you aren't still Sammy."

"Dean…"

"You're still my brother."

"_Dean_."

"Sam," Dean said with just as much warning because he knew what was coming, he knew what Sam was going to do.

The misery on Sam's face didn't waver as he said very clearly, "_Tell the truth_."

Dean couldn't not tell him then, much as he tried. "I'm terrified of you," he said, falling prey to Sam's control even though his hands gripped Sam tight still in support, "I think you were going to hurt Sasha tonight and I don't know why. You don't even know what's happening, and we can't stop it, and you can't control it, and I'm so scared that one day they'll be those damn yellow eyes and no you and I don't know how to fix it." A lump rose in Dean's throat as he finished that, hating that those words were in him to say at all, forced out of him as they were.

Sam pulled his hands out of Dean's hold and just sagged back down onto the mattress like his sentence had been given and that was it. He was doomed.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean said, his eyes as wet as the hazel ones in front of him, he could feel it. He wanted to get angry with Sam for mojoing him again but he couldn't. In a like situation, he would have done the same.

Slowly, Dean went over and took a seat next to Sam, right beside him so that their legs touched. He could still show in some small way that even if he was afraid he wasn't giving up. Not even close.

"You don't get to choose when it's too late," Dean said, knowing there was no point in trying to take back any of what he had said, "Only I get to do that. Yeah, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a lot of things lately. Go figure. But right now you're still Sam and I gotta believe you can keep it that way. But if you don't believe it, Sammy, if you don't believe it then it's already over. And I just can't accept that."

Sam closed his eyes, squeezing tears free that streamed hot and fast down his face. "What if I can't do it, Dean?" Sam choked out, "I don't know anymore if I should give in to stop the sleep walking or push harder to hold the powers back and risk having yellowed-eyed _me_ come after you at night. You really…you really think I was going to hurt Sasha tonight?" Sam peaked his eyes open and glanced frightened to the side.

It wasn't a powered question but Dean still planned to tell the real truth. "I don't know," he said honestly, lifting his eyes to look at Sasha who was still sitting on the other bed, very still and blank in his expression, "You had yellow eyes, for crying out loud, of course that was my first thought," Dean tried to grin, "But all you did was reach for him. And when I stopped you and you smiled at me…it wasn't…sinister or anything. I don't know. You don't…have any urge to hurt Sasha now, do you?" Dean asked, only half serious.

Eyes wide and searching again, Sam stared forward at Sasha and a few more tears streamed down to follow the lines made by the first. "No. God, I…I'm so sorry. I'd never…you _know_ I'd never…" Sam couldn't quite get the words out, tears falling faster now, but his gaze met with true blue and Sasha smiled back at him.

"I'm sorry too," the incubus said, "Sorry I push you on all this. I just…well, you know how I can't stand you chalking all your powers up to evil just because they scare you sometimes. Either of you," he added with a look at Dean, "I've lived with abilities my whole life, and sure, being born with them makes it different, but I stand by what I said a long time ago. No matter what gets inside you, unless you're full on possessed by a demon, which you're not, only you can make the choices of what to do with what you're given. And I'm with Dean. I don't see you choosing evil, Sam. And I certainly don't see you wanting to hurt either of us. You love us. You sorta can't hide that from me." Sasha grinned a little wider.

And miraculously it did the trick, at least enough for Sam to calm down a little further, turn to see that strong resolve in Dean's eyes too, and finally nod his head. "Can we…maybe get back to sleep then? I'm really tired," Sam said, rubbing a hand across his wet eyes like a little kid.

How any of them actually got back to sleep after that, Dean really couldn't say. He just knew that when they woke up barely two hours later to hit the Animus house before the sun came up, they all looked the same amount of not quite rested. Better than looking like they hadn't gotten any rest at all. They still had a case to solve and a curse to break if Dean had any say in the matter.

With not even a little light on the horizon and no cars on the streets, the three hunters headed for their quarry to find out just what kind of sinister magic was going on inside.

--

Breaking in was easy. Dean felt a swell of nostalgia that his lock-picking skills were needed this time, since busting down doors was sort of a bad idea when they didn't want anyone to know they had been there. If they had to burn the house to the ground, they were prepared for that. If it was simpler though then they were ready to just sanctify the grounds without the pyrotechnics and leave without a trace.

They had flashlights for now but they figured the sun would be up before they were finished. The entryway of the Animus house—since they had just gone through the front door—seemed normal enough. Sam found no EMF readings, though that wasn't a surprise since they hadn't expected this to be a haunting. Sam kept the meter out anyway, just in case.

Otherwise the entryway was large and led to a spiral staircase that allowed entry to the second floor. There were also doors on either side of the entryway that led off down separate hallways. The hunters had already agreed to search floor by floor so they knew they would stay on ground level for now, but they weren't exactly sure what they were looking for. Signs of some kind to point to what kind of curse this was but there was no guarantee of finding anything. The curse could have been built into the foundation for all they knew.

"Do we split or stay together?" Dean questioned, gesturing to both hallways.

"Stay together," Sam offered, "At least until we get a feel for the place."

Dean nodded and so did Sasha. They headed left without discussing it, but as they came to the doorway Sam stopped them. He had been sweeping with the EMF meter but it didn't look like it was going off. "What?" Dean said.

"Look," Sam lifted his flashlight and shone it over the top of the doorframe where some kind of writing had been carved into the wood very neatly. It took Dean a moment to recognize it as Latin, but the meaning clicked into place as Sam read it aloud. "Here begins your beginning." Without pausing to think over what the greater meaning to that might be, Sam ran over to the other door and shone his light above that one too. "Your path begins elsewhere," Sam read with a slight laugh, "Okay…I guess we chose the right door the first time. We still heading left?" Sam glanced back at the others who were still by the first door.

"Don't see why not," Dean said.

"I mean, we wouldn't want to do the tour an injustice," Sasha snarked, "Besides, it may be our best bet for figuring things out if we follow the house's instructions."

So they did. Sam returned and the boys continued into the hallway at the left. The feeling that something supernatural was going on was unmistakable once they entered that first hallway. There was no way it was possible for the house to look as it did on the inside with how they had seen it from the outside. This side of the house was just one long hallway that finally curved off to the right and probably connected back around to the other door. Along the walls were open doorways, maybe six or seven evenly spread out.

They came to the first open doorway and peered inside. It was just an empty white room. A little eerie, but it didn't tell them much.

"Well that's anti-climactic," Dean grumbled.

Sam pointed his flashlight above this new door and once again found Latin. "Yourself without one?" he said skeptically, not trusting his translation, "Yourself losing one? Yourself minus one? I don't know what this means."

"Well we're not going to find anything out with just window shopping." Dean took a step inside the room and Sasha was right behind him. Sam came in just after them too and they started looking around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Sam tossed his EMF to Dean and Dean swept for readings while Sam and Sasha used their flashlight to look for anymore writing. None of them found anything.

"Well this is exciting," Dean said, "Room number two?"

They went to the next room and again Sam checked above its door first. This door had the very same inscription except that instead of saying 'one' it said 'two' like the rooms were counting up. Or counting backwards in some strange way since it seemed to be saying 'minus', or 'without', or 'losing', or whatever.

They entered the second room together again and came up with the same plentiful bounty of absolutely nothing. The rooms looked identical from the inside, and for once there was actually good reason in Dean's mind that the police had found nothing in their search too.

"Keep checking this one," Dean said, heading for the doorway, "I'm moving on to number three. If this keeps up it'll take us way too long one at a time."

"Be careful," Sasha called after him.

"And don't move on any further than one room," Sam said, "I don't think we should let ourselves get too far apart. We still don't know what's going on."

Dean nodded as he left. He agreed with that; he just didn't want to spend the whole frickin' day looking at white walls for markings and EMF readings.

Before entering the third room, Dean used his flashlight to check above the door again, just to be sure. It said what he expected, the same thing as the others but with the number 'three'. Dean also had the EMF meter so he started using that as soon as he stepped over the threshold. It immediately went wild.

Dean turned back towards the door to call after the others, but as his eyes lifted from the meter, he found that his voice fell away. Dean was no longer standing in a plain white room. The very walls were shifting and changing around him into some other place. It was darker suddenly, but Dean couldn't help feeling that he recognized the décor of this new room, like maybe he had been in it before.

"Guys!" Dean called, looking around the room carefully to take stock of everything. This room was larger than the white room could hold, filled with furniture but all old and ratty like no one lived here. Dean still couldn't shake that it looked familiar but it was too vague for him to really remember.

Turning back towards the door he was about to call for the others again when he came face to face with whatever was making the EMF go crazy.

Now Dean knew this was familiar. The ugly hag he was suddenly staring at was a spook he knew he had seen before. At first Dean wondered if it was Marisol from Danville, but these memories were older. And this ghost was older too, ancient with clothing from a more distant time. Dean took a step back.

"Sam!" Dean called, "Sasha!"

"Dean!"

Dean had expected a replied call but not that one. It came from behind him for one, and Dean knew that Sam and Sasha would have to come through the door. The voice was also very different from Sam or Sasha's and so impossible that it made Dean's blood run cold to hear it.

Completely ignoring the ghost hovering before him, Dean turned around, looking back into the dark room that shouldn't exist. He saw a man behind him who raised a sawed-off shotgun at the spook. "Dean, look out!" the man, the _hunter_ called.

But Dean couldn't move. "Dad…?"

tbc...

A/N: Just over a week, BARELY, and I feel like I've betrayed you all for taking so long! For the record, I am less than two months from my wedding, and my boss was gone last week so I had a lot of extra work, and still do since my coworkers are slackers and have both been gone this week. Anyhoo, here we go for another round of what the hell! Reviews? Thoughts, my dearest dears? There's a lot of new people with us, woohoo, so please feel free to share with the class.

Thoughts on the season finale? I'd love to hear some. Dean's swan song of Bon Jovi made me so happy. And look at me being all right about Sam. Damn straight. I know some of you doubted me but I arise triumphant. Now how the hell am I supposed to make it until next Sept/Oct? How are any of us? Well, I guess that's what fanfics are for.

I've gotten a teaser of deangirl1's next chapter. And hooboy, what a doozy. Can't tell you anymore than that though. Love you all!

Crim


	35. Part 5: How I Remember

Part 5: How I Remember

--

It was no illusion or ghost, Dean knew that for certain. The image was too solid, too real—John Winchester in full Technicolor.

The elder hunter steadied his shotgun, not waiting for Dean to get out of the way as he had commanded, and suddenly fired. Dean jumped, awaiting the expected blow, the inevitable pain, but it never came. Looking down at his own chest, Dean couldn't find a scratch on him either. But he heard the cry of the spook behind him and when Dean turned he saw the last remnants of the ghost fade into nothing after the blast. The person that had been standing behind the ghost, however, unseen until now, was someone Dean was even more unprepared to see than his father.

It was him. _Dean_.

"Dean," John said sternly from behind. As Dean glanced back he saw that his dad was headed straight for him. But not for _him_. Not really.

Dean scrambled to the side to avoid his father bowling him over as this vision of him, whatever it was, came closer, approaching the other Dean who had used his jacket—_Dad's_ jacket—to shield himself from the rock salt.

John was not gentle when he reached this other Dean but instead shook him hard by the shoulder. "I told you to get down," John snapped, "That was an order. You hear it. You follow it."

"But Dad—" the other Dean tried.

"I don't want excuses."

"I had her. I was two seconds away from—"

"Two seconds is your _life_," John countered, snatching Dean's sawed-off from the ground and pushing it into Dean's hands none too kindly, "You know better. Do you think the war gets easier from here? You listen when I give you an order, is that understood?"

As the real Dean watched the scene playing out before him the usual response to that kind of question from his father rose up within him, so trained, so ingrained in him that he almost said, "Yes, sir," when the other him said it.

The pair started moving further into the room. The hunt wasn't over, just stalled thanks to rock salt. Dean remembered this particular hunt now and why the room looked so familiar. Enid, Oklahoma. A haunting that had gone unnoticed for years because the ghost kept to the attic. Then a family moved in with plans to renovate. They weren't living in the house by the time John and Dean went calling though.

The hunters would find the ghost's remains in the attic, Dean remembered. Salt and burn. Easy. Dean was immaculate the whole rest of the hunt but Dad never once let him forget his misstep. Nothing new there really.

"Dean?"

That voice didn't belong with this scene. That voice was in California when this hunt happened, blissfully oblivious and safe at college.

Dean turned his head back to the door. He was only a couple feet from it and he could see Sam and Sasha standing just outside the room. They weren't looking at Dean though. They were looking into the changed scenery at John and the _other_ Dean with stunned expressions. Dean felt immediate relief.

"You see them too?" he asked the others.

Neither of them nodded but Sam said, "It's Dad."

"And _you_," Sasha noted with equal shock, "What's going on? How did you trigger this?" Sasha and Sam both stepped over the threshold. As soon as their feet touched the floor, however, the scene disappeared, returning the room to empty, stale white.

"What'd you do?" Dean accused, staring at the others like they had purposely touched some giant OFF switch. Not that Dean had any desire to relive that particular night, but still.

Sam grabbed Sasha's arm and glanced between the incubus and Dean. "Hang on." Pulling Sasha along with him, Sam slowly started to back out of the room again. The second they were both back in the hallway the scene returned, right where it had left off with John and the other Dean discussing their next move and reloading their weapons. "Just as I thought," Sam said.

Dean looked back frustratingly at his brother. "Would you mind sharing with the rest of the class," he mocked.

"Come here," Sam said, gesturing Dean towards him.

This no sharing policy was getting annoying. Dean listened anyway, casting one last look back at himself and Dad before stepping out of the room to join the others. Dean wasn't at all surprised when the scene faded behind him.

Sam held the other two back this time and stepped into the room alone. Again the walls shifted and changed but not into Dean's scene. This room was brighter and small. A bedroom. It seemed to be early afternoon and a second Sam was lying on the bed reading. _Jessica_ was curled up next to him with a book of her own. The real Sam looked on forlornly at the sight of her.

"What is this place?" Sasha asked quietly, meaning the house in general of course, not Sam's manifested memory. Sasha had never met Jessica but he seemed to understand why Sam looked so stricken. He could probably feel the fissures reforming in Sam's already fractured heart.

"It's what the numbers mean," Sam said, equally as soft of voice, "It's what the inscriptions above the doors mean. This was three years ago. Three years exactly. Well, not _exactly_," Sam mended, looking around the sunny room, "The day's right just not the time. The time must change depending on what memory is stronger. It also explains why nothing happened to us in the other rooms. We weren't all together one or two years ago. The rooms got confused. That's why the cops didn't find anything either. No one went anywhere alone. Only the one guy who went to the third floor."

Everything Sam said was logical and steady as it left him, but his body language spoke entirely different. He looked like he wanted to run forward, to fall to his knees beside the bed and just touch Jessica to see if he could. He was almost shaking with the effort to stop himself from doing that.

"We…both had tests the next day," Sam said absently, "We stayed in bed all afternoon. This was…the only time we actually got any work done that day though." A sad smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth.

Just as he finished speaking the other Sam shifted to kiss the top of Jessica's head. She looked up. Smiled. They leaned towards each other.

"We should…see if it works for Sasha too," Sam said with a cracked voice, turning away before he had to see the pair kiss. A moment later Sam was out of the room and it returned once again to nothing more spectacular than a benign white box. Sam sniffed loudly and shook his head. "Sasha?" he prompted.

Sasha stared at Sam a moment before responding and Dean knew immediately that something was passing silently between them. Sasha was reading the tumult of emotions raging through the younger Winchester and Sam was allowing it. It seemed like such a private moment for them and it ended with Sasha smiling and saying, "Hope I wasn't doing anything embarrassing three years ago." Sasha turned to step over the threshold and again the room changed.

It was night. A hotel room by the looks of things. A second Sasha wasn't immediately visible. But a bouncing brunette on the bed certainly was. Dean couldn't help smirking. Sasha was _doing_ something alright, but Dean doubted the girl's name was Embarrassing.

"Oh yeah…" Sasha said with a tilt of his head, watching the way the very naked girl was moving languidly on top of his very naked other self, "I remember her." There was definitely a grin in the incubus' voice.

Dean wished he could go into the room with Sasha but since he hadn't been there when that night actually happened he knew his presence would disrupt the scene. So instead Dean settled on saying, "Do you think there's a room in this house we _wouldn't_ find you having sex?"

"Depends on how far back they go," Sasha replied with a smirk thrown over his shoulder. The redhead let out a laugh as he turned fully around and headed back out of the room.

A glance at Sam explained the sudden laugh to Dean. Sam had never looked more scandalized in all the time Dean had been around him. Dean didn't want to even think what it would do to the kid if he ever walked in on Sasha and _him_. The night of Dean's birthday had already been too close.

The scene faded behind Sasha as he left the room and came up beside Sam to pat him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "It's a beautiful, natural occurrence, Sam," Sasha teased.

"You see, Sammy," Dean broke in, "When two grown-up people feel a certain urge _down there_—"

"Oh for crying out loud," Sam scowled, "You two can go screw _yourselves_. And don't make me say that with any real power behind it because I _will_."

Dean flinched. That was a sobering thought.

Of course Sasha just started laughing again and pat Sam's shoulder a few more times before leaning back against the doorframe of room #3.

"So what do we know?" Sasha said, returning to case mode.

"Well, it doesn't only work on humans. Which means the spells must create generalized time slips that zero in on any individual's memories depending on which room that person is in," Sam rattled off.

Time slips. Just what Dean had been thinking actually, once he had gotten over the initial shock of seeing his father anyway. "Observational time slips too," Dean added, "Not interactive like that Simpson/Gisby case in '79. Dad shot rock salt right through me. It just _looks_ real enough to touch."

"Problem one," Sasha began, "Where's the bad part here? Some memories you don't want to relive, sure. But I don't feel any different after being in that room and seeing a glimpse of my past. Do either of you?"

Sam immediately shook his head. Dean thought about it for a moment but he couldn't think of anything different in how he felt either other than a little shock and discomfort.

"Okay, so if these rooms aren't what's rewinding people to diapers then what is?" Sasha pressed, "Do you think the house was originally just meant to be, I don't know, for some kind of mystical therapy, but with the curator gone it's going haywire? No," Sasha immediately said in answer to his own question, "That wouldn't explain the cases before now. So Hollander had to have known what this place could do to a person."

"We just need to figure out at what point the looking glass turns into _Through the Looking Glass_," Sam nodded, "The sequel to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," he added when he looked over at Dean.

"I'm not an idiot," Dean grumbled. He may not know his fairytales and children's literature quite as well as the _princess_ over there but he had paid attention to at least a few classes when he was in school. He'd always thought the Cheshire cat was awesome, one of the reasons he never really liked the sequel.

"We're not going to figure anything out just using what we know so far," Sasha said, "We should keep going. There has to be more clues or something along the way. And as long as we stay together, even on the third floor we should be okay."

"But shouldn't we keep checking these rooms separately?" Dean suggested, "I mean, if we go into every room together then we're just gonna hit plain white rooms for the next three hours."

"So you're saying maybe the clues are in what we're shown of the past?" Sam said.

Dean shrugged. Half of him just really didn't want to go through thirty or forty identical rooms, but the other half saw the truth in what he was trying to say. "If some people got out of this place just fine then there has to be a way to do the tour right or wrong. We do it right, we should still be able to figure out what the wrong way is and put a stop to it. Preferably before any other idiots come wandering around. So," Dean said, looking in turn to each of his companions, "We splitting now or staying together? We'll cover more ground if we take three rooms at a time."

"True, but we'll be doing the tour wrong right away if we don't go through all of the rooms," Sam said, "We should backtrack. Sasha, you go into the first room first, watch awhile, and then move onto the second, then I'll go, then Dean. That way we all hit every room but we don't have to wait for each other. We should still cover the house faster that way, and without screwing up. Hopefully."

Yeah, 'hopefully' was what Dean didn't like about this place. He had to agree with Sam's amendments though. They would also still be close together if something went wrong. And Dean had to admit there were just some memories he didn't feel like sharing with brother and boyfriend. _Ever_.

They started the tour back at room #1 and Sasha went inside first. This time the incubus was on a hunt rather than amorously involved, chasing after a very hide-and-go-seek happy spirit. Sasha talked his way through watching the memory, laughing to the brothers about how when he finally caught up to the spirit he hadn't ended up having to banish it at all but was able to talk it down.

"He was a pretty cool ghost actually. Just confused," Sasha said. Then he was off to room #2 and it was Sam's turn for the first one.

Well of course Dean knew where Sam would be a year ago. They were together then. The timing was just right too for that night in Milwaukee when a few stupid mistakes led to a shapeshifter almost getting away, killing way more than its fair share, and for an innocent and pretty cool guy to get himself caught in the line of police fire.

_Ronald_. Dean had really started to like the guy too, poor bastard and his Mandroids. In the scene, however, Ronald was still alive.

The real Dean called inside the room after Sam, "Dude, we're both in this memory! I'm gonna try something!" And with that Dean stepped over the threshold to join Sam. Nothing happened. Nothing changed anyway. The scene played on. "Can't confuse the room if we both have these memories, right?" Dean smirked at his brother.

"Okay, so we can hit the next room together too," Sam said, allowing Dean his moment of victory. They both watched the scene for awhile but as it drew closer to when Ronald would be shot they decided it was time to move on.

They reached room #2 and seeing that it was white and blank, they knew that Sasha must have already moved on. Sam and Dean entered together then only to find that this time it wouldn't work.

"Where were we two years ago?" Sam questioned.

Dean thought on that a moment and as it dawned on him he was suddenly very happy that Sasha was in another room. Dean pushed Sam back out the door. He looked back and watched as the room shifted and changed to the very place he expected. A bedroom. A very specific bedroom that Dean had had one hell of a time in.

"…oh," Sam said softly as the scene unfolded.

Yeah, Dean thought. Fucking _oh_. He didn't watch the scene long. He remembered well enough without the visuals. Sure, he had a good time that night but the goodbye had stung even more than the first time.

_So sorry, Dean. It's not that I can't wait for you. I just won't._

Cassie might as well have said it just like that. Dean didn't want to remember their 'for old times' sake' fuck. And frankly, he didn't want to remember Cassie either.

Dean moved on ahead of Sam to the next room then and allowed Sam to take his turn alone. Sam didn't call after Dean and Dean considered it a blessing. Maybe they had underestimated this place. It was getting to Dean already and he hadn't even breached three years of his life.

There was no sign of Sasha when Dean got to the third room. He didn't stay long himself either since he had already seen enough of those memories. As he came out and headed for room #4, however, he finally caught up with Sasha just as the incubus was leaving for #5.

"All's well?" Dean asked.

Sasha shrugged. He didn't look put out at all. Lucky bastard. "Not too much to complain about," Sasha said, "Can't get upset over watching myself being lonely. Not when I don't have to worry about that anymore." The incubus grinned and tossed Dean a wink before disappearing into the next room.

They didn't know how many rooms there were like this or how many years it spanned, but if things went back as far as Dean imagined then he hoped he might catch a glimpse of _Sasha: the early years_. The guy was open about his feelings and basic incubus stuff, but when it came to his past—at least things other than hunting—Dean knew next to nothing. Dean understood why of course. After meeting that Lindsey character it was no wonder Sasha didn't want to remember his past. Not because the guy was a dick, but because…well. Dean knew Sasha's reasons were the same as the ones he had for not wanting to think too much about his mother.

Room #4 awaited Dean and he stepped inside, not sure what to expect. Usually he couldn't remember exact hunts and places he was at exact times, so it was like a roulette wheel every time he moved on. Room #4 was harmless. A hunt he had been on by himself. No problem. In contrast, room #5 was horrible. A huge fight Dean had had with Dad after Sam had been gone almost a year at college. Dean had just wanted to visit and get Dad to go along too. Sam would never come back to them if they didn't speak to him again.

Dean moved quickly onto #6 but that was just as bad. Dean remembered that fight too and he hadn't even been in it. He had watched from behind the door as Dad found Sam looking through college acceptance letters and totally reamed into him about lying. Dean remembered how much he had wanted to burst into the room and join in with the yelling, because damn how he hated hearing them go at it like that. But Dean didn't have anything to say. Dean didn't want Sam to go but he didn't want to disappoint Dad either. It was a lose-lose situation for him.

The story of Dean's life.

Room #7 was again just a hunt, only with a younger Sam following after Dean and being pretty kick-ass for a teenager too. Not that Dean would ever have told him that at the time.

Room #8 was actually pretty fun to remember. Dean had just turned twenty-one and he and Sam were holed up in some shitty motel waiting for Dad to come back with intel and plans for their current hunt. They were supposed to lie low and ended up spending the whole night playing cards and bullshitting. There was no talk of hunts or monsters. It was just them. Just brothers _being_ and talking about nothing.

Dean was on his way to room #9 when he was almost run over by Sasha rushing out of it. The incubus gripped Dean's arms to keep from actually toppling over him, but then Dean had to wonder if Sasha was gripping him for a very different kind of support after seeing the expression on the redhead's face. There was a very familiar grief painting Sasha's features.

"Hey…you okay?" Dean prompted, wishing Sasha wasn't holding his arms quite so tight so he could use them in some way. Sasha seemed fine with just having Dean there in front of him though, because the incubus looked beyond relieved just staring into Dean's eyes.

"I…I'm okay. I'm okay," Sasha said, not at all convincingly. He smiled big and obviously forced. "Not my best…year," the incubus shrugged.

Dean looked up past Sasha to read the door's inscription. Room #9, he reminded himself, and he played that over in his head a moment. Nine years ago Sasha would have been a couple months past sixteen. Past the change. Dean felt something harden in his gut. That would have been about the time Sasha ran away from home. Right around the time…Sasha killed that girl.

It couldn't be the right day—that would be all kinds of cruel—but that didn't mean it was any easier on Sasha having to watch his younger self living through the aftermath of accidental murder all over again.

"Well, at least you know all the memories after this one should be good ones, huh?" Dean tried, smiling as firmly as he could as he looked up into Sasha's pained face, "Nice pre-hunter incubus fun. I'm sure that if the dead owner was leading this tour for us he'd have words of wisdom about how all memories lend us some kind of perspective or some shit like that. Not saying I believe that but…"

"You guys alright?" intruded Sam's voice suddenly.

Dean turned and saw that Sam had just left room #7. Sasha's hands almost immediately left Dean's arms and Dean took it as a sign that Sasha was not in a sharing mood right now. "Sure, just touching base," Dean offered on Sasha's behalf, "Anything on your end?"

There was a moment where Sam's eyes flashed with something that definitely proved the wool wasn't being pulled over _anything_, but Sam was also sensitive enough to know to leave things be right now. "Just that hunt in Cheyenne. Remember? I'm sure you saw the same thing," he said to Dean.

Dean nodded and gave Sam a knowing grin. "You'll love this next one," he said, gesturing to room #8, "I kick your ass at Rummy all night."

Sam and Sasha both chuckled. "I'm sure," Sam said, "Say, should we pick up the pace maybe? We shouldn't have to worry about any neighbors calling or cops. It's still pretty early. But we've only gone through half of the rooms down here and there's still two floors to go."

"Sure," Sasha agreed eagerly.

"Should we set a time limit?" Dean asked, half-joking, "One minute per room?"

The others contemplated that seriously. "Use your judgment," Sam eventually suggested, "We wouldn't want to miss anything important." And with that he gave a little nod and disappeared into his next room.

Dean turned a ready smile back onto Sasha, who returned it, steeled himself for a moment, and then moved onto room #10. Dean had #9 in front of him but he hesitated. He couldn't help being curious over what Sasha's next scene would be. Sasha would be fifteen still, facing his last year before the change, and still very close to all of his old friends. Dean decided that his feet had grown minds of their own because they did not carry him into _his_ room but stealthily over to Sasha's instead.

Of course Dean couldn't go in and he had no plans to. He just sort of peaked around the corner of the door and peered inside. It was very invading, he knew that, especially since he could probably just ask for a quick look without risking Sasha's wrath. Still, Dean found himself spying rather than being open about things, watching a moment out of Sasha's life, ten years ago to the day.

"Just you wait, I'll do it," came a boy's voice from inside the room. It wasn't Sasha's.

Dean could see red hair peeking out from behind a bed as if Sasha was sitting on that other side leaning back against the mattress on the floor. The shock of white hair on the boy sitting in the middle of the floor made it painstakingly clear who _that_ was. The other boy was the one that voice must have come from then. Dean didn't know him.

This other boy looked almost too normal to be an incubus. His skin was tanned unlike Sasha's could ever be or how Lindsey looked either. He had short but shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. If not for the slight shimmer of gold in those eyes Dean might have mistaken this third boy for human.

The bedroom the boys were in actually looked remarkably normal too. Dean couldn't be sure if this was some house in the real world then or if the incubus/succubus plain just happened to look the same. All of the boys appeared to be in human form—Dean couldn't actually see Sasha—and if Dean didn't know the truth he never would have guessed they were all fifteen-year-old incubi.

"Why do you even want to go to high school, Cam?" Lindsey asked, his voice younger sounding but still recognizable, "We already know all that stuff. All the important things anyway."

"But, Lin, it's real _human_ high school we're talking about here," the bronze incubus, Cam, replied, "What better way to meet girls our age, man. Junior and Senior year when everyone's having sex."

"I don't think _everyone_ has sex in high school, Cam," came Sasha's voice suddenly, so strange and young sounding with its slightly more tenor pitch that Dean almost laughed. "In fact," Sasha said as his red head suddenly disappeared on the other side of the bed, "I'm pretty sure a lot don't." Before Dean could contemplate what the younger Sasha was doing, bare feet and the ends of faded jeans rose up from around the bed like Sasha was doing a handstand.

Cam immediately reached from his spot on top of the bed and pushed Sasha over. "Kill joy," he grinned.

There came the familiar sound of Sasha's joyful chuckling and when the redhead finally righted himself and sat up Dean got a truly good look at what Sasha used to be. _Happy_. Dean knew how happy Sasha could make himself look even when he was breaking, but there was no hidden sadness in this younger Sasha. Not in the same way it haunted him now.

Dean couldn't help glancing at the real Sasha who had seated himself on the floor near Lindsey with his back to the door. Sasha's shoulders were tight despite the otherwise relaxed position.

"You just wanna go to high school to meet your dream girl," the younger Sasha began, clambering on top of the bed next to Cam looking surprisingly skinny and slight, "Sorry, dude, but Buffy is a fictional character. There is no sexy slayer chick waiting for you in California. And if there was, she'd probably try to kill you anyway."

"_Sash_, I so wouldn't want Buffy," Cam dissented, looking mockingly affronted, "Have you seen the rack on Cordelia? Seriously."

"Cordelia?" Lindsey repeated, lying back down on the carpet and putting his hands behind his head, "She's like the uber-bitch. Why would you want her?"

Dean almost laughed again hearing the speech patterns of fifteen year olds. Not that he didn't sometimes fall into those patterns himself.

"Willow's pretty _and_ nice," Lindsey went on, "And she's smart."

"There's a surprise," Cam jumped in, "Lin likes the smart, sweet redhead." Cam glanced at Sasha next to him. "_Natural_ looking redhead," he added with a smirk.

Sasha swat at him but Cam leaned out of the way.

Meanwhile, Lindsey had sat back up after hearing Cam's not so subtle accusation.

"What, I can't like Willow because she's smart, sweet, and a redhead. What the hell?"

Cam and Sasha shared a look then busted out laughing. "Dude, really, we're not that stupid," Sasha chuckled, "You and Charis have pretty much been engaged since we were ten. I think it's great. I mean, most of our parents were _how_ old when they found each other? Ancient? And you guys haven't even hit the change yet and you're in love."

Lindsey's otherwise pale face flushed with color to his cheeks. "I…I'm not in love with Charis. She's like my sister."

"Ha! Right. Eppy and Atty are like sisters," Cam chimed in, "Charis is your waking wet dream."

Lindsey immediately grabbed the stray pillow from the floor and chucked it at Cam's head, smacking him clean in the face but still leaving him laughing. "Shut up!" Lindsey warned.

"Well I don't know about you two," Sasha said, speaking loudly to be sure he caught the others' attention to hopefully diffuse the situation, "But I'd take Angel over the lot of the Buffy girls any day. I've never seen a more _'come fuck me'_ stare than that one. And ya gotta love a guy who looks good in leather."

A small part of Dean cheered to hear even a fifteen-year-old Sasha say that. Not that Dean could agree with the Angel crush. Dean's favorite character had always been Spike, hands down, and for obvious reasons, none of which had to do with anything sexual. Of course Spike's character didn't exist in this time frame yet, Dean reminded himself, and wouldn't until season two came in September.

Lindsey was getting up and moving to join the others on the bed. He cast a glare at Cam as he approached but was apparently okay with the idea of leaving their argument alone. It seemed such a natural transition that Dean had to assume that that was Sasha's role in this group—diffuser of tension. He played that role pretty well in their group too, Dean thought.

"You wouldn't want Xander?" Lindsey asked Sasha as he situated himself, "I thought you liked the smartass guys."

Sasha leaned over and pushed Cam in the shoulder. "I do. I just get enough of that kind of guy in real life sometimes."

"Aww, Sasha, I thought we had something special," Cam pouted and then lunged for Sasha making kissy noises.

There was a pale hand pushing back on Cam's tan face in an instant. Sasha was all and out giggling. "Dude, get _away_ from me," he laughed. Cam and Lindsey were both laughing too and it all looked so easy, so comfortable the way life-long friends were supposed to be. "Now, if you could take Angel and Xander and combine them into one person," Sasha went on, "Then I'd be hooked. A sexy smartass…" Sasha trailed thinking about that and a part of Dean cheered again.

Dean knew that he couldn't keep watching like this though. Sasha was going to get up eventually, probably soon, and not only was Dean invading his friend's privacy, he was also holding up the hunt by not doing his part. Dean just wished he knew how to ask Sasha about these things.

An incubus didn't go to regular school, he'd found that out. But they seemed to mostly live and act like humans, even having TV. Dean wasn't surprised by that. Sasha was too quick with the pop culture knowledge not to have grown up with easy access. But Dean had so many other questions. When he really thought about it he realized that he wanted to know everything. Everything about Sasha he could.

The teenagers had moved on from their Buffy discussion to talk about the newest episode of South Park, another fairly new show at the time. As Dean watched, the group got more comfortable on the bed, a bed Dean decided must be Cam's. Cam was leaning back on his pillow—replaced after hitting him in the head—Lindsey sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and Sasha lay down so that his feet were flat on the mattress with his knees bent and his head in Lindsey's lap.

Absent fingers combed through Sasha's red hair and Dean felt even more like he was watching something he shouldn't. Even Lindsey's small gesture was just so natural. Maybe not natural and normal for human teenage boys, but this group wasn't human. There was a type of comfort they had with each other that human boys never seemed to pull off. Something intimate without being sexual, the way girls managed so effortlessly.

Dean almost would have filed that realization away for later teasing, but it seemed too precious a thing to mock.

At last pulling himself away from the scene, Dean stepped over to the room he was supposed to be in and took a small breath before entering. He'd have a talk with Sasha later if the incubus was willing. If Dean had learned anything from being around Sam's fussy nature then Sasha was going to _need_ to talk some things out come the end of the day, and Dean was fully ready to listen.

Rooms #9, #10, and #11 passed quickly for Dean, leading him around the curve in the hallway. He still hadn't found anything other than, well, _himself_, and while the memories he saw working backwards through his life were at times pleasant and other times painful, Dean still didn't _feel_ any different. Well, except for maybe more nostalgic of times when Sam needed him more since it was such an immediate job to protect Sam back then.

Dean was reminded of that even more as he moved on to room #12.

Upon first entering the room Dean didn't see anything. Oh, the room changed, taking the shape of a living room Dean vaguely remembered and thought might have been in New Mexico, but he couldn't see any signs of himself. The appearance finally of a recently turned seventeen-year-old Dean was preceded by a loud burst of song.

_I wanna rock and roll all night _

_and party every day_

This younger Dean danced his way into the living room, singing at the top of his lungs, and somehow managing all of this with a chubby, almost thirteen-year-old Sammy on his back. Adult Dean couldn't help laughing at the sight of what he had to call the ridiculousness of youth, not that he'd really changed much over the years. Dean laughed even harder seeing how little Sam looked both amused and slightly scared that his brother was going to drop him.

The next thing Dean noticed was his younger self's hair, flopping about as the teenage Dean continued to bop around and sing while carrying Sam piggy-back. This was the one time in Dean's life that he had actually tried to grow his hair out. It was also really blonde.

The long hair hadn't lasted long, Dean remembered. Enough disapproving looks from Dad eventually got Dean to cut his hair short again and keep it that way. Those looks from Dad always worked on Dean. But never on Sam, not even at the portly age of twelve and a half.

"And _bodyslam_!" the younger Dean called out, leaning back towards the sofa like he was going to fall down on it hard and squish Sam with his larger body.

"Dean!"

Teenage Dean laughed and immediately righted himself, pulling his neck against the more firmly clinging hands of Sam. "Dude, I am so kidding. Release the death grip, will ya? I'll save the child abuse for when you're healthy, sick-boy." With that Dean leaned back more gradually this time and pealed Sam away so he could lay the boy gently on the couch. "So? Nauseous?" Dean asked, turning around once Sam was fully disentangled from him.

Sam shook his head.

"Well at least we've established it's not the flu."

"I told you. It's a sinus infection, Dean," Sam said matter-of-factly.

Teenage Dean chucked. Of course he had known beforehand that it wasn't the flu. No way would he have carted Sam around like that and risk getting the top of his head puked on. "Sure thing, smart guy," Dean replied, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch to lay it over Sam, who did sound fairly stuffed up, "Can we at least pretend it's just a bad cold and hope we can knock it out with over-the-counter stuff? Antibiotics would have to wait till Dad gets back."

Sam sniffled miserably even though he hadn't looked too sick while Dean was dancing around with him on his back. "Maybe. I don't feel too bad, just…" Sam moved his tongue around the inside of his mouth and grimaced, "That gross taste in my mouth. Can we have pizza for dinner?"

"Oh yeah, you're sick," Dean said, hands on his hips like a scolding mother.

"I _am_ sick! Pizza's the only thing I can taste when I'm like this," Sam added with a pout, those puppy eyes in rare form, it being back when he was still littler than Dean and couldn't be left on his own. Sam probably could have taken care of himself at that age. After all, it wasn't like Dean hadn't been taking care of himself _and_ Sam at younger than that. But Dad wouldn't allow it. Not for another year at least.

"Right. Whatever. Pizza," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He walked over to a chair with a ratty winter coat thrown over it—Dean wouldn't inherit Dad's leather for some time yet. Rifling through the pockets, teenage Dean found a rumpled twenty. "Should be enough. Gotta save some for laundry though. I'll order. You throw on _Pinky and the Brain_ or something. Who knows, tonight might be the night they finally..." Dean paused dramatically, "Take over the world!"

Sam laughed. "Dean—"

"And I'll get that Hawaiian crap you like on _half_ the pizza. Freak," Dean said, entirely affectionate. He left the room in search of the phone then, leaving Sam to the TV. Despite being sick, the kid looked very pleased with himself.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped. That Sam's voice sounded a heck of a lot older and lower than the one in front of him. "Make some noise when you move, will ya?" Dean almost frowned as he turned to see an adult Sam coming up beside him. He couldn't actually frown though, not when this was another memory he didn't really mind reliving.

"I remember this place," Sam smiled, looking over at his younger self on the couch who was flipping through channels on their crappy TV, "Sinus infection?" Sam questioned.

"So you claimed," Dean teased.

"Sammy!" the younger Dean yelled from the other room, "Soda!"

"Coke!" Sam yelled back.

"It's Pizza Hut! They don't have Coke!"

"Pepsi!" Sam shouted then without pausing to think, his eyes never leaving the TV as he settled on _Pinky and the Brain_ just as Dean had suggested.

"Thirty minutes," Dean said in a more normal voice when he reentered, "Think you can survive that long?"

"Wow," the older Sam gaped as he looked at seventeen-year-old Dean, "I forgot about your hair. Bet Sasha'd love to see this."

"Don't even think about it," Dean warned.

"But you're so _New Kids on the Block_ like that," Sam chuckled.

So not funny. "I will _beat_ your ass," Dean promised, "And you're not one to talk anyway, _Porky_. I don't know what was worse, the baby fat or your bird legs in high school."

Sam made a disgruntled face but settled on rolling his eyes rather than furthering the jabs. "We're still coming up with nothing though, right?" Sam said, gesturing grandly to the room, "Depending on the scene I'm either laughing or scowling, but nothing else really. I just don't want us to miss anything important."

"Onward then?" Dean asked.

Before Sam replied, he allowed his attention to get drawn back into the current memory, watching the way their younger selves laughed at the same jokes and threw out random teasing remarks at each other. Teenage Dean was hunkered down on the floor between the couch and coffee table so he could be close to Sam while still letting Sam lie down.

Dean was reminded of Sasha's scene suddenly as his younger self reached up to ruffle little Sammy's hair. Maybe regular human guys found their own kind of comfortable intimacies.

"You were always a great brother, Dean," Sam said, startling Dean out of his musings, "I don't tell you that enough. You know…I wanted to be just like you back then."

"There's a scary thought," Dean joked, lowering his eyes to the floor since he just knew Sam had his puppy dogs out.

"I'm serious. Most of the time, I…I'm just hoping I can be even half as strong as you, Dean."

That made Dean look up. Sam had to be kidding. "Dude, you could probably out-bench _Sasha_ these days."

Sam smiled at Dean sadly. "You know that's not what I mean."

They stared at each other for what felt like a solid minute until Dean had to look away.

Why was Sam always trying to turn him into a pile of mush? Didn't the kid have any sense of machismo? Though if Dean really thought about it, if Sam thought the macho act was what made Dean strong then he was dead wrong. That's not even close to what made Dean strong. Dean wasn't always sure what did, but when it came down to why he _wanted_ to be braver and stronger no matter how frightening the fight, the answer was always the same.

"Better move on, Sammy," Dean said with a sideways glance, "Sasha'll get too far ahead of us. We can…stick through the rest of this floor together though, huh? Don't think you were often away from my side if we're just gonna keep going younger."

"Or, you know…_now_," Sam said softly.

Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or smile at that. He remembered a time when Sam mentioned regret, that he missed his old life, missed conversations that didn't start with 'this killer truck' or god knows what other ridiculous things they dealt with. Now Sam looked at him, at them being together as hunters, brothers in arms, and _smiled_. Dean both hated and loved that. There was no in-between.

The rest of the rooms were easy really. Not always laugh-out-loud fun but simple scenes of them as kids, Sam getting littler and littler, and Dean shrinking down too until they reached room #20 with Dean nine and Sam barely five. Sam was just so cute back them, and Dean could admit it. That Sammy didn't know about monsters or demons or why they didn't have a mom. He loved Dad and Dean blindly, maybe even loved Dean more, though Dean hated to think that way. He couldn't help noticing as they watched the scene though how little Sammy wanted _Dean_ when he fell down and started to cry. Not Dad. Almost never Dad.

"Where's Sasha?" Dean questioned as they made their way out of that second doorway back into the entryway. He was surprised to find that Sasha wasn't waiting for them there. "He wouldn't go on ahead, would he? We didn't actually say not to, but—"

"Dean…"

Dean turned with a scowl upon hearing the soft worry that encased his name as it left Sam's lips. Sam was staring up the staircase. There was enough light pouring in from the risen sun now that they could see more, displaying Latin carved into an overhang of wall at the top of the stairs.

"Above, the journey is longer, but…" Sam tilted his head, "But will appear as smaller steps? Huh. Steps. Funny," he said, smiling small and tight over at Dean, "My guess is it means the second floor has bigger jumps. Maybe starting with…" Sam trailed and his eyes went suddenly wide, "Twenty-five. Dean, _think_. What would Sasha see of his life twenty-five years ago?"

That seemed like such a silly question to Dean because his first thought was since Sasha was twenty-five years old he wouldn't have been alive twenty-five years ago. But then Dean remembered that these rooms were very specific and technically Sasha would be about six weeks old if he were to step into a room marked #25. And that would mean…

Dean's eyes widened as he looked at Sam and he understood immediately why Sasha hadn't waited for them. The brothers bound up the stairs, not so much worried as slightly concerned over how Sasha might be reacting up there. When they walked through the archway of the second floor they came to a similar landing as down below, splitting off into two doorways or leading up another flight of stairs. The correct path looked to be the same direction as before so they headed left.

It was a little too quiet for Dean's liking as they made their way to the first door. It indeed had a prominent #25 above it amongst the explaining Latin, and as soon as they looked inside the room they understood why the silence was so thick.

It was a living room, simply furnished, modest, with shag carpet and a sofa in the middle. Sasha was crouched next to the coffee table just in front of the sofa. He had the blankest expression Dean had ever seen the incubus wear, and that was saying something. Sasha could put on a mask with the best of them after all. Sasha didn't seem to notice that they were there either, but of course they didn't dare enter the room and ruin this for him.

There was a man sitting on the couch, his head lolled back and his eyes closed gently in sleep like he had simply drifted off. In his arms was a tiny bundle, a small six-week-old baby boy with the brightest little tuft of red hair.

Before Dean or Sam could think to say anything or even dare to breathe, a woman's voice sounded from some other room within the scene and brought the truth they already knew to unmistakable light.

"Deklin!"

tbc...

A/N: This feels strikingly like the last chapter's ending. Sorry. I meant to get further through this but it was turning out a little too long. To keep the dynamic where I want, I decided to stop here. You'll get to see some Kelly family action in the next chapter and we'll get the boys to the punchline--what's going on with these time slips. You guys rock! There's some new faces out there again and all my favorite faithfuls. deangirl1 has been outdoing herself with a crazy long and wonderful side story for the boys. I wouldn't want to give anything away but lets just say it introduces some things that haven't been addressed yet and can get pretty heavy. Thanks for sticking to it, guys, you make the hiatus fun. I hope I do too.

Crim


	36. Part 6: The Way They Were

Part 6: The Way They Were

--

The woman appeared in a doorway off the living room with a bemused expression and a hand on her hip. She was beautiful, much more so than any photograph could capture. The too red hair falling in waves past her shoulders, the bright blue eyes, the quirk of a loving smile. She didn't wear makeup; she didn't need to. She was dressed in jeans and an oversized violet sweatshirt that hung low off one of her pale shoulders.

"Deklin," she said again, calling to her husband as she approached him, "You're supposed to put the _baby_ to sleep, not the other way around." The smile on her lips shifted into a smirk. She stopped just in front of the couch, barely a foot from where an adult Sasha was still crouched.

Deklin stirred, lifting his head with tired eyes and a small smile of his own. He looked down at what was so obviously his _son_, a wide awake little bundle of a boy who was happily squirming in Daddy's arms. "Well that was the original idea. You're making me look bad, buddy," he whispered to the tiny redhead.

A smile broke onto the real Sasha's face, but it was a sad smile. His eyes were turned down at their edges and already shimmering wet.

"He's like a little space heater," Deklin was saying, resituating himself but not getting up from the couch, "Puts me out every time. I can't help it."

Solaris—for there was no denying who she was—looked thoroughly amused by the situation. She leaned towards Deklin and kissed his forehead, smoothing back his longer dark hair with her hand. Deklin had that black Irish look going for him—black hair, blue eyes, fairer skin, though not as fair as his wife's. His hair was layered and wavy to his shoulders. He looked twenty-five of course, but what surprised Dean was the sight of rugged stubble.

Sasha didn't even have a shaving kit. Dean had certainly never seen the guy shave and assumed that as an incubus he didn't need to. It made Dean wonder if the rules were different for the initiated.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so easy to put you to sleep if you weren't staying up so late with all that research," Solaris said chidingly to her husband. She was still smiling.

"The bad guys don't take days off, Sol, so neither should I," Deklin replied. He looked down at little baby Sasha again and smiled. "Besides, if I'm already up then I can take first shift with this guy. Male bonding time is very important for us, ya know."

A melodic giggle left the succubus. "I'm not saying I don't enjoy the benefits," she joked, "Just don't wear yourself out. You can still get fatigued as an incubus. You're not invulnerable. You're a hunter, a husband, _and_ a father. Some might consider that too much for one man."

Deklin just grinned. "I thought that's what all the sex was for," he said through a laugh.

"Very funny," Solaris droned, bending down again to kiss him full on the lips. It was a slow, easy kiss, comfortable in their passion and how it flowed between them. Dean liked to think his parents had been like that. His young memories weren't enough for him to be sure but when he thought of the few times his father actually talked about Mary Winchester there was definitely a longing in the man's words that could only exist when the love lost had been potent.

Solaris pulled away. Deklin was smiling wide as ever and that's what finally did it for Dean, what made him realize something that should have been obvious. Sasha looked just like his father. Pictures couldn't really capture the resemblance well enough but it was clear before them now. Sasha had his mother's eyes, but the rest of his face, especially the smile, was all Deklin.

Maybe Dean was thinking or feeling too loudly because that was the moment Sasha turned and saw them. Dean and Sam both shrank back but Sasha wasn't upset. He just smiled wide with an expression so like his father's and turned back to the scene.

"Well, young man," Solaris began in a mock-stern voice to her son, "If you're not going to take a nap like you're supposed to then I guess there's no way around it. Deklin," she said, looking to her husband, "dinner has about five minutes left. Until then…tummy time!" Her smile was devious as she turned back towards what Dean had to assume was the kitchen.

The look on Deklin's face left behind in his wife's wake was simply laughable—abject horror if Dean had ever seen it. "Sol!" he called after her miserably, "He hates it. Screams bloody murder the entire time."

"He still has to do it," called back Solaris' voice from the other room, "All babies need tummy time, Deklin. He can cry all he wants. There will always be necessary things he won't like doing. Doesn't mean they don't have to be done. It's part of life."

"Says who," Deklin grumbled.

"_Deklin_." The tone left no room for argument and it was obvious who held the real authority in the household.

With a defeated sigh, Deklin rose to his feet and shifted little Sasha to his other arm. This gave the brothers at the door a clearer view of the baby finally. Other than the small bit of Crayola red hair he looked like a perfectly normal infant. Paler birth-blue eyes, rosier skin. Dean vaguely remembered a survival-of-the-fittest lecture he once heard about how babies had big eyes and all that cute going for them so that parents would become that much more attached and want to protect them. Maybe little stubs of horns and the rest came later.

Then Sasha answered Dean's thought processes as if he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking.

"It's what we call an instinctive glamour," Sasha said, standing to get out of the way as his father moved to the center of the room where a blanket was already laid out on the floor, "That's why I look so human. It usually lasts most of a child's first year. Defense mechanism. Our parents can put one on us after that if we're in the human plain. We don't master how to put one on ourselves again until we're older."

"Now listen up, buddy," Deklin said, lowering himself to a cross-legged position in front of the blanket. The older Sasha immediately quieted. Deklin looked like he could fit into almost any time period, clad in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and looking so much like a normal young father holding his son. "Rule number one," he grinned as little Sasha cooed up at him, "Women _never_ make sense. You'll be happier from the start if you learn that right now."

That brought a smirk to Dean's face. He definitely liked this guy.

"Rule number two," Deklin continued, "When in doubt…see rule number one."

"I can hear you out there!" called Solaris suddenly and Dean lost it. That _deserved_ a laugh even if he was hesitant to interrupt the scene. He didn't feel bad about it though because Sam and Sasha chuckled too.

They laughed even harder when Deklin's reply was a grinning, "Love you!" and Solaris' response came back just as mirthful.

"You better!"

Deklin returned his attention to what he was supposed to be doing and his grin faded. "Okay, pal, gotta do this," he said to his son, holding little Sasha carefully out in front of him, "Rule number three, and this one's a little bit different. No matter how bad things get, trust me, they can always get worse."

Dean snorted at the familiar saying.

"But eventually, and I promise you this," Deklin went on, getting his face close to his son's with a warm smile, "They _will_ get better. Now you may not believe me in a minute, but I swear they always do. I got _you_, didn't I? Mom's not too bad either," he whispered.

That would have been worthy of a laugh too if Dean's heart didn't feel like it was tearing at the edges a bit. Sasha had moved to sit near his father on the floor. Dean could see the incubus' face clearly and it had the same signs of breaking that Dean could feel in his own chest. And yet Sasha, just like his father, was smiling. There was adoration in his eyes almost strong enough to mask the pain, but Dean still saw it, saw the menagerie of emotions playing out on his friend's face. He wanted to enter the room so badly just then because even though Sasha was only a few feet from the father he had never known, it made him look so strangely alone.

Deklin carefully lifted his son to lay him on his stomach on top of the blanket. It took maybe two seconds for the little boy to realize he was in a position he did not like before he started wailing.

"Come on now, it's not so bad," Deklin tried, smoothing a thumb over the boy's plump cheek. The baby cried on. "You're breaking my heart here, kid," Deklin said despondently, even though he was still trying to smile.

It was such a painfully heartwarming thing to see how the young-_looking_ hunter turned incubus lay back to mirror his little boy and got his face right down there too. Dean could easily forget that Deklin was a man who had lost family and friends over twenty-five years worth of hunting when he saw how much Deklin was in love with being a father.

"Your uncle Jonathan hated this too," Deklin said, talking freely like he almost expected little Sasha to talk back, "I was barely five when he was your age, which was…god, forty-five years ago, but I remember. He howled the whole time. Your grandfather," Deklin spoke right on through the boy's crying, "He said I was so excited to have a little brother that I'd set toys next to him and pretend we were playing even before he could crawl." And then came the sorrowful smile, such a perfect echo of Sasha's—the one Sasha wore often and was definitely wearing now—that Dean had to bite his lip.

There was something sinister in this house if it made them see things that wrenched their hearts so fully. There had to be.

Little Sasha was not calmed by his father's voice but just kept on crying loudly, unable to roll over and right himself as he wanted—clearly not a fan of this necessary tummy time. Deklin was caught somewhere between distraught over being unable to stop the crying and amused at how determined the baby was to scream his lungs out.

Apparently, Deklin had been saving the big guns as a last resort, because when even gentle little strokes on the boy's back did nothing to calm him, Deklin grinned wide and started singing.

_Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear  
And he shows em, pearly white  
Just a jack knife has macheath dear  
And he keeps it way out of sight_

Adult Sasha let out a bark of a laugh. He immediately covered his mouth so he wouldn't interrupt the song. Deklin didn't quite have the same flare for singing as his now grown-up son, but he put all of his heart into it. He hit the notes fine, he just wasn't anything special. Dean assumed Deklin was more into the playing side of things what with all the guitars. Sasha must have gotten his singing talent from his mother.

Little Sasha didn't care for the particulars though. While his father's voice hadn't soothed him before, the change into singing started to bring the wails down to unsure sniffles. Deklin's smile grew as he sang on.

_When that shark bites with his teeth, dear  
_

Deklin made a little chomp with his teeth and Dean caught a flash of fangs.

_Scarlet billows begin to spread  
Fancy gloves though has macheath dear  
So there's never, never a trace of red_

"Deklin Kelly," sounded Solaris' humored but disapproving voice from the doorway. Dean looked and saw the redheaded succubus poised between kitchen and living room with arms crossed tight across her chest. "You are not singing Mack the Knife to our six week old son."

That hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilt crossed Deklin's face for maybe a moment and then his grin grew so that it strained across his cheeks. "Anything Old Blue Eyes sings is a good enough lullaby for my boy. And that's the one he likes best remember? When you were pregnant he only kicked when it was Frank." Deklin lifted his head to peer around the couch at his wife, his smile wide and toothy. "Soothes him too so shush." He turned right back to little Sasha then and started in again.

_On the sidewalk, one Sunday morning_

Deklin's voice was louder now, and though the baby had started to fall back into crying during the interruption, he quieted when Deklin continued. Solaris walked into the living room, no honest disapproval left on her face. She reached her men and was about to sit right down next to them—and right next to the older Sasha too. Deklin kept singing but sat up and gestured to his wife to keep standing. She looked on a little curiously, but listened. Deklin stood up and took Solaris' hand, leading her just enough out of the way so that they had room to dance.

Dean knew immediately that that was Deklin's plan. It was written all over the man's face in a way so like Sasha again. And indeed the dark-haired _incubus_—Dean had to keep reminding himself that since he had always thought _hunter_ first when thinking of Deklin Kelly—pulled his wife in close and led her into a smooth, practiced two-step. Sasha's grace clearly didn't come only from being an incubus.

_From a tugboat, on the river going slow  
A cement bag is dropping on down  
You know that cement is for the weight dear  
You can make a large bet mackies back in town_

From what Dean knew of normal human infants, six weeks was a little young to really know what was going on or even see all that clearly, but baby Sasha sure seemed to be looking towards his parents just like the adult version was. Deklin sang, dancing like someone who had learned how back when dancing was the way youth rebelled. Deklin had been a teenager in the 50s so that was just about right.

_My man louis miller, he split the scene babe  
After drawing out all the bread from his stash  
Now macheath spends—_

A buzzer went off in the kitchen, startling both of them so that Deklin cut off mid-verse and the couple almost tumbled against the back of the couch. They laughed long and hard after that. Until little Sasha started wailing again.

"Oh," Solaris said down to the boy, looking all kinds of motherly, "I suppose that means you're done for now, baby, but don't think you'll get off so easy next time." She pulled out of Deklin's lingering hold and went to lift her son from the blanket. He quieted as soon as he was safe in her arms.

"Hey now," Deklin said, "That's not fair at all."

"What?" Solaris blinked back at him.

"Now I look like the bad guy and you swoop in to be the hero. That's not right. He'll still be mad at _me_." Deklin was wearing an honest pout and it made Dean chuckle a little again. Dean would never have guessed this man was actually around fifty. Deklin acted much more like the twenty-five he looked. That had to have been one of the reasons Solaris fell for him, Dean figured. A man who never let himself feel his age was a perfect fit to be an incubus.

"I don't think he thinks that hard on it yet, Dek," said Solaris, "He'll forget he even had tummy time in a minute and you'll still be his favorite. Aren't you Daddy's little boy?" she cooed at her son.

There went another tear into Dean's heart. He just knew that his empathy-crazed little brother was feeling the same way and that Sasha had to be howling inside.

There were times when Dean felt like he had had that life, even after Mom was gone and they were all hunting. That's why he clung to _those_ memories and let Sam dwell on the more often bad times. At least the Winchester boys had something of good times in their pasts. This tiny glimpse was as close as Sasha would ever get to knowing either of his parents.

Dean was about ready to call to Sasha that they really needed to move on. The sun was up, time was waning, and they were still no closer to solving this mystery. They shouldn't have let themselves get so wrapped up in their pasts to begin with, but then maybe they were right in assuming taking the tour was the best way to figuring things out. Dean certainly wouldn't have wanted to start off on the wrong foot only to regret it later. Now, however, it was time to finish the hunt.

"Tell me to stop."

The quiet plea was so sudden that Dean wasn't sure at first who said it.

"Tell me to stay," Deklin went on, walking up to stand before wife and son and looking all sorts of uncharacteristic distraught, "Tell me to let it stay just like this. And I'll do it. I'll quit. Life will be hard enough on him with what he is."

"Deklin…" Solaris looked just as suddenly troubled, the son in her arms finally looking tired and read for his overdue nap.

"Just say it and I will. You know I will."

"I'd never ask that," Solaris cut right back in, her red brow furrowed, "I'd never ask you to stop being what you are. This is something you need to do. I fell in love with a hunter. As crazy and dangerous and plain stupid as that was, it was right. I knew what I was getting into."

"But how can I raise him like that?" Deklin said forlornly, "We'll always be in danger, more than we would just by being something other than human. I don't want him growing up only knowing that, thinking he has to be like me. God, I'd wish him any life other than mine."

That seemed like such a blow that Dean felt it on Sasha's behalf. But looking at the older version, who had since stood up near his family, Sasha didn't look bothered by what Deklin had said. He had the sad smile, sure, no way around it, but there was something else. Something like inevitability. And Dean found himself envying Sasha more than he ever had.

It was an opposite life to the one Dean had led. Sasha chose to be a hunter and would never regret that even though he has now heard his father say that he wished something better for him. Dean never got that. Dean never got a choice. He knows he wouldn't have chosen anything different, but that chance was never even presented. Dean's father expected it. His father practically demanded it.

"Everyone makes their own choices, Deklin," Solaris said, smiling softly and reaching out to stroke her husband's cheek while she cradled her boy in the other arm.

"But what if he hates me for it?"

That was the moment Dean really understood the difference between his father and Sasha's. Deklin asked that question. If John ever had, Dean certainly never knew about it, and the answer hadn't been enough to stop vengeance from leading their lives. It made Dean wonder for one whole second if he would trade that part of his life with Sasha. It took him half that time to know the answer.

Never. Knowing John Winchester, hard as things were and resentful as Dean allowed himself to be sometimes, was better than never knowing him. Dean couldn't' judge his father because he didn't know how that felt. Losing everything—oh Dean knew that. But not really. Not _everything_. Not the loss of love like John lost when he lost Mary. That was something Dean hoped he never lived to understand.

"I could never hate you…" came Sasha's broken whisper like something so private Dean felt invading for having overheard it.

However Solaris responded Dean didn't hear, but Deklin was kissing his wife's temple now and then bent a little to kiss baby Sasha too.

"We…we have to go, right…?" Sasha asked, turning back to the door with tears in his eyes. Apparently, all that had been just one step too far for him.

Next to Dean, Sam smiled, all reassuring with the 'I'm here for you' look that Dean often mocked but loved at moments like this. "Yeah, we really should. After this it should go faster though. None of us can move past this room for memories. Dean?"

It took Dean a moment to understand why Sam was prompting _him_. Sasha was coming towards them and the incubus paused before stepping out of the room. In the end Sasha didn't look back before exiting. That meant it was Dean's turn. He had a twenty-five years ago. Sam didn't.

Dean wanted this over quickly because he knew exactly what he would see and he really didn't want to feel any lower than he already did. He wanted to grab Sasha by the back of the neck and kiss him until the incubus stopped looking so shattered. He couldn't yet though. They didn't have time. And time seemed to be the key with this place.

Casting Sasha one long look of affection, Dean saw an answering smile but still wished he could do more. He turned to the room and stepped over the threshold. The momentary white room changed again, this time into a bedroom. It was early morning so still a little dark. Dean could barely see but he knew it was his parents sleeping there.

Both of them.

The door to their bedroom cracked open and a little blonde four-year-old snuck inside. At first he was careful and sneaky about things, but as soon as he got to the foot of the bed, he scrambled up on top of the covers and pounced towards the larger figure. Dean expected John to wake up with a start, but apparently the ex-Marine was ready for this attack. Just as little Dean lunged forward John was up, flipping the boy over onto the mattress and tickling him mercilessly.

"Daddy!"

"Gotta plan those sneak-attacks better, Dean-O, or you'll never get one up on your old man," John laughed with that wide dimpled grin Dean wished he had seen more of in life.

Then what Dean didn't want to deal with happened. The other figure in bed sat up too, more tired looking but still radiant and smiling just as Dean remembered her. "Caught again, huh?" she said.

"Mama, help!" little Dean said through giggles, writhing on the bed as John continued his tickle assault.

"Oh, no," Mary said, "You got yourself into that mess. You can get out of it." She grinned and swung her feet over the edge of the bed and eased herself up onto her feet. It was easier than it would be over the next three months, though she was still fairly pregnant at this point, the bulge of a waiting Sammy making Mary's white nightgown stretch out in front of her. "Ooo," she said, sitting immediately back down on the edge of the mattress. She brought a hand to her stomach. "Someone's riled up this morning. I think your brother wants to say hi, honey."

By now John had ceased tickling and was wrestling more playfully with Dean on the bed. He let up when Mary said that and allowed Dean to scramble over to his mother's side. "Guess he's anxious to join in on all the fun, hey, pal?" John said.

Young Dean looked positively transfixed by his mother's stomach. When Mary took his little hand and placed it on a particular spot, Dean gave a jump as he felt the baby kick. He stared up into Mary's face with a wide smile. "I felt the baby, Mama."

"Can you say hi back, honey?"

"Hi, Sammy," little Dean said right away, real loud right next to Mary's stomach, sure in his four-year-logic that the baby could hear and understand him, "I wan' pancakes for breakfast. You wan' pancakes?" Dean jumped again when Sammy kicked. "He said yes, Mama!"

"Nice try, wise-guy," John said, reaching over to haul Dean up and over onto his own lap.

"Well," Mary said, standing up again and this time staying that way, "He did kick again. I suppose we might be able to do pancakes."

"Yay! Pancakes!"

Mary and John both laughed at Dean's exuberance. "You better help then," John said, getting out of bed with Dean lifted up into his arms, "What happened to that rule about no getting up before seven on a Saturday, huh?"

The real Dean had seen enough of the domestic scene. He had enough 'if onlys' to last him three lifetimes. Seeing things like this made him think too much about what might have been and that could lead nowhere good. That kind of thinking is what got Dean in trouble with the djinn. Dean wondered sometimes how different his perfect life would be if he ever ran into a djinn again. He was pretty sure that the model for his favorite beer would no longer be Mrs. Right.

Dean turned to head out of the room before the young Winchester family could head off down to the kitchen and came face to face with that twin puppy stare boring into him from the doorway. He really hated it when they did that at the same time. It was surely enough to undo the cosmos.

"Enough already, geez," Dean couldn't help saying, since he had had _enough_ of the emotional crap what with last night's yellow-eyes scare. This walk down memory lane shit was far worse. They really needed a night out again. One that didn't end in run-ins with angry incubi or crazed hunters trying to kill them. "Onward march, boys," Dean said, pushing both Sam and Sasha in the chest when he reached the doorway, "Got people to save and a crazy house to stop. Move it."

Looking a little put out, Sam and Sasha obeyed, heading off further down the hallway towards the next door. Dean took one last moment to look over his shoulder—the way Sasha hadn't been able to do—and just stared at his pregnant, living, breathing mother. John and little Dean were already at the bedroom door, heading out. Mary lingered. She paused, placed her hand on her stomach again and smiled as if the baby was still kicking.

Dean knew that the woman in the scene couldn't hear him, but he hoped the real thing could, wherever she was.

"I got him, Mama," he whispered as quietly as he could, "And I'm not gonna let anything happen to him."

Sasha and Sam were waiting for Dean at the entrance to the next room. They were staring up at the inscription above the door with concerned faces.

"What?" Dean pressed, "Different than the others."

"No, not that," Sasha said, his brow crinkling, "It's just…it says thirty just like we thought it would. But then…we're not sure if we should go in."

"Why not?" Dean shrugged, pushing past them, "None of us have memories back that far so there's nothing to see." Dean stepped right into the room and both Sam and Sasha cried out after him. Dean turned back to stare at them and shrugged. "What?" he said again. The room was just another white square. Obviously, it didn't change into anything. Dean was twenty-nine not thirty.

A confused look passed over Sam. "Oh," he said, "We thought…well, we were worried maybe the spell went wrong if someone entered a room that went back older than they were. Guess not. You still should have waited though."

"Why?' Dean said. Sometimes the apparent 'brains' of the operation could be really dense. "If having people in a room with different memories confuses the house then obviously it wouldn't show anything if you aren't as old as the room. And if it _was_ what you were thinking then I doubt the cops would have been spared just by going into these rooms together. All of them under thirty, or under whatever as the rooms get higher, would have had to come out vegetables. They didn't. We're up for a whole floor of plain white rooms now. Bring on the fun." Dean headed further into the room and whipped the EMF back out for good measure. At least this part of the hunt should go faster. He just wanted to get to that third floor. That's where the answers really were. He was sure of it.

Sam and Sasha were both a little put-out again by Dean's logical conclusion having beaten out theirs, but they didn't say anything. The next fifteen rooms went by surprisingly fast, leading all the way up to one hundred in jumps of five years. The layout was similar to the first floor. That didn't actually make a lot of sense with how the house looked from the outside, but again they figured normal construction rules didn't apply with cursed buildings.

As they were finishing up the last room, Dean pressed the research twins for more info. He was getting anxious and wanted to make sure they were all prepared before heading upstairs.

"Okay, so let me make sure I got this," he said, "This place was originally just a family house built way back when. Our dead curator's father, Williams Hollander Senior, turned the place into a museum for tours in 1948 when he was still a young guy. He died in the early 90s, leaving the house to his son, who continued the tours. When did the incidents start?"

"1948," Sasha said, leaning back against one of the plain white walls of the room, "About a month after the tours first started. Even back then they were private. Neither Hollander ever allowed the Historical Society to actually lay claim to the house. It was a private museum."

"For what?"

Sasha gaped at Dean a little. "For…the tours," he said lamely, "I guess it's never been stated to the public what the museum was for. People just assumed—"

"And that was their first mistake," Dean cut in, "Okay, so tours. They were pretty consistent over the years but only resulted in vegetables once in a while, meaning some people managed to get through this place fine. Why exactly did the police never tie the incidents with the Animus house?"

"That's the best part," Sam said. He and Dean gathered together over by Sasha. "When there was still a Hollander in charge, the people who didn't make it out of the house okay were found in their hotels or homes or somewhere else. There was no way to trace what happened to them here. Not enough hard evidence anyway. Which tells _me_…"

"They signed some kind of waver?" Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged. "Something like that."

"But then what about Mrs. 'I Saw My Husband's Ghost'? She saw a memory. She had to have known that. Why speak out."

"Maybe she didn't believe it," Sasha shrugged, "Even after signing something or promising something to Hollander. She didn't finish the tour. He probably thought good riddance. She only lived another year anyway. She was ninety-two."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. This was more frustrating than he wanted this early in the morning and he was sweaty from scouring so many rooms. "Okay, we've found the same thing for the last…what time is it?" he looked at his watch, "Shit, like two hours. Let's assume everyone on the tour always makes it through these rooms, looking in on their pasts until they get to the point they can't go back any further. Last step's the third floor. That's gotta be where our answer is."

There was obviously some anxiety over taking that next step though since they all knew what could potentially happen. They weren't cowards though, they were hunters, and risk to themselves was always part of the deal. Nodding to each other, the three boys headed out of the last room, back out onto the landing and started to climb the stairs.

There was no accompanying message scrawled at the top of the stair this time, but when they got to the third floor they came to a much smaller landing as if they had reached an attic. Before them were two close-set doors. Here there was a long message up high and then separate words directly above each door.

Sam used his flashlight since it was darker up here without any windows and started reading. "Look to the past and you move forward. Stay in the past and you stand still. Seek the future…and you shall fall behind."

"Great," Dean said. Poetic and all but, "What's it mean?"

"Well," Sasha supplied with a shrug, "I'd say it means…you should learn from your past without dwelling on it, and…if you think too much about the future you forget to live today. It's actually a pretty good lesson."

"With a nasty consequence," Dean snorted.

Sam was still pouring over the Latin. He brought his flashlight to look more closely at the words directly above each door. "_Iam_ could mean the present or now," he said, reading the word above the door on the left, "And advenio," he said about the door on the right, "could mean future. It usually means to come, to reach, to arrive. So it's like a riddle. And the answer is either Present or Future. Right. At what point does David Bowie declare his love for us again?"

Dean snorted. Sammy wasn't completely useless in the pop culture side of things. "At least the riddles in _Labyrinth_ actually get ya thinking," Dean said, "This one's easy. I'll take door #1, Wink," he said smacking Sam on the back.

"Yeah…" Sam said, but he wasn't looking at door #1.

"Hey," Dean insisted, pushing Sam a little harder this time, "Eyes on the prize. I'm sure after seeing the past a lot of people thought that glimpsing their future sounded like a fair deal. But we're not stupid, remember? It's pretty damn obvious that going through the future door, whether you get to see what it suggests or not, dumps you out on the other side a rug-rat. I don't know what the present door does, but if you ask me I say we make things simple."

Sasha and Sam turned to look at Dean expectantly.

With a grin, Dean took the small bottle of tighter fluid from his large leather coat pocket. They wouldn't need much to get a place like this going, old as it was and all wood. "We sanctify both doors and burn the place to the ground. We can sanctify the whole grounds afterwards if you want. That should nullify the spells and keep anyone knew from wandering in."

"But Dean," Sam objected, "We don't even know what the spells are. There are countless possibilities. This could be anything from basic witchcraft to idol worship or some kind of god. The power of this place may rest solely in memories but it's still great." Sam paused a moment, his brow crinkling like he was the biggest idiot in the world. "_Animus_ house. Animus can be Latin for memory. That…really should have dawned on me before now."

Dean snorted. "Who cares. _Memory_ House is going down. If it was just those rooms below I'd say, sweet, leave it be, but too many people would wonder through door #2 up here and we'd have even more cases like our Jane Doe and the others. It's a curse. Plain and simple. Sanctifying and burning the place should work."

"But…" Sam was looking at the future door again, "Think about this, Dean. Think what we might see. If we could harness this power instead of just destroying it—"

"Hey," Dean said sharply, grabbing the collar of Sam's coat, "You're the psychic boy, you figure out the 'I see the future' crap on your own time. You know better than to mess with curses."

"Maybe if we only _looked_ inside," Sasha suggested meekly.

Great, both of them now. "No. Will you two listen to yourselves. You're not taking that kind of risk just to see if there's some secret way to save me from Hell in there." Dean wasn't stupid. He knew what they were looking to the future for, and that's what would get them in trouble. In any other situation neither of them would be so foolhardy. That's what bothered Dean the most, that even common sense eluded them when saving him came into play.

Sam and Sasha both had downcast eyes because of course they knew how foolish even thinking about doing what they were suggesting actually was. For decades people had been making the wrong choice in this house, whether knowing the consequences or not. But they were hunters. There was no room for negotiation.

Dean walked up to Sasha, opening the incubus' new dark leather coat, and plucked the flask of holy water from his inside pocket. He turned to look at Sam then. "Book," he commanded, pointing towards Sam's jacket where their father's journal was safely tucked away, "We sanctify. We burn. We sanctify again. Just like any cursed spot. No _peeking_ allowed."

Reluctantly the others gave in to Dean's authority and everything seemed to be going fine at first. Sasha made a circle of salt around them on the landing to protect them from any safeguards the house might have. Dean sprinkled holy water on door #1 and Sam read the sanctifying spell. A curse didn't have to be demonic in nature for things like this to work. But anything that had a curse, even if only as a penalty for stupidity, had some dark magic to it, and a general sanctifying spell would be enough. Only a remaining living person or ghost of the initiator of the spells could nullify that. Both Hollanders were dead but the EMF had only gone off when faced with echoes of ghosts in the rooms.

Dean moved to door #2 and sprinkled this one with holy water as well. He nodded to Sam. The first word of Latin was barely out of Sam's mouth before the house started shaking.

"We have a winner!" Dean yelled over the noise, trying to steady his footing. He stared hard at Sam and the taller Winchester kept on reading. Dean wasn't going to waste any time. They were safe for now as long as they stayed inside the salt line. A cursed spot could be very much like a spook if it was put in place by someone powerful. Sometimes they even happened naturally, like most cold spots. Dean tossed Sasha the holy water and took the lighter fluid. He soaked both of the doors while Sam read. As soon as Sam was done they would light the place up and run for it.

They were all crouching lower to avoid falling as the shaking of the house intensified. The more Sam read the more the place shook, so much that they would almost think this was a demon attack if they didn't know better. The magic put into this place was strong all right and it did not want to give up its dominance over this spot.

Dean pulled out his lighter. He didn't smoke, but having a lighter sure came in handy in their line of work. Matches were too unpredictable. Marisol had pounded that one home.

There wasn't much left of the incantation to go but Sam was starting to lose his footing and his place in the book. Sasha moved carefully over to him and grabbed onto Sam's shoulders from behind to steady him. They were closer to door #2 while Dean was by door #1 with his lighter out, waiting.

Sam was two lines from the end of the spell when everything went sour.

The house shook more violently than ever, as if an earthquake was wracking the foundation, though they all knew that anyone passing outside the house would notice nothing out of the ordinary. It was such a violent tremor that Sasha slid back from his position behind Sam right into the salt line behind him. With the line broken the house gave a great shudder, an impossible wind rose up out of nowhere, and Dean went down. He had never cursed himself so much for being overly prepared. He had already readied the lighter. When he fell, the flame hit the floor and a blaze erupted.

The book flew from Sam's hands with the increasing wind. Sasha was still hanging onto Sam's shoulders even with his feet pushed back after sliding away. Dean tried to yell to them over the roar of the shaking house, but he couldn't even hear his own voice when it left him.

With a BANG both doors flew open away from each other so that the doors themselves slammed into the wall. All Dean could see was bright light emanating from both of them, like some crazy portals to god only knows where. He shielded his eyes and looked to Sam and Sasha, trying to yell louder this time because he couldn't move and the fire was already lapping towards his coat and climbing up the walls.

Sam and Sasha were staring into room #2 though, barely noticing the fire. Their eyes went wide as if suddenly seeing something unexpected. Before Dean had the chance to look as well and see what had them so frightened the wind spun into a vortex, lifting Sam and Sasha into the air and sucking them right into room #2 without ceremony.

Dean screamed but no sound came. This wasn't happening. He tried to move, tried to crawl, but the vortex spun towards him now, unseen but definitely felt, and lifted him into the air just as they had been. Dean was sucked away too but not towards where the others had gone. Dean flew towards the door closest to him. Door #1. White light may have been emanating from it before but when Dean went through the door marked 'present' everything went painfully black.

--

A pain in Dean's shoulder screamed as he came to. He had almost forgotten how it was still sore and bruised from being dislocated while all that mess was happening inside the Animus house.

_The house._

Dean's eyes sprung open and he immediately sat up, pain be damned. He was sore in a lot more places than just his shoulder, and it was no wonder. Dean was lying on the lawn of the Animus house in the early morning sun, not too far from the sidewalk. This was good considering if he had been any closer he might have gotten caught in the debris that was left of the building.

The whole place had collapsed and was still smoking from the fire. Thankfully, the walls coming down must have smothered the flames before they could spread too far. That would have been a comfort if Dean didn't know that Sam and Sasha were buried somewhere amongst all that.

He thought for a brief moment that maybe that had been expelled like he had, but there was no sign of them. They had to be in the rubble. Dean didn't even think, he just ran, straight for where he thought made most sense for them to be after being sucked into the future room. As Dean scrambled forward, he couldn't help noticing how there didn't seem to be enough debris to make up that whole house, like maybe half of it had been sucked away into nothing.

Oh, god. Dean didn't want to think that that's what had happened to the others. He would rather find them broken and bloody than just find nothing.

"Sammy! Sasha!" he screamed as he climbed over on top of everything in search of some sign as to where they might be. At least it was still early so that no one seemed to be around. That didn't mean a house collapsing wouldn't bring company quick. He had to find them. "Sammy! Sasha!" he called again.

Dean spotted movement to his right and started scrambling that way. He reached the spot he thought he had seen shifting wood and started tossing pieces away. His shoulder burned with the effort. Dean had to lift what was left of a door and since none of the memory rooms had had doors attached, he guessed it was from the future room. Underneath that was a piece of broken wood from the 1st floor. He could still see the Latin and the number 'twenty' that had been above one of those rooms.

"Sammy!" Dean continued to call as he dug. He was so relieved when he finally spotted a hand and the cuff of Sam's jacket that he broke into a grin. As he was pushing and tossing more rubble away he noticed that the rubble was pushing up towards him too. That meant Sam was conscious. Sam was okay. "Sammy!" Dean cried in relief as he finally reached his brother. It shouldn't have been possible but Sam only looked dirty and out of breath. He didn't even have any cuts on him. "Jesus, are you okay? _How_ are you okay?"

Sam was breathing very heavy and his eyes were as wide as Dean had ever seen them. He stared right at Dean, wild. "I…I don't know. What happened? Ev—" he cringed as he tried to move, "Everything hurts."

Of course Dean worried about internal injuries—Sam had just survived a house collapsing down around him—but then maybe being sucked into that room had somehow protected him. "Just…don't try to move for a minute, okay? Let me look at you." Dean reached towards his brother's face first even though it was obviously fine. He was surprised when Sam flinched before he could touch him.

Those hazel eyes were still wide, still staring at Dean, but now they looked as if they were trying to place Dean's face, like…they didn't know if they recognized him. "Dad…?" Sam said softly.

Dean's hand froze. "What? You…trying to be funny or something?" Dean half grinned. The expression fell flat though because the look on Sam's face was way too serious.

Sam started shaking his head and trying to scoot back away from Dean. "You…you're not my Dad," he said, his voice sounding small and frightened like Dean could barely remember hearing in the last who knows how many years.

"Sammy…" Dean called forlornly, "Hey…it's me. Of course it's not Dad. It's _Dean_. You know it's Dean." Even as Dean said that last line he wasn't sure if he believed it. Sam looked at him like looking at a stranger. "Sammy…"

Again, Sam scooted away when Dean tried to reach for him, shaking his head more fiercely. "You're not Dean. You…you can't be. Dean's only nine."

_Nine_. Lightning struck Dean's heart and everything stopped. Dean had to stay calm. "Sam," he said slowly, "How old do you think you are?" He asked the question but he knew this couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening.

"I…I'm four," Sam said, looking around with terrified, childlike eyes, "Where's Dad? Where's my dad?" He tried to scramble up onto his feet but couldn't get any real footing with all the wreckage beneath him. He ended up on his knees and flinched when Dean dropped in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean said, forcing himself to sound stern but also supportive. He couldn't panic. He needed to get things as under control as possible. The cops could be coming. Anyone could be coming. He had to get Sam and Sasha and get out of here until he figured things out. "Just believe me, Sam, please. You're not four. You're _twenty_-four, almost twenty-five." Dean thought of the piece of wood with the word 'twenty' on it as he said that. Twenty. Twenty years ago Sam was…four. "Look at yourself," Dean insisted when Sam tried to pull away.

Scared as he was, Sam listened, probably automatically since both of them could sound so much like Dad when they were being commanding. Those hazel eyes went even wider if possible as they took in the sight of the large body that belonged to Sam Winchester. "I…I'm all big."

A morbid part of Dean might have laughed but none of this was funny. "You're all grown up, Sammy, and I _am_ Dean. You just need to trust me right now, okay? There's a friend of ours around here too and he might be hurt. I have to find him. Can you…can you just stay here and stay calm for me? Please, Sammy." Dean knew this was asking a lot of a not-quite five-year-old.

Sam looked up at Dean again and searched his face so hard that Dean almost felt invaded. It was the kind of open look only kids could give because they didn't understand tact or comfort zones. Sam still looked scared and unsure but Dean saw the moment when Sam calmed. "You…you look like Dad and Dean. You're Dean all big like me?"

Dean tried not to let the anguish he was feeling show in his expression. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm Dean all grown up. Just like you. Can you just…can you just sit here while I look for Sasha?"

A plank of wood went flying into the air from a spot right next to them and both Winchesters flinched away to the side, falling onto their hips. A hand was pushing out of the rubble and Dean recognized the dark brown of Sasha's leather jacket.

Trusting that Sam would at least stay put, Dean dropped his grip on his brother and moved over to this new spot. Sasha had come out pretty much right next to Sam it seemed. Dean called to his friend as he dug him out, so relieved again, because even if he found Sasha in the same state, at least both of them were alive.

Finally, there was that red hair Dean loved so much and bright blue eyes staring up at Dean, looking just as wild and frightened as Sam had looked. _Still_ looked. Sasha didn't even try to speak or ask questions though. He stared at Dean and shrunk away, scrambling out of his hole in the rumble like a scared animal.

"No, no, no, wait!" Dean called. He couldn't risk Sasha running for it. "Wait," he said calmly, catching Sasha's gaze and holding it, "It's okay. I'm a friend. We're _friends_. You're Sasha Kelly. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm just trying to help you. Can you…can you tell me how old you are?" He didn't want to ask but he had to. He wasn't at all surprised by the incubus' answer either.

In a voice almost too soft and small for Dean to hear, Sasha said, "F-Five," and his eyes darted over to Sam and then back to Dean, showing just how unsure he was that he could trust these strangers.

Four and five. They had both been underneath that 'twenty years ago' part of the spells. Dean couldn't help being thankful. If they hadn't fallen through the building when it went they probably would have come out like the others at age zero. At least Dean could reason with them at these ages. At least they could walk and talk.

But right now they had to get moving. Dean wanted to stay, wanting to sanctify the rest of the grounds and maybe finish what they started to get Sam and Sasha back to normal. But the last thing they needed was for the cops to show up halfway and take Sam and Sasha into custody. Who knows what would happen to them then. Dean could lose them forever to the state as mentally handicapped or who knows what. This was a nightmare.

"There's no time to explain, but you have to trust me," Dean said to Sasha, who thankfully looked just as uninjured as Sam aside from being sore, "You're not five. You're an adult but something happened to you. I'm your friend and I'm gonna help you figure it out, okay?"

Sasha was still looking wildly between Sam and Dean and Dean knew that if he made the wrong move he might lose Sasha. If the incubus got up and ran, or heaven forbid _flew_, Dean might never catch him. But as Sasha looked down at himself to find an adult body, he looked much as Sam had—scared but more inclined to believe that things were messed up.

"Yeah, I know this is weird," Dean said, "But me and my brother Sammy here, we know about this stuff. We're hunters."

_Wrong_ thing to say. Sasha immediately blanched with a look of pure terror and rolled onto his front to try and scramble away.

"No!" Dean called, diving forward and just barely grabbing onto Sasha's ankle, "Hunters like your dad!" Dean amended, "Good hunters. Friends." Dean knew he couldn't stress that enough, but thankfully referencing Sasha's father seemed to do the trick. The incubus stopped trying to get away and looked back over his shoulder at Dean. "Yeah," Dean said, "Like your dad. We know what you are but we're your friends. You hunt with us. Well, actually, right now Sammy's in the same boat as you," Dean gestured over to his brother, "See, he looks all grown up too, right? But he thinks he's just shy of five. The same thing happened to both of you and you're gonna need my help to get better. Please. We have to get out of here."

Dean reluctantly released Sasha's ankle, relieved when the redhead stayed where he was. He looked from Sasha to Sam and back again. They were just scared little kids but something in their faces told Dean that they trusted him. They were smart enough to realize something was wrong and Dean was the only one who could help. If that's the only grace Dean was offered right now then he'd take it.

"Okay, now our car is parked down the street. We have to get to it and get out of here before any…any bad guys show up. See…they'll try and take you away and…and you won't know anybody. I know I seem like a stranger but I'm not. You gotta come with me."

There were so many questions both of them wanted to ask, Dean could tell. Kids were always like that but this was a special circumstance. This was different. Bigger. Therefore, Dean could have kissed them both when they got to their feet on wobbly legs, unused to maneuvering such large bodies, and gave him little nods of approval.

"Good," Dean smiled, standing as well and reaching out for Sasha to take his hand, "You _know_ you can trust me."

The incubus hesitated, his head lowered like he was the shyest thing in the world, but he took a step towards Dean and grabbed his hand anyway. Dean led Sasha back closer to Sam then and reached out with his other hand to his brother.

They probably painted the strangest picture—three young men walking down the street _holding hands_. If the others had the bodies of five year olds it would have been sweet. But even if they did look strange, Dean knew it would make Sam and Sasha feel safer to have the physical contact, and frankly it made him feel safer too. He felt as if letting them go would mean losing them forever, and no matter how bleak things looked right now, Dean could not let that happen.

tbc...

A/N: I said this arc was called Children, didn't I? ;-) All right now, people, you really need to head on over to deangirl1 and read her companion fics. She'll have a new one up soon and it is so hysterical and hot at the same time. As always, feel free to check the website that I have been pretty good about updating and can be reached through my author profile. Otherwise, HAPPY JUNE! Six weeks to go til wedding time, two showers done and two more to go there, and...man! I must really love this story to be so addicted for you guys amidst all the wedding stuff. Thankfully, my honey understands. Now if I can just get him to draw me that picture of Sasha he promised...

Reviews are LOVE!

Crim


	37. Part 7: Babysitter

Part 7: Babysitter

--

As long as Dean remained calm he knew he could fix this. He just had to stay calm. And. Fix. This. Sanctifying the rest of the grounds still seemed like the best bet, especially since Sam never actually finished the job before things went bad.

Bad. Right. Bad didn't even begin to describe the situation. Dean had two grown men with the mental capacity of five-year-olds in his car. The strange thing had been when both of them went for their usual doors. Maybe there was still some sense memory left. That didn't actually make Dean feel any better about this. A five-year-old Sammy wouldn't have powers and a five-year-old Sasha would have few. But if their bodies remembered otherwise then things could get complicated real fast.

For right now Dean concentrated on keeping an eye on them. And it was a sharp eye too. When about halfway to the motel Sam shifted uncomfortably in the front seat only to reach back and pull out the piece that had been tucked securely into his jeans Dean immediately snatched it away.

"Easy rule, Sammy. What is it?" Dean said, slipping the gun under his seat.

Sam's eyes were bugged out from having found the gun at all. "Never play with guns," he replied, a trained response John had taught him early since there was always a chance the youngest Winchester might find one.

"That's right," Dean nodded. He glanced up at Sasha in the rearview mirror. "I'm gonna need yours too, pal," he said. Dean wasn't oblivious to how his speech patterns were changing as he talked to them. It just came so natural to talk that way when he saw their wide wobbly eyes. It took the puppy look to a whole new level.

Sasha's was in true form too, his head slightly lowered and his body hunched like he wanted to curl into a ball and hide. He reached to the back of his jeans hesitantly and found a gun just as Sam had. His hands shook when he passed it up to Dean.

"Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of you guys," Dean said reassuringly, turning his head back to Sasha just long enough to smile and then placing Sasha's gun under his seat with Sam's, "We just…we just gotta figure this out. We'll have to move to another motel too. The one we're at now knows you guys as…well, normal. Safer to find a new one."

"M-Motel…?" Sasha's uncharacteristically soft voice stuttered from the back seat.

Dean glanced up at the mirror again and caught Sasha's frightened expression. This was a five-year-old _incubus_ he was dealing with. There was a whole other world of anxieties Sasha was facing that Sam wasn't. It made Dean's stomach turn to think that Sasha was caught somewhere between really trusting him and fearing him.

Thinking quickly of a way to comfort the redhead, Dean reached across to flip Sam's visor down where there was a small mirror.

"Hey, take a look at yourselves, huh," Dean said, nodding up at the rearview mirror for Sasha to look too. They both obeyed, curiosity getting the better of them most likely, and stared at their unfamiliar reflections. Sam touched his whole face, pushing fingertips into his cheeks like the whole thing had to be a mask.

"I look like Dad too," Sam grinned. Family resemblance was definitely helping Sam in the trust department, but Dean had to go a step further for Sasha.

"You look more like Dad than me, I think," Dean smiled back at his brother. He looked up to catch Sasha then, who was still gauging the image of himself in the mirror and touching his face like Sam had. Dean already had his phone out and was covertly searching through pictures. When he found the one he wanted he passed it over to Sam first. "Check that out," he said.

Sam was at first awed by the phone itself, this being 2008 not 1988. Then his whole face lit up as his eyes fell upon the picture. "It's us!" he cried happily, and without Dean having to prompt him he passed the phone back to Sasha.

Those same shaky hands accepted the phone and while Sasha's eyes did widen it wasn't a look of excitement like Sam was still wearing. It was pure wonder. "That's me…" he said, touching a finger to the screen. It was a picture Dean had taken during his birthday before the trouble started. It was at an awkward angle since Dean had simply stretched his arm out to fit them all into it. All three of them were visible though, Sasha in the middle with an arm around both brothers. They were smiling.

"See," Dean said, "Friends. I'm not going to hurt you," he said to Sasha's reflection. Bright, watery blue eyes looked up at him. "I'm not going to do anything to you but try and get your brains back to the age of your bodies. Shit," Dean said suddenly. He'd almost run a red light for one. He'd also just remembered something. "You guys got any knives on you? Any other weapons? Give yourselves a pat down. I don't want you cutting yourselves."

The response from the others was equally confused and shocked stares. Dean was pulling into the motel finally. He had passed another one on the way that would do well enough for them to move to.

"What?" Dean pressed, since they were both just looking at him.

It was Sam who replied with a whispered, "You swore."

God damn it. Dean tried not to grit his teeth. He had to remind himself that he was in the company of little kids; he had to be as patient and kind as possible. "Sorry, Sammy. I'll try not to do that," he said evenly, "Now can you two pat yourselves down?" Dean pulled into a spot in the motel's lot and shifted into PARK, but when he looked at the others again they were still staring at him. "Here. Like this," Dean said, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning towards Sam. He placed the flat of his palms on Sam's chest and gave two firm pats. "You just pat down your body like this and see if you feel anything under your clothes that isn't…_you_."

Dean basically did Sam's pat down for him then, from Sam's chest, down his stomach, and then down his legs too. Sam squirmed the whole time as if it tickled.

"Actually," Dean said, opening Sam's jacket and reaching into one of his pockets. Sam usually kept extra weapons in more accessible places and indeed Dean pulled out a fairly good sized knife.

Sam gaped.

"Don't worry, Sammy. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right?" Dean opened the glove box and quickly stored Sam's knife in there.

"I know, Dean. You're my brother," Sam said in a small voice. When Dean looked at him though, Sam's smile was wide and blinding, filled with the pure, untainted love of a child. Dean had forgotten how Sam used to look at him like that. These days those looks came with a helping of sorrow, desperation, and sometimes even pity, and it marred them more than Dean could stand.

There was a sudden tinny thud from behind them. Dean turned to look back and saw that Sasha was shaking, staring at the knife he must have just found and then dropped between the seats.

Dean immediately reached to pick the knife up, looking on sympathetically at what was so clearly the _little boy_ in his backseat. Sasha just looked so scared. Dean hated to see fear on the face of someone he knew was usually so strong.

"Careful. Careful, it's okay," Dean said slow and steady to Sasha, "I think this one's iron so you gotta watch out."

Those too blue eyes stretched wide and Sasha gathered his feet up onto the seat, trying to hug himself into a ball. His body was too large for him to really do it though and he just looked so desperately sad.

"It's okay," Dean said again, quickly disposing of Sasha's knife in the glove box next to Sam's. When Dean turned back to Sasha, however, there were tears filling the incubus' eyes and he was shaking harder. "Sasha…" Dean tried, reaching for one of Sasha's knees.

The redhead flinched back and pressed himself against the door. "I wanna go home…" he said pitifully, his tears breaking like a dam finally and falling freely.

"It's okay, Sasha," only it was Sam speaking this time not Dean, "Dean's a good big brother. He can help. You don't hafta be scared. We're friends in the picture, 'member?"

Dean had a sudden flash from his childhood when he and Sammy had snuck off to a town fair. They went on a ride together that went up real high and Dean had gotten scared. Waiting out the rest of the ride little Sammy spent the whole time rubbing Dean's arm and saying, "It's okay, Dean. Don't cry. It's not scary."

That same soothing voice accompanied by Sam's dimpled smile seemed to work on Sasha too. The incubus stared at Dean's phone that was lying next to him in the backseat. It was still open, still displaying that same picture. Sasha reached out for it with trembling fingers and looked at the image again. "We're…friends," he said softly, touching the screen of Dean's phone, "But I'm an incubus," only the word came out sounding more like 'inky-bus' and Dean tried not to laugh, "You don't…you don't c-care?"

Reaching back farther so that this time he succeeded when he grabbed hold of one of Sasha's knees, Dean forced his eyes to look as soft and kind as he could. "Not even a little, pal. In fact, I think it's kinda cool," Dean admitted with a smirk, "Never been a doubt you're a good guy. That's all that matters. _Friends_ mean that's all that matters."

This time Sasha relaxed under Dean's touch instead of shrinking away. He nodded meekly and tried to smile back at Dean, still so obviously timid. "Okay. Dean. S-Sam. No need…to be scared." Sasha nodded again as if he was convincing himself.

"No need to be scared at all," Dean affirmed, "Or any need to be all quiet, either. Hard to believe even a five-year-old incubus would ever be shy."

A blush spread across Sasha's cheeks. He uncurled and placed his feet on the floor of the Impala again, allowing Dean's hand to move to the top of his thigh where it patted a few times supportively. "My aunt says…she says I-I'll…grow out of it."

Dean couldn't help smirking at that. "You do. Believe me."

"Dean?" interjected Sam.

Pulling his hand back from Sasha's thigh, Dean turned to his brother.

"What's an incubus?"

Crap. "Uhh…look. Let's just get through closing things out at the motel first. We can talk more when we get to the new one. I just need to settle the bill. You guys stay here." Dean was about to turn off the engine but considering how cold it was in late January in Maine, he decided to leave the car running.

One thing Dean couldn't have been more grateful for was that they had gotten into the habit of keeping their things mostly packed and taking everything with them if all of them were going to be gone from their current hotel at one time. The need for quick getaways was too great. They'd learned that the hard way.

This place was small and unique in that it hadn't made them pay up front. Dean would have been fine with ditching the bill completely if they weren't going to be staying in town for what he hoped was only a few days more than originally planned.

"You're leaving us?" Sasha asked in a small, breathy voice, frightened all over again.

"Just for a couple minutes. Can't risk taking you in with me and having to answer questions. The next place will be different. I just gotta pay. Now I normally wouldn't think it was a good idea to leave two five-year-olds alone in a car for even _one_ minute, but you guys are gonna behave for me, right?"

Sasha and Sam looked too nervous to do anything but nod.

"Good. And you don't have to worry about anyone trying to kidnap you. Anyone looks in here you know what they're gonna find?" Dean asked, not really expecting an answer, "Two rough-looking guys, that's what. No one can tell you're kids. Just give me five minutes. Look at the rest of the pictures on my phone. You just press the button there," Dean reached back and showed Sasha how, who still had the phone clutched in his hand, "You guys can get to know each other. You don't have to tell Sam what an incubus is if you don't want to," he added to Sasha.

In an instant Sam had on the most ridiculous pout.

"You already know, you just don't remember," Dean said in exasperation, "And the last thing I need right now is for you two to freak out on each other."

Now Sam looked even more curious and maybe a little worried.

Dean sighed. He smiled at Sasha quickly before turning his attention back on Sam. "Think of it as a big secret that nobody knows but us. You can't tell anyone. Normally, you know what an incubus is and you're fine with it, but it'll be different…harder for you to understand at this age. If he does tell you…" Dean flicked his eyes to Sasha again who just looked sort of frozen, "Just…just remember it doesn't change that he's our friend. _Five minutes_," Dean reminded them and got out of the car.

To be honest Dean didn't care how well-behaved they might be or that passerbys would see them as adults; he did not want to leave them alone. Therefore, he made quick work of settling the bill for their one night stay and hurried back to the car.

Dean breathed relief as soon as he could see them. Sam had climbed into the back with Sasha and they were chatting excitedly while looking at the pictures on Dean's phone. Well, Sam was chatting excitedly. Sasha was smiling and saying things occasionally, but he still had his head slightly bowed.

As soon as Dean could go back to the Animus house, he would sanctify the grounds, read the incantation, and everything would be…

Dean stopped dead in his tracks only a few feet from the car. The journal. Dad's journal. It had flown out of Sam's hands. Dean never dug it out of the wreckage, if it was even still in tact. He couldn't sanctify anything without that incantation. Dean had wanted to avoid calling Bobby on this one but now he might have no choice. Bobby had to have a sanctifying spell in his library somewhere.

Wiping a hand over his face, Dean tried not to think about it right now. He wouldn't be able to go back to the Animus house until at the earliest nightfall. Until then he would just have to put up with the rugrats. At least they were getting along.

"All set," Dean said as he slid into the driver's seat. He glanced into the back and saw that Sam and Sasha both had curious looks on their faces while staring at the phone. He couldn't see what picture they were looking at. "What's up?" he said.

Sam's brow furrowed and he took the phone from Sasha. "These pictures are weird, Dean. What's this one?" Sam turned the phone around and it held it out towards Dean's face.

_Shit_. Dean really should have remembered those pictures were still on there. He immediately snatched the phone out of Sam's hand. "They're, uhh…nothing important. Just goofing around. You guys ready to go?" Dean shifted into REVERSE to get out of the parking spot and deposited his phone back into his jacket pocket.

Those pictures were far from nothing. They were from right after leaving the Roadhouse when they went to Texas. While investigating for demons, Dean and Sasha had both gotten caught at a crime scene when the cops showed up for a final once-over. They had been on opposite floors, keeping in contact on their cell phones. Sam wasn't with them, having gone to the coroner's office. When the cops came, Sasha and Dean bolted into different closets to wait them out. They had immediately turned their phones to silent and started texting.

After a period of nothing from the redhead with Dean getting more and more bored waiting for the cops to clear out, a new picture message had suddenly vibrated in Dean's pocket. He looked and saw that it was a close-up of Sasha's grin. Dean had almost laughed aloud when he saw it. Then another picture came, this next one of Sasha's collarbone. The pictures continued to pour in, a minute or so apart, and Dean started to notice how each one was lower and lower down Sasha's body. Finally there was a picture of Sasha's pelvic tattoo, the incubus having rolled his shirt up so that he could hold the phone and still have a free hand to tug down his jeans a little. It was low enough for there to even be a tiny bit of bright red hair visible.

And of course that was the picture the five-year-olds found. Dean was just happy they hadn't gotten to the next one. That would have been awkward. Any further past that wouldn't have been much better, because they would have found the picture of Dean and Sasha kissing that Jo forwarded to him. Dean just didn't think he had it in him to explain to a couple kids the details of all that, even if Sasha _was_ an incubus and probably knew more about that stuff than little Sammy.

Sam put on his seatbelt and stayed in the back with Sasha. Sasha put his seatbelt back on too. At least Dean had what were probably the best behaved five-year-olds in existence. "Okay, now when we get to the new motel," Dean said, "Just follow my lead."

--

The new motel was a lot like the first one actually. Small, cozy, family run. Only this place was smart enough that they _did_ require payment up front. Dean had left all of their things in the car to be brought in after they acquired a room, but this time he had brought the 'kids' inside with him. He knew that in some situations it was better to be completely up front about things to avoid questions later. Dean didn't say anything specific about his companions to the demurely pretty clerk at the front desk, he just let Sam and Sasha be themselves and waited for her to comment.

"Your car's really cool, Dean," Sasha said in that strangely soft voice he had with his childlike mentality. He was peering out the window at the Impala while Dean waited for the clerk to grab them the keys to their room. Dean had obviously only gotten one.

"That's not Dean's car," Sam spoke up immediately. He was sitting in a chair in the small lobby, stretching out his long legs and lifting them off the ground like they were the coolest thing ever. "It's our Dad's. Right, Dean?"

Dean felt a stab of pain strike his chest. There were just so many things he took for granted that Sam knew, when in actuality there was no end to all the painful, horrible things this version of Sammy didn't know. "It's my car now, buddy," Dean said, making sure he talked as though talking to children, and not just for Sam and Sasha's sake, "Dad got himself a big black monster of a truck. You'd love it." Dean had no intention of telling Sammy that Dad was dead.

"Cool!" Sam exclaimed.

"Here are your keys, Mr. Crawford," the clerk said with a sweet smile, handing three sets of keys over to Dean. Dean had made sure to choose a card that still referred to him as 'Dean' but luckily even five-year-old Sam knew not to ask questions if the last name didn't fit.

The clerk was actually kind of cute in that schoolgirl, bookish, shy sort of way. Dean liked to think he had a place in his heart for all types of women. Well, he used to. This particular girl looked a year or two out of college, had a short blonde pixie cut with a slight curl, and had very pretty blue-green eyes. She was tall too. Dean couldn't help tossing her his signature grin and instead of a simple blush, the girl's whole face went red. She looked immediately embarrassed by it too.

"You know," she said, probably to change the subject and distract Dean from her reddened face—which he actually thought made her look even cuter, "It's really sweet that you take care of them. Your brother and…is he a friend, I guess? Seems like this must be a special outing for you guys. Do they usually live in a home?"

Dean returned the clerk's smile. He knew she would immediately think that Sam and Sasha were 'special' in some way, and judging by most rules of tact he knew she wouldn't actually ask what was 'wrong' with them. "I look after them now," he said, which was the best way he could explain things without lying, "And yeah, we're on a bit of trip. They're actually angels so it's not as hard as you might think."

"Dean!" Sam said, suddenly up on his feet and right next to Dean, standing on tip-toe to tower over his older brother even though it was hardly necessary, "Look how much taller I am! I'm taller than you! I bet I'm taller than Dad too!" He sounded so excited about that, probably because he was such a little shrimp when he was a little kid.

"Yeah, buddy, you're an oak tree," Dean said with a light chuckle.

"Dean…" came Sasha's voice then, also close but on Dean's other side. Sasha accompanied his words with the most adorable tug on the edge of Dean's coat. He still had that slouch about him that said he was bashful. "Can we have something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Me too!" Sam said immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Dean supposed he couldn't expect _both_ of them to be shy and quietly contained. He remembered well how spastic Sam had been at times.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, "We didn't get breakfast." It was still early, only eight o'clock since they had gone to the Animus house before dawn. Dean turned back to look at the clerk, who was smiling so genuinely at both Sam and Sasha. "Excuse me, uhh…" Dean pointed to her with a sharp, playful finger.

She blushed again. "Umm…Ula. My parents are big Mel Brooks fans."

"The Producers," Dean said with a happy nod. His first instinct was to grin, remembering how he and Sam and Sasha had just watched that together. Last night. Before this damn mess and now they were five years old and everything was _fucked_. Dean had to fight to keep his grin in place as that washed over him. "Hey, when ya got it, right?" Dean said with a wink, "I don't suppose you have room service or anything here."

"Oh, sure. I can send something up after you. The kitchen opened at seven so you're fine. What would you like?"

Dean turned to Sam and grabbed his brother's arm before the younger Winchester could start rattling off every sweet thing his stunted brain could think of. "Why don't we go with pancakes and eggs and keep it simple. That okay, guys?" Dean asked, giving Sam a look that said 'don't be difficult' and then looking to Sasha too.

Sasha nodded right away, smiling subtly. Sam looked like he wanted to add to that list of food but one look at Dean's stern expression and he crumbled. "That's good," Sam said, "Thank you," he smiled to Ula.

Ula beamed back at them all. "Three orders then. Would you rather pay now or just add that to a tab for later?"

Dean opened his mouth to say 'tab' but Sam beat him to it. "Can I pay!" he said, so damn loud too—as always from what Dean remembered, "I found my wallet. I have money. Can I pay, Dean?"

Paying for food or lodging was never that big of a deal between them. When it was something they both needed and did together, it never really mattered who dished out the cash or credit card. Dean figured adult Sam wouldn't mind finding some cash missing. Breakfast couldn't be all that expensive anyway.

Sam had already taken his wallet out and was leafing through bills. Dean leaned over and pointed to a twenty.

"Bet one of those should cover it, right?" Dean said, winking at Ula again.

"Of course."

Sam was grinning so wide his dimples looked like they hurt. He passed the twenty to Ula, she rang them up, and then handed Sam back his change. With slightly awkward fingers Sam squished the few bills back into the wallet but then he stared at the change in his hand and said, "What do I do with these? They don't go in a wallet."

"That's what pockets are for, dork," Dean said affectionately. He could almost enjoy himself with this if he didn't feel so anxious. He kept his eyes on the prize, on knowing that he could fix this and that when everything was back to normal he would have more things to tease both of them about than ever before.

Sam pocketed the change and grinned at Ula again. "Do we have to wait long for the food?"

"Sam," Dean said chidingly. Huh. He didn't know he could sound chiding.

"Oh, not long," Ula said, hardly offended, "I'm sure I'll have it up to you by the time you finish bringing in your things. I'll go back right now and make sure it gets started, okay?"

Sam's expression was blinding again, literally like looking into the sun. He never looked that happy anymore. Maybe no one did. It was a whole other world for children. Growing up didn't allow for much purity in bliss and Dean was pretty sure he hated that.

Before they headed out the door to grab their things, Ula turned to Sasha, who she seemed to be able to tell was shy, and said, "I really like your hair. What's your name again?"

"Sasha," the incubus answered quietly.

"Well, Sasha, I can tell you have really nice friends. Were you guys out hiking early this morning? That must have been fun. Maine's usually so blustery about this time, but you lucked out with a nice, sunny day today."

A confused look took over Sasha's face. Luckily, Dean jumped in before either 'kid' could say anything incriminating. "Yeah, thought we'd get an early start before checking in. Guess we're still a little dirty." Dean made a point of dusting off Sasha's leather coat, to which the redhead seemed a little startled but allowed it. Dean had managed to wipe both of their faces off a little, but they were all a little smudged and dirty yet, what with Dean being thrown out of the house and Sam and Sasha ending up under tons of rubble.

"I'll have your breakfast up in a jiffy!" Ula called after them. That made Dean smile. _Jiffy_. He liked Ula. The last thing they needed was a not so understanding hotel clerk, and she was anything but that.

Sam and Sasha both helped bring in their things, seemingly enjoying how much stronger they both were than recent memory served them. Dean left several things in the trunk though, like the guitar and Sam's laptop. Dean took Sasha's laptop for himself, knowing he might need it and figuring he'd be able to get away with borrowing the redhead's more than he would borrowing Sam's.

Breakfast didn't need to be brought _up_ actually; their room was just down the hall from the lobby on the main floor. Dean was fine with that. There were so many things he had to be more conscientious of now that he was babysitting. They got their things situated and Dean set up Sasha's laptop on the table. The others ogled it—laptops weren't big in 1988 either, of course—but Dean explained very firmly that it was expensive and very important and that they were not allowed to touch it unless he was there to watch them.

After they were settled, Sasha sat down on the edge of one of the beds, looking rather out of place, and Sam suddenly jumped up in front of Dean. "Dean?" he asked, sounding almost as unsure of himself as Sasha did lately.

"Yeah, pal, what is it?"

Sam leaned real close to Dean's ear, like he was sharing the deepest secret, and said, "I gotta go potty."

There wasn't enough alcohol or patience in the _world_. "So go," Dean said, "You're toilet trained. You know what you're doing. It's right over there." Dean pointed to the bathroom. The door was open so it was obvious what the little room was.

"I can go alone?" Sam asked. And then Dean remembered. Sam hadn't been allowed to do pretty much anything alone when he was that young.

Dean allowed the frustration to slip from his face. "Yeah, dude, you can go alone," he said more tenderly, "It's good that you asked me. I gotta keep an eye on you guys."

Sam nodded and started immediately for the bathroom.

Like a watchful mother, Dean called after him, "And wash your hands!"

Then Dean was alone with Sasha and he took small comfort in that. At least it was quieter. Of course Dean's main priority had to be making sure that Sasha was okay. Half the time Dean still worried he might say or do something to make his friend bolt. That would be a disaster.

Right. As if this wasn't one already.

"How you doing, bab—" Dean literally bit his tongue, "_Buddy_," he amended, hoping Sasha hadn't noticed his slip, "You holding up okay? I know this is weird, but you're not having any doubts about trusting us anymore, are you? Sammy didn't scare you in the car or anything?" Dean grinned as he crouched down in front of Sasha rather than joining him on the bed.

"No," Sasha said, forever with that small voice. His eyes were downcast too, just barely peaking up at Dean. "It's just…I-I'm not…I'm not u-used to…" Sasha scowled at his inability to say what he wanted. Finally, he gave a very large child-like huff, leaned forward off the bed to get closer to Dean, and said, "You feel really loud."

Dean blinked. "I _feel_ really…" Then he got it and he couldn't help grinning as he realized what Sasha meant. "My emotions," Dean reiterated, "You're not used to being able to feel them from people as strong as you can now. Right?"

Sasha nodded.

"Well, I'm sorry for being loud," Dean said with a smile, "I kinda do everything loud. Bet Sammy's not much better, huh? But you gotta know then with what you can feel from us how much we care about you. We couldn't fake that."

Again, Sasha nodded. Which was why Dean didn't really understand why the incubus was still being so timid. If it was just a matter of Sasha being shy, Dean might be able to let it go, but he got the feeling it was more than that.

"There something else?" Dean pressed, soft of voice to make Sasha feel more comfortable.

Another nod, but Sasha didn't immediately say anything. The incubus actually looked close to embarrassed, and when he finally spoke again his voice was so soft and quiet that Dean had to strain to catch what Sasha said. "I can…see them on you. The…pheromones." Just as 'incubus' had come out sounding kind of funny, 'pheromones' sounded more like 'fair-moans'. Dean couldn't even begin to think about laughing this time though.

His assumption had definitely been correct; Sam and Sasha's bodies still contained all the same abilities, it was just their minds that had been stunted. Dean tried to remain calm after knowing that. "Right," he said slowly, "And you…know what that means?" Dean wasn't sure if he really wanted an answer to that.

Not surprisingly, Sasha nodded. His eyes looked so big and wide, perfectly reflecting the child inside of him. "You're not…mad?" Sasha questioned.

Okay, that wasn't where Dean expected the conversation to go. "Mad?"

"Aren't you mad that I-I'm…feeding from you?"

_God_. Dean just wanted to hug the poor kid. Had Sasha always been this insecure? Apparently so, seeing as how he was only five right now. "Sasha, I couldn't be mad about that. It's not like you're sneaking into my bed while I'm sleeping. It's…it's a mutual decision."

Sasha tilted his head.

"It means we both know about it and we're both okay with it. We…both want it," Dean said, feeling sort of weird discussing this with someone mentally so young. But then Sasha was an incubus, so of course he knew some of this stuff already. It was part of his very makeup, even if he wouldn't need to feed from sex until he was sixteen. Dean had a pretty good idea that Sasha probably didn't know all of the details involved in sex yet anyway. Still he reassured his friend by saying, "You don't have to worry. You're, uhh…pretty freshly fed. Just a couple days ago. You won't need to even think about it. I'll have you back to normal long before that."

At last, Sasha looked relieved and soothed enough that Dean saw the incubus' shoulders relax. He smiled and it was much realer than any Dean had seen so far. "Okay, Dean. Thank you. You're really nice."

Dean felt a chuckle build at the irony of that. Usually—even though it was mostly meant jokingly—Sasha was calling him a jerk or an asshole. "Thanks. But, uhh…would you mind keeping this whole pheromone, you're feeding from me thing a secret from Sammy? I don't think he'd understand. Seems you didn't tell him what an incubus is anyway, right?"

Sasha sat up straighter. "No. I told him. You said it was okay."

Hearing Sasha sound all worried again made Dean speak up quickly. "I _did_. I did say it was okay. You're not in trouble," Dean assured him, placing both hands on Sasha's knees since he was still crouched in front of the bed, "Just, umm…what exactly did you tell him?"

"Well…I said that an incubus," sounding like 'inky-bus' again, "is just like a human but…we're stronger, and we can fly, and some other stuff too. But even though some people think we're scary, we're not. We just need to be around people coz we feed off how they feel. Like food. Only I need real food too." Sasha nodded, his eyes far away like he was checking his memory to be sure that was everything. "Yeah," he said, "That's all. Was…that okay?"

_That_ was a mouthful. Dean had started to doubt that Sasha could talk that much as a five-year-old. He knew better now. "That was fine," Dean said with a smile, squeezing Sasha's knees, "And…what did Sammy say to all that?"

"He just said he thought that sounded real cool, and that he wants to see me fly sometime. I said I wasn't sure I could show him coz I'm too young to do a glamour, but my body seems to know, I guess. I just don't wanna change and not be able to change back. Oh!" Sasha exclaimed suddenly, as if just remembering something, "And he asked what a hunter is, but I didn't tell him coz you didn't say I could, so we just looked at your pictures."

And another mouthful. Dean chuckled a little, partially because he couldn't help it and also because he knew it would make Sasha feel more at ease. "Good job," Dean said, reaching up with one hand to smooth back Sasha's hair, "That's perfect. I'll take the burden of explaining the hunter bit. Later. Did it once before. Course Sammy was a little older…"

Sammy. Where was Sammy? He had been in the bathroom for a long time now.

"Hang on a sec," Dean told Sasha, and then he got up and walked over to the bathroom. He knocked a couple times before calling out, "Sammy! What you doing in there! Food's gonna be here soon!"

But even as Dean said all that it started to dawn on him what Sam was almost certainly preoccupied with in the bathroom. There were definitely some differences between a five-year-old body and a twenty-five-year-old one. Dean grimaced. He suddenly really didn't want Sam to answer honestly.

"Never mind!" he called quickly, "Just…just hurry it up, okay!"

The bathroom door opened and there was Sam, blinking at Dean innocently. "I'm done," he said before stepping out, "I was just—"

"I haven't even heard it yet and it's too much information," Dean broke in, a hand held up like a stop sign to make sure Sam didn't speak further, "Just, uhh…keep some things to yourself, okay?"

There was a knock at the main door before Sam could say anything in response. Sam and amazingly even Sasha both bounced excitedly at the prospect of food. Dean shoved Sam in Sasha's direction so he could answer the door in peace and avoid the food being instantly snatched from Ula's hands.

"I got it," he said firmly to the others. Dean answered the door and the smell of pancakes and eggs hit him full in the face, startling him with how hungry he really was now that food was right in front of him. He smiled warmly at Ula. "You're a lifesaver. These guys were about to cannibalize me if they didn't get food quick."

Ula's smile was bright in response and she seemed to have gotten a better handle on blushing around Dean. Only her cheeks were red this time. "I would have been here a little sooner," she said, wheeling in a very old fashioned-looking cart with three covered plates. The whole thing was a little more vintage than the simple motel. "But," Ula said, grabbing a basket from underneath, "I thought you boys might like a few things to do if you get bored." The basket looked like it had coloring books, crayons, maybe a small board game, and a couple DVDs.

Dean could tell that Ula was a little nervous about her offering since it was all so obviously for little kids and she didn't want to offend anyone. "You're awesome," Dean said assuredly, and then leaned in close to whisper, "Think of them like…five-year-olds. This'll be perfect. Okay, guys!" Dean said loudly after pulling away, "Breakfast first then you can go for the basket."

It would be good to have them distracted while Dean sorted things out. He'd have to listen to the police scanner and check for when the Animus House was clear. He also needed to ask Bobby for that sanctifying spell. Getting the journal back would have to stay low on the priorities list for now.

Somehow, Dean managed to get Sam and Sasha to sit at the table instead of them attacking the cart. Ula helped him set out the food and placed the basket on one of the beds. She kept casting Dean timid glances and smiles. Normally, Dean would have eaten the whole thing up, but the womanizing Winchester was half of a couple now and happy for it. Ula was cute though and sweet so Dean didn't want to be standoffish. He decided to be politely sneaky instead.

When Ula's back was turned, Dean slipped the silver ring off his right ring finger and moved it to his left. He made a point of using his hands a lot more after that and he saw the moment Ula noticed. There was brief disappointment but Dean knew this would be easier on her than him fumbling for explanations or lies.

By the time everything was set, Ula was beaming brightly again. "You boys enjoy, and let me know if you need anything, okay?" she said to Sam and Sasha. They both had mouthfuls of pancake and said 'thank you' around their food like good little boys.

Dean walked Ula to the door. She wheeled the cart out but before leaving she gave Dean one more bashful glance and shrugged.

"You're a sweetheart," she said, "I hope whoever wears the other half to that knows how lucky they are." A nod indicated Dean's ring.

Dean found her use of a gender neutral 'they' miraculously fitting. He looked at his ring. He had had it for years; it wasn't from Sasha—and whoa would _that_ be crazy if it was. Dean smirked anyway. "Yeah, well…no doubt there," he said.

Ula's smile broadened. "They weren't lying, you know. When they said all the good ones are either taken or gay. I learned that one the hard way," she sighed, "Again, let me know if you need anything," and she took off down the hall.

Dean was positive he didn't want to know how she had learned that lesson _the hard way_.

--

"No, Bobby, course not. I know where it is. Just not…easily accessible right now."

Dean had decided to leave out certain bits of the truth when telling Bobby what was going on. Like pretty much everything. They had put Bobby through too much lately to worry him over something Dean knew he could handle on his own. The police were still combing the remains of the Animus House but eventually it would be fair game. They wouldn't haul the debris away tonight. Dean doubted that would even matter.

"Just read it off to me and I'll copy it down," Dean said into the phone. He covered the mouthpiece then and whispered to the pair on one of the beds. They were laughing loudly while watching Shrek—after being amazed by the new technology of a DVD of course. "Hey, guys. Keep it down, will ya? I'm on the phone."

Sam and Sasha laughed again, but in more hushed tones. They really were better behaved than average. Dean listened more carefully than he ever had as he jotted down the sanctifying spell. Bobby said it was the same one from their Dad's journal even, since John had gotten it from Bobby originally.

Dean thanked Bobby profusely before hanging up and when Bobby asked how Sam and Sasha were doing he just said, "Well they certainly seem to be enjoying themselves right now. I'll talk to you later, Bobby." Dean felt guilt swirl in his gut when he clicked his phone closed, but he felt too responsible to let anyone else in on this secret right now. As long as the sanctifying worked, it wouldn't matter.

The day wasn't all that bad either. Sam and Sasha watched a couple more movies on and off, actually colored in the coloring books and were very pleased at how their more dexterous hands helped them stay in the lines better. Dean even played the little travel version of Monopoly with them, which of course neither really understood but had plenty of fun with anyway.

Sasha was slowly coming out of his shell and acting more outgoing and boisterous like Sam. Dean allowed himself to enjoy it, seeing both of them so carefree with only the memories of youth. There were still bad memories for both of them at that time—Sasha had lost his parents and Sam had to deal with Dad being gone all the time and no Mom. But this was…almost like a vacation. A vacation from harsher realities.

Dean stuck to room service for lunch and dinner, not wanting to take the others out anywhere. The sunshine hadn't lasted long anyway and it was overcast and snowing now. As long as Dean could keep them distracted and put them to bed early, he knew he could sneak out to the Animus House and solve this.

Of course he didn't think about one other thing.

"But Dean I don' wanna go to bed. I'm all dirty. I need a bath," Sam whined.

When they got to the motel Dean hadn't even changed their clothes. He just didn't want to deal with them naked or anywhere near it. It was too awkward—kids in adult bodies. Way too awkward. But there was definitely no way in _hell_ he was giving either of them a bath. Leave it to Sam to be one of those kids who liked bath time.

Looking at Sasha proved he was the same type too. He was wrinkling his nose at his dusty, dirty clothing. Really, Dean couldn't blame them. He wouldn't have wanted to change into PJs and crawl under clean sheets if he was still dirty. He had planned to wait to shower until he got back from the Animus House.

"_Dean_," Sam whined again, sounding strangely like normal Sam really. Dean would have to remember that for later teasing purposes.

"Dude, you're an adult. You're not gonna drown in the bath by yourself. If you want to get clean, go do it yourself," Dean said. He was not going to budge on this.

"But, Dean," Sam argued, "I don't wanna be in there alone. Can't you sit in there with me?" Sam's eyes were all puppied-out and he had on that same pout again.

Dean reminded himself that by the time he woke up in the morning this would all be behind him as something to look back on and laugh about. "Sam, no offence, but I am not in the mood to watch you take a bath. Since you're both in the same boat, why don't you have Sasha stay in there with you? Then he can take a bath when you're done and you can stay with him." Dean actually hated that idea for some reason but he knew it wouldn't matter since they were both in the mindset of being five.

"We can take a bath together," Sasha suggested suddenly, completely oblivious to how unbelievable _wrong_ that was.

"No," Dean said firmly, "Besides the fact that there is no way you would both fit in one of those little tubs at the same time, it is not okay for adult guys to bathe together. Unless they're a couple. And you two are not a couple."

Sam stared at Dean with wide eyes and Dean realized that he had just said something very uncharacteristic of the Dean Sammy knew. "Guys can't be a couple, Dean," he said, confident in his preschool logic, "Only a boy and girl can. That's how you make babies. You need a Mommy and Daddy."

Oh how Dean so did not want to get dragged into this discussion. "Sammy…"

"That's not true. Boys can be a couple too," broke in Sasha, sounding more forceful than Dean had yet heard from him, "My friends Eppy and Atty, they have two Dads."

This was too much. Dean didn't want to talk about gay adoption with five-year-olds. But…wait. Adoption? He had never heard anything about incubus/succubus adoption from Sasha. That didn't make any sense. But then…did that mean two of the same kind could…?

Okay, that was a question Dean definitely did not want answered right now.

"Really?" Sam was saying, more inclined to believe Sasha than argue, "I didn't know you could have two Dads. Dean, you and Dad said it had to be a Mommy and a Daddy. Can boys really be a couple too?"

Dean decided to just go with the less painful route. "Yes. Now get in the tub and clean yourselves separately. My stuff's already in there. You can use that."

The puppy eyes blinked at him. "Will you get it ready for me?" Sam asked. At least he had dropped the boy on boy discussion.

"Fine. When you're done I'll run a fresh one for Sasha, okay?"

The bathing part actually went fine, except for when Sam came out of the bathroom to tell Dean he was done while still being completely naked and a little wet. Dean had quickly gathered a towel and finished drying Sam off, avoiding certain areas and trying to tell himself that this was his little brother Sammy, not a very adult Sam. At least Sam was able to dress himself while Dean drained the dirty bath water and got it ready again for Sasha.

Of course Sasha, having the same lacking sense of decency, started stripping while Dean was still in the room. Dean had a very hard time keeping his eyes directed away from the body he usually found so attractive and desirable. Especially when Sasha started running his hand over his pelvic tattoo.

"They're all filled in now," Sasha said with a wide smile. He looked up at Dean, completely oblivious to how Dean was blushing. "Aunt Shi says we're like big cats with spots and stripes. When we're little they don't show up. But when we get big, there they are! I like them. Sam!" he called happily and Sam immediately showed up in the bathroom wearing boxers and a T-shirt, "Aren't my marks cool?"

"Just get in the tub," Dean said quickly, ushering Sasha over to the bathtub, "Standing around naked in front of everyone is for _actual_ five-year-olds. Sam does not need to see your—"

"Cool! There's some on your back too!" Sam declared.

"I wanna see!" Sasha said immediately, spinning around as he unsuccessfully tried to get a look at his back.

"Later!" Dean said maybe a little too harshly, grabbing Sasha by the arms and holding him in place. He could tell right away that he had startled the kid because Sasha's eyes were all big and wobbly like they had been earlier in the day. "Just…get in the tub. And get clean. Sam can stay in here til you're done. This is really disturbing and I just want you both in bed. Okay?"

Sasha nodded meekly. He gingerly lifted his feet over the edge of the tub and lowered himself down into the hot water. Again, Dean really didn't like that Sam would be sitting in here watching _his_ boyfriend bathe, but at least it would be less awkward than if all of them stayed.

Twenty minutes later Dean had both of them in bed. In _one_ bed because neither of them wanted to sleep alone and Dean had said he wouldn't be joining them yet. He figured he could sneak out once they were asleep, handle the Animus House, and be back in less than an hour. He would wake them up then and they would all have a good laugh over everything. Maybe Dean would even find Dad's journal out there somewhere. The police scanner had been silent for some time so he knew the coast was clear.

It didn't take long before Sam and Sasha were asleep, exhausted after hauling around large bodies for the first time, and considering how early they had all gotten up that day.

Dean waited a good half hour to make sure they were both deeply asleep before slipping out. He left by way of the front lobby to check if Ula was still working. Luckily, she was. "Hey," Dean said, leaning on the counter and smiling all kinds of friendly, "I know this is a lot to ask, but I need to take care of something important and I can't take the guys with me. They're asleep and they should be fine, but could you maybe check on them in the next hour? I won't be long. I know it's awful of me to leave them."

Ula looked a little startled by this request but not disapproving. She nodded and returned Dean's smile. "I get off in half an hour. I can check on them then. This errand," she added before Dean could get away, "Is it anything I can help with?"

It amazed Dean sometimes how there were still decent people in the world. "Nah. Just something I didn't get to finish this morning. Thanks though. You're a doll. Really." Dean headed out to the car with one thing on his mind.

This had damn well better work.

--

No cops. The rubble still looked mostly undisturbed. And no late-night walkers or watchers. Dean set to work quickly. He cast holy water over every inch of the debris and foundation, over every damn inch of the grounds, and went through the sanctifying spell several times for good measure.

Like with most cursed spots, Dean felt the relief that flooded away from the remains of the Animus House once the curse was fully broken. It was like a deep, exhaled breath, one Dean had been holding all day too. It gave Dean hope that things were settled and he packed up to return to the hotel.

He had scoured the place for his father's journal while he walked the grounds, but he couldn't find a trace of it, and probably wouldn't until the debris was cleaned away. Dean was fine with staying a few more days to wait that out and would happily dumpster and landfill dive if he had to in order to find the journal eventually. For now he called it a night.

Everything was quiet and peaceful when he returned, slipping inside the room to find Sam and Sasha safe and still asleep, curled in towards each other. It was actually kind of cute, not that Dean would ever tell them that. His gut burned with a little jealousy though. He couldn't help it.

Dean would wake them in a minute. They looked so content. He'd just take a shower first. Then he would think of some really wicked way to rouse them. Grinning to himself as he made way for the bathroom, Dean happily stripped down and took a long, hot, soothing shower. His shoulder was still so damn sore, not made much better by the whole being thrown out of house thing. It was still pretty bruised up and seemed to hurt more now that there wasn't any swelling. Dean was really sleepy when he finally got out of the shower, but he couldn't bring himself to go to bed without waking Sam and Sasha.

Just as he was about to leave, however, he immediately jumped back after opening the bathroom door at the sight of a tall, shadowy figure standing in the darkness. "Jesus, Sammy," Dean said, running a hand through his wet hair. He knew Sam's profile too well to think it was anyone else. "What are you doing? You back to normal?"

Sam didn't respond at first and Dean wondered if something was wrong. He tried to take a step forward to get a better look at Sam's face but suddenly he was being grabbed and forced back into the bathroom. Dean instinctively struggled even if it was Sam, but all the fight fell out of him when he finally caught sight of Sam's eyes.

_Yellow_. Just like last night. And the night before.

Pushing Dean all the way back into the bathroom Sam then moved very slow and deliberate as he turned around and shut the bathroom door behind them. Dean felt panic rise in his throat, nearly choking him. Had he done something wrong? Did snapping Sam back to adulthood mess with him somehow? Or maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was too late and every night Sam would be one step closer to being Yellow Eyes completely.

No. No fucking _way_ would Dean allow that. "Sam," he said forcefully, even though he was still pressed back against the sink where Sam had pushed him, "What are you doing? Snap out of it. This isn't you. You're not _him_. You're Sam, you hear me. You're _Sam_." Dean tried to take a step forward as Sam came closer, but when Sam didn't stop advancing or say anything in reply, when he just kept coming and reached out towards Dean like he had reached for Sasha last night, it was too much. Dean swung his fist…and punched Sam clean across the jaw.

For a minute everything stopped. Sam's face was turned to the side, hiding his eyes. Dean didn't know what to expect in retaliation. What he certainly didn't expect though was the wide hazel eyes that turned back to him and that were quickly filling with tears and a look of accusation.

"Sammy…?" Dean whispered.

"Dean?" Sam said in that small _five-year-old_ voice, "You…you hit me? It hurts. Why did you hit me? Did I do something bad?"

Fuck. _Fuck_. Not only were those yellow eyes still coming out to play, but Sam's mind hadn't been released from the curse. It didn't make any sense. The curse had been broken. Dean had _felt_ it. "Sammy, I…I didn't mean to hit you, I…I thought you were someone else. I'm so sorry." Dean went forward and pulled Sam into his arms the way he used to when they were kids. It was a little harder what with all 6' 4" of him now.

Sam seemed to notice that too. "I'm too big," he sniffled, "You can't hold me anymore."

"Sure I can," Dean said right back, hugging Sam tight. He didn't do this with Sam anymore unless the situation was so extreme he had to, like Sam coming back from the dead or Sasha almost dying. "Just coz you're bigger doesn't mean I can't hold you. Still counts if it's like this. Still means I love you, Sammy."

_I love you_, Dean thought desperately. _But I don't know how to help you. I don't know how to fix this. Any of this._

Dean calmed Sam down as best he could and managed to coax him back into bed, but not without Dean following in after him. Sasha had woken up too, all worried of course and also still in the mindset of a five-year-old, and he was just as insistent to have Dean in bed with them.

It was an insult to injury the way it reminded Dean again of The Producers and how they had all crowded in one bed to watch it. Now they were all trying to squeeze in one bed again. It was a mess of long limbs and muscle, but the body heat was kind of nice on a cold winter night. Sam and Sasha snuggled in against Dean—Dean being in the middle—and while it might have been awkward any other time, right now it was just what Dean wanted.

He would protect them. He would always protect them. And god damn it he would find a way to fix this. Fix everything. He would just have to work this case a little harder. There had to be an explanation for why breaking the curse wasn't enough to help those already affected. Dean also couldn't do this alone. He wouldn't call Bobby. He didn't need Bobby. He just needed someone to look out for the rugrats while he figured things out.

As soon as he woke up the next morning, Dean untangled himself from the secure hold Sam and Sasha had on him and grabbed _Sasha's_ cell phone from the incubus' leather jacket. It rang only once before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, sweetheart," Shiarra said far too chipper, "Everything all right?"

"It's Dean."

Silence. Then, "What happened?"

Dean swallowed thickly and spoke as steady as possible. "I need your help."

tbc...

A/N: So tired...long week...LONG chapter. Damn those cute boys, they just kept DOING things. Anyway, not as easy as Dean was hoping, and Shiarra is back! Woohoo! Had to bring her back eventually. Thoughts on this yet another LONG chapter? You're still all with me right? I have such plans for them...

Crim


	38. Part 8: Partners

ATTENTION: Go over to my favorites or search deangirl1 RIGHT NOW and check out her "Incubus Redux III" story. It is just like the previous stolen kisses story only much hotter, therefore you might have missed it as it has an 'M' rating. There are two chapters so far and she will still take requests, and the most recent part...well...dare I say Cowboy strip tease? ;-) Go now! And PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

Part 8: Partners

* * *

If Dean thought _he_ looked out of place in Maine winter in just his leather jacket then he wasn't giving enough credit to Shiarra's _Sex and the City_ style. She showed up outside their motel room in heels, a red low-cut sweater, black pencil skirt, and a very thin _open_ black pea coat. Her hair was perfectly coifed in loose curls past her shoulders and her nails had been painted blood red to match her sweater.

Dean gaped for maybe a minute. "You know," he said, "This is the second time one of us has called you in an emergency and you ended up being less than two hours away. Keeping tabs on us or what?"

"Depends on how necessary it is," Shiarra shot back. She pushed past Dean into the room. "Now where's my—"

"Aunt Shi!" came the exclamation, and then a fully grown but mentally five-year-old Sasha—wearing only the boxers he had slept in last night—bounded across the room and practically launched himself into Shiarra's arms. There was enough force in the embrace to almost knock the succubus right on her ass.

"Goodness!" Shiarra managed, returning the hug awkwardly, "Know your own strength, darling. It's good to see you too, but I don't think you've pounced on me quite like that since you were…" Shiarra trailed as she pulled away and held Sasha out in front of her.

Dean knew just what was going through her head as she looked into those wide, innocent blue eyes. He hadn't wanted to tell Shiarra what was going on over the phone, saying only that something was wrong and he needed her help. She seemed to recognize immediately now what the _'wrong'_ of what was happening revolved around.

"His…his eyes are like a child's," she said, brushing the hair from Sasha's forehead to which he smiled at the gentle touch. She turned to look at Dean with sharp scrutiny. "What happened to him? And why only _him_?"

Valiantly, Dean ignored the implied accusation in that. He shut the door and walked past Shiarra and Sasha further into the room to where Sam was sitting on one of the beds. He too was still only wearing what he had slept in. "Not only _him_," Dean said, patting his brother's shoulder, "Sammy, this is Sasha's aunt. Shiarra."

Grinning goofily, Sam gave a little wave and said, "Hi. I'm Sam. Dean's taking good care of us. You don't hafta worry. Sasha's okay. He's really nice even though he's shy." Sam giggled. "Hehe. Shy. Like your name!"

Sasha giggled too, his head slightly bowed as he blushed.

Shiarra's expression faded to a look that mirrored exactly how Dean felt, like she wasn't sure if she should be laughing or crying. Coz sure, the rugrats were cute, ironically really since they were in such large bodies, but they were supposed to be adults. And there was nothing funny about them being stuck this way.

After telling the boys to brush their teeth and get dressed in the bathroom—there was a lady present now, after all—Dean had Shiarra alone long enough to explain what had happened. Yes, Sasha and Sam understood what was going on. Yes, Sam knew Sasha was an incubus and was fine with it. Yes, they both knew they were hunters and what that meant. Dean had explained hunters to Sam the same way he had the first time.

Their Dad was a superhero. So was Sasha's. Monsters were real but it was okay because hunters know how to fight them. They were all hunters—superheroes—now, just different kinds. Dean explained that he was like Batman, kickass with weapons and all but no superpowers. Sam and Sasha on the other hand did have powers, like X-men. Both of them understood when it was explained like that. Dean had decided that telling Sam he had powers was safer than them manifesting on their own. So far so good.

Except for last night.

Dean didn't tell Shiarra about the whole yellow eyes thing. He hoped it wouldn't matter.

"So what's your plan?" Shiarra asked once she was up to date and Sam and Sasha were both barefoot lying on the floor coloring. Shiarra had actually taken the news surprisingly well. She gestured to Sasha's open laptop on the table. "You have some idea what to try next, I assume, since sanctifying the grounds had no effect."

"It had an effect," Dean countered, "The curse is broken. It just didn't knock the current victims back to normal. That's what I need to figure out."

"We," Shiarra said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"You mean that's what _we_ need to figure out. Isn't that why you called me?"

It would have been impossible for Dean to keep a straight face after that. "No offense," he began, "It's not that I'm not sure you'd be handy in a fight and all, but this is hunter territory now. I called you here so there'd be someone to take care of these guys while I'm working."

"Excuse me?" Shiarra said, looking rather affronted with her crossed legs and a flick of her hair, "I did not drive those two hours to be named babysitter. My nephew and your brother have the minds of five-year-olds. This is going to take both of us. I do know a thing or two about the supernatural world, you know."

"And who's gonna take care of them then, huh?" Dean shot back, not realizing that the attention of the coloring _little boys_ on the floor had shifted to him and Shiarra, "We can't leave them alone. We can't take them with us. And this is going to require legwork. I need you to stay here."

"What about that little darling up at the front desk?" Shiarra went on, completely ignoring Dean's irritation, "Her feelings are genuine. You said she looked in on them once before."

This was becoming more than Dean could handle. He had thought this would be fairly easy. Shiarra would look after the kids; he would research and finish the hunt; one big, happy family, the end. He did not need some snooty succubus tagging along and screwing things up while he worked. "Look," he said firmly, "Even if Ula agreed to look after them, you are not a hunter. You'll just end up getting in the way. There's a lot that goes in to something like this."

"Such as?" Shiarra challenged.

Dean huffed in frustration. He was beyond losing his temper now. "Such as posing as a detective. Getting information out of people who lie so well you can't tell the difference. Getting dirty and gritty and right down into it, no matter what it takes until the job is done. Sorry, _your highness_, but I don't see you pulling that off." Dean was on his feet and he didn't even know when that had happened. He was too torn over this whole thing, too stressed, too wrecked. He just wanted to fix it. He just wanted it over.

Shiarra rose slowly from the bed to match Dean. Sam and Sasha weren't coloring at all anymore, but were both looking up worriedly at their guardians, not understanding why they were arguing. "Do you know why I finally agreed to let Sasha be a hunter?" she said, stepping right into Dean's personal space, "Because I knew he could do it. Because my kind and your kind are part of the _same_ territory, Mr. Winchester. We're conmen. Plain and simple. Whether that saves lives or helps people, well, that depends on the person, but the rest is the same. You think I can't get dirty and gritty and _right. Down. Into it."_

A choked gasp left Dean as Shiarra grabbed him by the front of his shirts and lifted him effortlessly from the floor.

"Dean!"

"Aunt Shi, don't!"

Shiarra ignored those young cries for now. "Disguise. Acting. I'd wager I have more experience with all that then you, _hunter_, so don't presume to know anything about me. I have failed too many times to be denied the chance to help my own by the likes of _you_." Shiarra's eyes flashed red and then returned to brilliant blue. "Now," she said, smiling dangerously as she set Dean back down and released him, "We should be getting to work, don't you think?"

Dean was hardly out of breath or injured from that. He couldn't really find it in him to be all that upset either.

_I have failed too many times to be denied the chance to help my own._

That phrase stuck with Dean. He couldn't say anything against it. Not that. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to say anything. "Welcome to the team," Dean grumbled, "But you try something like that again," he warned, and a hand that was hidden between them gave a little flick of its wrist.

Shiarra glanced down and it would have been pretty hard to miss the large knife pressed against her inner thigh.

Even frazzled and sore Dean still had a few tricks at the ready no matter what situation he was in. "I have no problem having you neutered," Dean finished with a grin.

To Dean's pleased surprise, Shiarra crossed her arms and returned that grin whole heartedly.

Of course after that it took them a few minutes to reassure the rugrats that of course they were friends, and no, they weren't really fighting just trying to sort things out. Like grown-ups. Dean wasn't happy about Shiarra being his temporary partner, but he didn't see any way around it. She was much more congenial after getting her way anyway.

"The curse as a spot is broken," Dean said, sitting at the table in front of the laptop with Shiarra beside him.

The succubus had managed to convince the five-year-olds to take an early nap so they could have peace and quiet while they worked. Dean had chuckled a little when they both looked to _him_ first before finally agreeing.

"So," Dean continued, "No one new can be affected by the curse, but if the current victims are still in toddler and infant mode then someone must have renewed it after Hollander died. A living originator of the curse is the only explanation."

Shiarra nodded. She seemed to know a few things about curses, which was good because Dean really didn't want to have to explain everything. "So who do you suggest we pay a visit to first?" Shiarra asked.

Dean had a few choices pulled up on the computer. He selected one of the windows. "Easiest guess is usually the right one," Dean said, "Tyler Masterson. He oversaw the acquisition of the house. Hollander's own relative didn't even want it, but that guy's on our list too. Masterson was pretty insistent about having the Animus House turned over to the State to be made into an open museum though. Might be a copycat or an old accomplice." There was no picture for Tyler Masterson, but they had an address for the guy's office.

"Just tell me what you need me to be," Shiarra said simply, "I'll do the rest."

Dean couldn't help smirking. "_That_ sounded vaguely naughty," he said. He should have known better though because Shiarra hit really hard. "Right. Right," Dean grit out, rubbing the arm she just punched, "Like I said before. Detectives. It's simple. People rarely question it. I've already got some clothes I can use. Speaking of…" Dean eyed Shiarra's classy attire.

"Don't worry about me," Shiarra assured him, "But we'll need IDs. I have several of course, but certainly nothing for law enforcement."

"Not a problem."

--

Dean really liked Kinkos. They were so handy in the fraud department and could be found almost anywhere. Except backwater towns. And small towns in Maine, it seemed. Dean had to settle for a local printing place, which he always hated because the people there were much more likely to look over your shoulder. He managed though and the IDs came out well enough. He'd had to curb his desire to make them Detectives Mulder and Scully and went with something a little more subtle.

Returning to the motel, Dean found the toddler twins honest to goodness _rough housing_ on one of the beds like, well, five-year-old boys. Shiarra seemed to be in the bathroom since he could see light from underneath the closed door. Really, Dean wouldn't have minded that Sam and Sasha were playing around if not for how inappropriate it looked when Sam finally got the one-up on Sasha by getting on top of him and straddling his hips to hold him down.

"Okay, that's enough of that," Dean said, immediately hauling Sam off of Sasha.

Sam flashed a pout as soon as he was sitting normally on the bed. "But Dean, we weren't really fighting."

"We were just playing," Sasha chimed in.

"Well think of something else to play. I don't want…anything happening."

Sasha and Sam both blinked at Dean, oblivious.

"Like one of you getting hurt on accident," Dean said quickly, "You're stronger than you think and both of you have powers you don't really know how to use. So just…be careful, okay? Play a different game." Dean slid off his coat, still having to favor his right shoulder a little. The bruises were fading but still pretty sore. He had already brought in his 'detective clothes' from the Impala. He was glad they kept a few things on hand instead of always going to rental shops.

"_Dean_," Sam said in that horrible whiny tone he always had really, but that sounded much worse with a five-year-old's demanding behind it, "We're bored. We watched all the movies. I don' wanna play M'nopoly again or color. Play something with us."

"Yeah, play something with us, Dean!" echoed Sasha.

It tore Dean up a little how much they honestly just wanted to do something with him, but he had to concentrate on the mission. "Sorry, guys, but I gotta get ready. We're working on getting you two back to normal, remember?" Dean turned to look at the pair and just about melted at the sight of them, side by side on the edge of the bed wearing those matching puppy pouts.

Damn the double whammy.

"Hey, look," Dean said, leaving the IDs on the tabletop before returning to the bed and crouching down in front of them, "Shiarra and I are gonna have to go out to solve this one, okay? But we're gonna leave you with Ula, remember? You like her. She's real nice. She actually said she'd be 'pleased as punch' to keep an eye on you two for a few hours." She had used that exact phrase too—_pleased as punch_.

They had already discussed all of this with the boys but they still looked crestfallen to hear it said to them again.

"You'll be fine. I promise," Dean assured them, a hand on one of each of their knees. He kept doing things like that. A hand on their knees, their shoulders, brushing their hair back. Dean had only just started realizing that he was mimicking the way his father used to comfort him. "When you guys are back to normal I'll play with you whatever you want," he promised.

Sam's lip looked way too big to be possible. "That's silly. We'll be grown up. We won't wanna play anymore."

"Dude," Dean couldn't help laughing, "Trust me. We play. It's just…a different kind of playing. Adult playing."

"Isn't that an inappropriate thing to say to a five-year old?"

Dean's attention snapped up past Sam and Sasha to the bathroom where Shiarra's voice had come from. He had seen her in variously hot things before from short skirts to low-cut tops, but this took the cake. Because it wasn't anything like that. Dean gaped. Shiarra was wearing black slacks, sensible shoes without heels, a white-button down shirt that hid her figure if anything, and a black blazer. All she needed was the trench coat and she'd be the spitting image of a female detective all right, complete with little to no makeup and her hair done up tightly into a bun.

"What?" Shiarra demanded, crossing her arms defiantly, "I don't always have to be glamorous, you know. I do enjoy jeans and a T-shirt on occasion too. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing my boy in a collared shirt now and again," she added pointedly, looking at Sasha who was indeed in a T-shirt and jeans, "But I'll take what I can get. Are we settled with the IDs?"

It took Dean a moment to collect himself. He couldn't help it; Shiarra just looked so _normal_. "Uh…right," he managed, gesturing to the table where he had left the IDs, "And hey, it wasn't inappropriate, what I said. I wasn't talking about _that_ kind of playing." Dean patted Sam and Sasha's knees before standing up. They of course had no idea what he was talking about.

"_Dean_," Shiarra said disapprovingly as soon as she looked at the IDs.

"What?" Dean was already grinning.

Shiarra tilted her head, eyeing Dean all kinds of judgmental, like she was putting up with _three_ children instead of two. "Detectives Starsky and Lacey? Clever, dear. But you don't think that will attract excessive scrutiny?"

"Nobody ever notices that stuff anyway," Dean shrugged, "Makes the hunts more interesting for me though. We just need to drop these guys off with Ula up front. There's a back room they can play in, hang out in, whatever. Let me get dressed and we'll go. You sure you're up for this," he pressed, "We don't have time for any amateur shi—" Dean caught himself, "_Stuff_."

The response from Shiarra was a very stern look and a hand on her hip. Dean didn't press any further.

It only took Dean five minutes to use the bathroom, change, and fuss with his hair a little. The usual pre-hunt anxiousness fluttered in his stomach. The only other time he had worked with a woman on a hunt was with Jo, and that had been more as a faux couple not faux detectives. Of course Ellen had helped out at the Devil's Gate but this was different. They would have to work as a team.

Dean had just left the bathroom and was about to ask if everyone was ready to go when a blur of a redhead suddenly went flying across the room into one of the corners. Dean's reflexes kicked into gear as he searched the room immediately for what he needed to fight. But the only person where Sasha had flown from was Sam.

"Sasha! Oh, sweetheart, are you alright?" Shiarra was asking, having immediately gone to her nephew.

Dean stood at a loss but he could tell from one look at Sam and the kid's stricken expression that whatever happened wasn't on purpose. Dean made straight for his brother, who was on the far bed, curling himself into a ball on top of the pillows and pressing himself back against the headboard.

Sam flinched when Dean first reached him and tried to grab his shoulder. Dean had rarely known his brother to ever flinch from him, no matter what the age.

"Sammy…what happened?" Dean glanced to the corner as he said that. Shiarra was on the floor, holding Sasha close and mumbling soothing words like a dotting mother. Dean could see tears in Sasha's eyes but when he looked back he could see tears in Sam's too.

"I didn't mean to," Sam said miserably, pulling his knees into his chest and hugging them, "I didn't mean to, Dean, I swear. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam continued to chant.

"Hey, shhh," Dean said, sitting on the bed and pulling Sam against him whether the large kid flinched away again or not, "It's okay. I'm sure it was an accident, Sammy. Just tell me what happened. Did you guys have a fight?"

"No!" Sam said right away, shaking his head fiercely and leaning into Dean's body, "Sasha was telling me all this neat stuff 'bout his dad. It was really cool. I wasn't mad. I wasn't mad, Dean."

"I think he just got a little overexcited," Shiarra spoke up, "They really were just on the bed talking. The excitement must have triggered one of his powers. TK, I take it. You know he didn't mean it, don't you, darling?" she said to Sasha, stroking his hair and holding his head to her shoulder.

Dean saw Sasha nod through his sniffles and even try to smile at Sam a little. "See?" Dean said, an arm around Sam now so he could squeeze reassuringly, "No harm done. Sasha's still your friend. Just be more careful next time."

"But I don't know what I did."

"Try," Dean said. He was a little wary about what he was about to suggest, but something told him it was the right thing. "Listen, Sammy, I'm going to tell you about all of the powers you have that we know of. Some might seem a little scary but I want you to know them. They're yours so your body remembers even if you don't. If you understand them better then you'll be able to choose when and when not to use them, okay?"

"I don' wanna use any of 'em _ever_," Sam pouted, snuggling deeper into Dean's side, "Sasha, I'm sorry. I'm sorry my powers were mean to you. I didn't mean it."

Sasha nodded again, still sniffling, and started to get up, aided by Shiarra. He was obviously unhurt just startled. "It's okay, Sam," he said in that small voice.

A part of Dean wanted to sniffle and sob with them.

True to his word, Dean told Sam about every power he knew, even the one that stops people's hearts which Dean was most concerned about going off accidentally and had Sam hugging him by the arm too tightly. Shiarra looked rightly unsettled by all this new information too.

Sam said that if he looked inside his head he could 'see' all of those powers Dean told him about and he promised he wouldn't have any more accidents. He also said he could 'see' other powers but he didn't know what those ones were. Dean didn't understand what Sam meant exactly by 'seeing' his powers but a five-year-old brain probably couldn't explain it much better than that.

The only thing Dean allowed himself to worry about was whether or not opening little Sammy up to the powers more was against everything adult Sam had been doing. A sinister part of Dean knew it was and didn't care. Anything was better than what they had been going through lately.

They didn't have time to deal with this anymore than they already had. There was a hunt to finish and five-year-olds to get grown up. There was also one minor detail Dean had forgotten to mention to Shiarra until just as they were heading out the door.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, it's no big deal. I was just trying to be nice to her. Besides, it'll make more sense with you suddenly showing up like this."

Shiarra huffed dramatically. "I find it highly inappropriate for me to pretend to be your _wife_," she said sharply, "Especially considering you're sleeping with my—"

"Hey!" Dean cut in, grabbing Shiarra's arm and pulling her close to whisper more discretely, "Ix-nay on the ex-say in front of the ids-kay, will ya?"

Shiarra blinked. "Did you just speak pig Latin to me?"

It took all of Dean's remaining strength not to laugh out loud. "I know you have rings. Just put one on your wedding finger for in front of Ula. Doesn't that sound like a fun game, guys?" Dean said to Sam and Sasha, "We're gonna make Ula think Shiarra and I are married. Everything else is the same. Fun, right?" Dean turned back to Shiarra while Sam and Sasha giggled. "Think you can handle that, _honey_?"

When they got to the front desk Dean made a point of holding Shiarra real tight against his hip. Probably because she was busy digging her nails into his lower back. Sam and Sasha were ushered almost immediately into the back room behind the front desk to play. Dean called out one final warning before they disappeared.

"Remember what we talked about, guys!" he said, and he really hoped they did. _Behave. No powers in front of Ula of any kind. You are _not_ actually five-year-olds. And Shiarra and I are married._ It seemed both feasible and a bit much for five-year-old minds to remember.

"So your wife got in this morning?" Ula said warmly without having to have anything explained to her, "That's wonderful. You two have…" she looked over their suits and trench coats, "Some kind of serious business in town today?"

"Something like that," Dean said, "Ula, this is Shiarra. She's actually Sasha's…_sister_," Dean was glad he caught himself because 'aunt' would not make sense, "It's how we met, taking care of our boys. Right, sweetheart?" Dean gave Shiarra an extra hard squeeze.

Shiarra just laughed politely but Dean could have sworn there was a hidden threat in that sound somewhere. "It's nice to meet you," Shiarra said, and Dean was immediately taken aback by how young she sounded, "Dean said you were really good with the boys before. I hope we're not putting you out."

"Oh, of course not. I've babysat for years. Oh," Ula brought a hand up to her mouth, "I probably shouldn't call it that. Adult sitting maybe? I know they're not children. I'm sorry."

There was no end to how much Dean wanted to tell Ula the truth right then if only to stop her from getting so flustered when there really was no reason. They _were_ children. Wholly and completely children. "I told you," Dean smiled, "They're like five-year-olds. You're not going to offend anyone for thinking that way too, especially not us. But…we better go. Thanks again."

Ula was all beaming smiles, her face only slightly flushed like maybe she couldn't help it half the time. He still thought it made her look cute. "Don't worry about a thing," she said, "Have fun!"

Right, Dean thought. _Fun_.

--

"You know, looking at you I see a twenty-five-year-old. Didn't know you still knew how to sound like one though. Almost believed you back there with Ula," Dean smirked as he drove.

The plan was to park a block away from Masterson's office and then walk. For some reason people had trouble believing any precinct would issue an unmarked '67 Chevy Impala to its detectives.

Shiarra was sitting comfortably next to Dean. He had gotten a look at her car finally, never having gone out to see it when they were at Bobby's. Dean had expected Shiarra to drive something shiny, new and expensive. Well, it probably was expensive but as it turned out she had a royal blue, revamped old Bentley. Dean had to give the succubus props for that; there was no doubt she had style.

"You, Mr. Winchester," Shiarra said with a sideways glance, "Have only had the pleasure of my company in private situations until now. Depending on my current quarry's tastes I _can_ act as I really am. Act my _true_ age, as it were. But I find that most people expect a twenty-five-year-old when they look at me, no matter how upscale, and that is what they prefer to get. You may want me to take point with this Masterson fellow, by the way. A little charm can often turn the tides in one's favor. And I am a professional."

"Ha!" Dean couldn't help laughing, because really, that sounded all kinds of wrong, "I don't think being hit on by a hot detective will be enough to loosen this guy's tongue if he's really who we're looking for."

"I meant in a subtle manner, thank you," Shiarra huffed, "Pheromones are a very handy way to sway someone. And what exactly are we supposed to do with this person once we're sure we've found him anyway? If the conduit for the curse, the house, has been destroyed then—"

"Then the only way to help Sam and Sasha is to either get this guy to drop the curse completely…or kill him." Dean clutched the steering wheel a little tighter but he didn't take his attention off the road. He had two guns, a knife, and his ankle blade. Shiarra had Sasha's knife and gun and the added bonus of being a succubus. They were prepared to kill. Still, Dean had to ask, "You have a problem with that?"

There was a slow rustling of cloth as Shiarra crossed her legs. "Not in the least. Rest assured…it wouldn't be the first time," she said in a low voice.

That caught Dean's attention. He flicked his eyes to Shiarra but she was staring forward as he had been. He decided not to ask. At least not now.

They reached Masterson's office and flashed their badges at his secretary. Dean had gone with Bangor, Maine detectives because Bangor was the closest of Maine's larger cities. And because the name made Dean snicker. Local police would have been too hard to pull of for an extended period of time in a place like Ellsworth. Dean wouldn't be surprised either if the real thing from Bangor or Augusta showed up in a day or two, what with all the crazy going on.

Masterson's secretary led them into his office to wait. He was apparently just getting back from a meeting. Dean and Shiarra waited in the seats provided until they heard the door open again.

"I hope you haven't been sitting here long," preceded a bright _female_ voice as someone entered the office, "Ellsworth has several historical buildings of interest so I've been all over the place lately. And what with the Hollander building just collapsing like that. I assume that's why you're here?" The woman came around the desk and sat down resolutely, claiming it rightfully as hers.

Dean stared. This was definitely not how he had pictured someone who worked in acquisitions. "_You're_ Tyler Masterson?" he questioned.

The woman smiled brightly, her hands folding delicately on top of her desk. "Were you expecting a middle-aged man?" she laughed, "Don't worry. I get that all the time."

Tyler wasn't a middle-aged anything. She looked early thirties, not much older than Dean—or Shiarra by appearance—had short brown hair, a tailored green suit, and a very stern but beautiful face. This was a self-made woman. Dean had to hold back a grin when he realized Shiarra's pheromones wouldn't be helping much.

Shiarra seemed to have realized that with a bit of a start too, but when Dean cast her a quick look she had on a very professional smile and started right in with questions.

"Actually, you're right. We are here about the late Mr. Hollander's estate," she said, sounding entirely different to Dean again then how she normally did or how she had sounded when playing the part of young wife in front of Ula, "We've actually been in town for a few days now, investigating the incidents that had been surrounding the house prior to its collapse. As the person in charge of the building's acquisition I'm sure you know all about that."

As was the desired affect, Tyler looked immediately unsettled. She shifted a little in her seat. "Yes, well, that was all quite unfortunate and as I understand it is still be investigated by the local police." Her eyes darted down at her desk before returning to Shiarra and Dean.

Too easy, Dean thought. "What exactly is the Maine State Housing Authority doing with offices in a town like Ellsworth? Seems a little out of the way."

"Yes, well…"

Dean wasn't oblivious at all to how she kept saying that.

"Our main offices are in Augusta, of course, but there's a lot of traveling involved so once in a while we'll set up more permanent offices if a particular area is of interest. Ellsworth is literally crawling with property ready to be turned over to the State. Better than seeing such lovely buildings go into disrepair."

"Like Hollander's house," Dean said with a subtle grin even though he knew the real reason it had crumbled like a stack of cards the other morning.

"Eheh. Right."

"You know what I found really interesting?" Dean said, leaning towards the desk, "You see, when I was looking over all the details for this case, I noticed that Hollander's property didn't get turned over to the State after his death. It actually fell into your hands the day _before_ that, didn't it? I'm sure you can understand why that seemed a little strange to us, Miss Masterson."

Panic flushed into Tyler's face and she sat up stiff and straight in her chair a moment. Suddenly, she leaned over her desk towards Dean and began speaking very fast in sharp, hushed tones. "Look. I swear I had no idea. The State wasn't even interested in that place. The town's own historical society wanted it demolished. I'd already been set up here looking at other properties, honestly. Then Hollander comes to me, begging, pleading that his dying wish was to make sure that place didn't get torn down. I didn't know he was serious about the dying part. I swear I had nothing to do with that."

"We're not here to accuse you of murder, Miss Masterson," Shiarra said coolly, "Conspiracy to do harm to others, on the other hand…"

"I had nothing to do with those incidents either!" Tyler's voice was beginning to rise. "Please, I've never even stepped foot in that house since Hollander signed over the papers and gave me the money."

Hang on a minute, Dean thought. This was getting complicated. Money? "Just come clean," he said, "You had to have known what you were doing when you reinstated the curse."

Tyler opened her mouth with ready defense again but suddenly snapped it shut and stared at Dean, gaping. "The _what_?" she said, genuinely taken aback.

Crap. Dean hated this feeling, the deer-in-headlights feeling when he'd just realized his hunch was wrong. "Hollander didn't…leave any instructions after signing things over? No other requests of…acts on your part?"

"I certainly hope you're not implying that I would have given any sexual—"

"No! No," Dean wiped a hand over his face compulsively, "Never mind. So…you took a bribe from Hollander to acquisition the house. And that's all."

Tyler nodded frantically, quickly forgetting any mention of a curse. Dean was continuously amazed at how easy that was for most people. "Are you…going to arrest me?" Tyler asked.

Not fucking likely. Dean was already getting out of his chair. "We'll…have to leave that as a State matter, Ma'am. I'm sure you'll be contacted by someone. Thanks for your time." More like _waste of time_. Dean didn't wait for Shiarra, he just got up and left, assuming she would follow. He had no patience for bumps in the road on this one.

Shiarra caught up to Dean outside and they headed for the car. It was cold. Clear, but the snow was high from yesterday. Dean thought Shiarra's brisk walk fit in perfectly. "She could have been lying," Shiarra said as they reached the Impala.

"She wasn't."

"_I_ know that," Shiarra shot back, "But I have a bit of an advantage." The slam of their doors was loud from the cold. "Police station next then?" she asked.

"No. Something's not sitting right with all this. Why would Hollander want the State to take the house? His medical records didn't show any signs that he was dying. It was sudden. But then what was with the whole _dying_ wish thing?" Dean turned on the Impala and shifted into DRIVE. "It's a few towns over, but I say we hit up Henry Faust next. Hollander's only living relative."

"Faust?" Shiarra repeated with a slight smirk as they drove off.

"Yeah. Why?"

"The famous story about selling one's soul to the Devil. Surely you know it."

Dean swallowed. He did know it actually. Too well. Only Shiarra didn't know how close to home that topic was for Dean. "Yeah," he said, "Who could forget."

--

"I'm sorry but…what is this about exactly?"

Dean and Shiarra had made it to Faust's place in less than an hour. He looked younger than Dean expected since the guy was supposed to be in his thirties, more like a young twenty-something. Like someone who took good care of themselves. He lived alone and answered the door to his small country home without a shirt.

It was Shiarra who smiled warmly and spoke to answer him first, apparently pleased that now her charms could be of some use to them.

"We're here regarding the property of your late relative, William Hollander Junior. If you have a moment," she added.

"Uncle Bill's place? Sure, sure." Faust ran a hand through his hair and stepped aside to let Dean and Shiarra into the house, looking like maybe he had been taking a nap before they arrived since his eyes were so tired. He led them into a living room and swiped a shirt from off the back of a chair that he immediately put on. The rest of the place was very tidy, and, Dean had to note, a little too old poke country for his tastes.

Dean couldn't help noticing how Shiarra eyed Faust appraisingly while he was putting on his shirt. He was in good shape, sure. A little too blonde maybe. Dean just didn't see the appeal. Of course he had never seen the appeal in other guys. Well. Except one.

With a sharp elbow to Shiarra's side, Dean managed to knock her eyes from the guy's ass before Faust turned around and caught her. Charm was fine, but actually getting interested was not what they were here for. Shiarra could find someone to feed from on her own time. Of course she just shrugged at Dean innocently in response to his elbowing. The look was remarkably akin to one of Sasha's actually.

"I can't imagine why Bangor detectives would care about that old house. Is this about the vandalism or the squatters?" Faust asked, offering Dean and Shiarra seats on the sofa.

"Vandalism?" Shiarra questioned.

"Yeah. Didn't I hear the whole place went down yesterday? Sturdy buildings like that don't just fall over." Faust sat himself down in a cushy-looking chair next to the couch.

"We're here about a little bit of everything, Mr. Faust," Dean said.

"Or should we call you Henry," Shiarra jumped in. She batted her eyes at Faust and Dean was immediately reminded of playing Mormons with Sasha. Shameless.

Faust cracked a sideways grin. Dean didn't miss the way his eyes swept quickly over Shiarra's body even if it was mostly covered right now. "Hank, actually. Henry was my father. Our family has a long tradition of juniors."

"Anyway," Dean pushed right on, "Hank. First, I don't suppose you could tell us why Hollander was so anxious to have the State take claim over his property. It seemed a little…odd to us."

A concerned frown crossed Faust's face. "Why? Because I wouldn't," he said simply, and with maybe a touch of regret, Dean thought, "He asked me take it and…I'm sorry, but to be honest that place has always given me the creeps. It was actually my suggestion that he take it to the State. He just didn't want to see the place torn down after he died. I think he understood it would be eventually but being declared a historical building or something would at least keep it around awhile."

"_You_ convinced him to go to the State?" Dean pressed.

"Sure."

"Because we also found it odd that Hollander told the acquisitions officer it was his _dying_ wish. You know, what with him croaking the day after the State took over the property and all."

Again concern washed over Faust's features—regret, _guilt_. "Yeah. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. I guess he knew something the rest of us didn't. I should…I should have known something was wrong with how insistent he was to get the place in someone's hands so suddenly like that. I should have taken it myself. I just…" Faust sighed, "Bill's a second cousin. It's not like we were really close. We're just all that's left. I should have taken the house. If I'd have known he was dying…"

"We're sorry to bring all this up for you again," Shiarra said tenderly. Dean thought he was beginning to understand how to read her, and she seemed entirely genuine towards Faust. Dean glanced between the two of them and saw Faust smile in her direction.

"He was cremated, you know," Faust said—and they _did_ know that since it had been one of the first things they thought of with all they knew of vengeful spirits, "There wasn't even a funeral really. It just gets to me that he spent so much time on that house, whatever he did with it, that no one even really cared when he passed away. I don't even want to think of that happening to me, so I just let the house go. If you want information about what happened to it or about those squatters, I'm sorry I can't help you, but I'll cooperate all I can. I've never even be inside that place. They said…they said it made those people go crazy, if you can believe that."

Dean believed a hell of a lot more than just that. "Thanks for your time," he said, getting up and looking down at Shiarra as a sign it was time to go, "We'll keep in touch if we need to ask you any more questions."

Shiarra looked at Dean a little strangely at this sudden departure, but she reached for Faust's hand, shook it, and made with the polite goodbyes before following Dean out. As soon as they reached the car Dean shook his head at Shiarra and chuckled under his breath. "What?" she said haughtily, "I am allowed to admire. It's not like it did any harm."

"That's not why I'm laughing." Dean started the car for their trip back into Ellsworth.

Shiarra looked at him, waiting for Dean to explain himself.

This was one of those moments when Dean really enjoyed being himself. "You, Miss I-Do-This-Everyday, were just swindled."

"Excuse me?"

"Faust played right to you. He was lying. I don't know about what, but he's hiding something. I'm sure of it."

"Dean," Shiarra said with an air of authority, "He was being wholly sincere. If you'll recall, my senses for reading people's emotions, for reading whether or not someone is _lying,_ are—"

"Supernatural," Dean broke in, "Just like what we're dealing with in this case. But he can't fool good old fashioned intuition. He was lying and I want to know why."

Shiarra didn't say anything for a few minutes but Dean could feel her eyes watching him as he drove. He was surprised she didn't further question his deduction but just said, "You think he's the one we're looking for?"

Dean frowned. "I don't know. Won't make sense to do anything until we're sure. We'll go back to town, hit the police station, see if we can find out anything else. I want to see if they brought in any of the rubble as evidence. We're still missing too many pieces. Either way, I say we come back to Faust's place some time he's not home and have a look around. Maybe tonight if we don't come up with anything else."

There was silence in response and after awhile it started to make Dean nervous. He could still feel Shiarra's eyes all over him.

"What?" he finally said in exasperation.

With a smirk, the succubus returned to facing forward. "Nothing," she said, "You just reminded me of someone."

Now it was Dean's turn to stare. If Sasha was still a mystery then Shiarra was the Bermuda Triangle. Sometimes sense just disappeared when he tried to make some of her. He didn't really mind all that much either.

The police station was just what Dean expected—small, poorly staffed, and easily infiltrated. The chief barely even gave their badges a glance. He seemed to have expected help from one of the cities on this one. Well, Dean supposed the chief, like most small town police chiefs, wouldn't call it help so much as _prying_.

"Well at first we thought it was the fire. Arson maybe. But it turns out the thing wouldn't have been big enough to take down that whole place," Chief Milner explained. Dean and Shiarra were sitting in front of his desk. They seemed to be sitting a lot today. "I don't know what to tell ya. We brought back a few pieces of the wreckage, sure, but that's another strange thing. There just wasn't enough debris there. A few pieces caught our attention, strange words and all that. I can lead you to the evidence room if you like."

Dean loved small towns. "That would be great."

Chief Milner wasn't an idiot though. He took to Dean and Shiarra pretty well even if they were barking around his territory, but he didn't leave them alone in the evidence room as Dean had hoped. He kept a watchful eye on them, occasionally giving his two cents, which actually was pretty helpful most of the time, but prevented them from being able to speak freely about what they found.

Speaking in code wasn't the hard part though. Oh no. The hard part was not stealing the bag marked 'E' when Dean saw that it contained his father's miraculously preserved journal. If it was still in evidence then no one had looked through it quite yet. He'd have to get his hands on it later though if he didn't get the chance to take it now. Dean gave Shiarra a hard look as he passed the journal to her and moved on to something else.

Most of what was here were pieces of wood, benign now and stripped of their power, with bits of Latin on them. There was only one piece Dean hadn't remembered seeing before and it made him pause. How he knew he hadn't just passed over it when they were in the house was because it wasn't in Latin. Dean recognized the words as Greek.

"You wouldn't happen to know what part of the house this would have been from, would you?" Dean asked Milner. It was just a small bit of wood and was hard to discern much of anything about it except that it wasn't a wall stud.

Milner stepped a little closer since he had been giving them room and eyed the piece. "Found that one myself. Down by where the porch steps would have been. Couldn't tell you _exactly_ where it had been though."

"Thanks. That might actually be helpful." There was something nagging at the back of Dean's brain now, something about finding this one bit of Greek that bothered him. He couldn't put his finger on it yet but he knew there had to be some connection.

"What's this?" asked Shiarra, holding up what looked to be the last evidence bag. It wasn't rubble but appeared to be a piece of paper. Dean peered over her shoulder and looked closer. It was a photograph. It looked pretty worn but if Dean didn't know any better he would swear it was Henry Faust.

"Found that by the steps too. Funny it was in such good shape. That's a picture of Bill there. Or maybe his father. They looked so much alike. Must have been from when he was just shy of thirty by the looks of it."

Dean snatched the picture out of Shiarra's hand. "This is Hollander?" Catching Shiarra's eye, Dean immediately passed on all of the panicked emotions he felt welling up inside of him. They had never found a picture of Hollander Junior or Senior, like the family ran from cameras. Now Dean understood why. This wasn't just family resemblance. "Thank you, Chief," Dean turned to Milner, "I think we've seen enough."

Moving quickly to leave the police station, Dean all but bolted for the Impala. Shiarra had to run to keep up with him and called after him as he raced for where the car was parked down the street. "Dean! What are we doing!?"

Suddenly everything had clicked and Dean knew exactly what needed to be done. "We're paying that second visit to Faust. _Now_."

tbc...

A/N: Anyone? There a lot of little things in this one that allude to other things. I think this Arc will have two more parts. I had intended only one but I just can't fit it all. That will make an even 10 parts anyway. This will move back some things I had planned to the next Arc, but that's fine. I have their first hunt there all planned. And actually, between this arc and the next there will be a guest chapter that MUST be read by deangirl1. I will let you know when it is ready for your reading pleasure, but it fits into the story after this. It is amazing.

THANK YOU ALL, really, and an extra one to those of you who don't sign in so that I can't ever message back my thanks. You guys are amazing. It's Dean and Shiarra to the rescue!

Crim


	39. Part 9: Redemption

Part 9: Redemption

--

Dean drove as close to the edge of acceptable speeding as he thought he could get away with in a small town. He felt a rush of urgency now that he understood what was going on, but he also knew he had to be rational, which wasn't always an easy thing for Dean. It was hard to be rational knowing you had stared the beast right in the face but hadn't known to strike a blow. Dean had had suspicions but not enough to be sure. Now he knew, and it didn't matter that the beast was just a man.

"Kronastic spells. They were Kronastic spells. I can't _believe_ none of us got that," Dean ground out, slamming a hand against the steering wheel.

"Well of course they were chronastic," Shiarra said matter-of-factly, "You knew it was time based. There were all those rooms—"

"Not chronastic like chronological," Dean cut in, still angry that none of them had figured this out when they were touring the Animus House to begin with, "Kronastic like Kronos. Greek god of time."

"The Titan?"

Dean nodded. "All pagan gods had cult followings after their initial fall from popular worship. Kronastic occultists were some of the first people to come up with the idea of a fountain of youth. They believed that if they could decipher the teachings of Kronos properly they could attain eternal life. But of course…there would have to be a price."

"A sacrifice," Shiarra said with disdain, understanding immediately that the price in this case had in part been her nephew, "But why does it only affect their minds? If this Faust, Hollander, whoever he is used those spells to drain the life out of people shouldn't it have made the victims physically…older…" Shiarra trailed even as she said that because she knew that none of the victims had become _mentally_ older either.

"It works differently than you're thinking," Dean explained, "When Hollander was still giving actual tours of the house the victims were always elderly. Followers of Kronos thought of memory as the only true gauge of time. It's memory. Memory is where he's stealing people's youth. It's like those stolen events never happened and their minds go back to a time before the place he took. That's why all the others are like newborns, but because we sorta had the Animus House collapse on us and things got a little messed up, Sam and Sasha managed to hang on to a few years."

"And the Latin?" Shiarra asked, "Finding that bit of Greek was one of the final hints for you, yes? So why were all the other spells in Latin?"

That was the other thing that had Dean grumbling, because he couldn't help thinking he should have realized all of this back during the time slips. "Latin is better for spells. Hands down. The oldest exorcisms were probably written in something ancient like Aramaic, but we use Latin translations. Everything was being translated into Latin at the peak of the Kronastic cult. Rise of the Romans, ya know. But Hollander still needed the original Greek incantation for channeling Kronos' power. All he needed after that was a likeness of himself—the picture—and…willing sacrifices." Dean struck the steering wheel again. "Damn it!"

Screeching to a halt at a red light, one Dean sorely wanted to run, he tried to take a breath and calm down. There was no point in beating himself up over this. Sam and Sasha had missed those initial signs too.

While Dean's mind was buzzing with all possible ways to approach the hunt now, he began to feel the soft, smooth warmth of skin on skin that for a moment almost had him believing _Sasha_ had placed a hand over his. Dean glanced to the side just before the light turned green. Shiarra was smiling at him with something like fondness and sympathy. It was such a motherly expression that Dean eased immediately at her touch, still mourning the loss of looks like that even twenty-five years later. He knew right away that this particular expression was usually only reserved for Sasha.

"It's uncanny," Shiarra said softly, "The way you care for him so fiercely, for your brother too, the way you've been acting on this hunt, all your self effacing and self-sacrifice. I want to be angry with you. I want to dislike you. Just as I wanted to dislike _him_ when we first met. But then you have to go and be like this, admirable really, so intent and in love so deeply with someone of my family that I can't help feeling happy for them. I always knew Sasha was too much like his mother. Apparently he has her same taste in men too." Shiarra's hand slid away and Dean just stared.

A honk from the car behind them brought Dean back to reality. Right. The light was green now. Dean continued driving down the road. He wasn't heading immediately out of town after Faust though. They needed to check on the rugrats for one, and Dean needed out of his monkey suit. It would also be getting dark by the time they got to Faust's; that required extra supplies.

The rest of the remaining five minute drive to the motel had Dean in a daze though. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what Shiarra had meant. _Who_ she meant. He reminded her of someone, she had said, when he was so deep in case-mode for Sam and Sasha's sake that he didn't have time to be anything but serious. Dean already knew the smartass part was true too.

Deklin Kelly. No wonder Shiarra wished she could hate Dean. She saw the same story playing out again: sex vampire and hunter—teamed up and doomed. Dean wasn't about to let that happen. And he'd start by ending this current hunt and fixing things right now. He wanted Sasha back. He wanted his brother back.

They rushed into the lobby to find Ula reading behind the front desk. She looked up as they reached her, immediately startled. "Oh! Is everything alright? Sam and Sasha are in the back again. They've been wonderful all day. I've only had to watch the desk every so often. We're never that busy this time of year."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, understanding that Ula thought they might be upset she wasn't in the back room with them, "I understand that you need to stay up here, but we need to move the guys to our room. We're gonna head out again but they…need to be in a room." Dean cringed at how little sense that made, but it couldn't be helped. There was no way to know what kind of aftereffects ending the spell would have when he and Shiarra took care of Faust. It would be pretty hard to hide things from Ula then.

"Uhh…okay," Ula blinked, "I can keep watching them though. My mother was going to come in and take the rest of my shift in a few minutes."

It almost pained Dean how nice this girl was. "No, we don't…you don't have to. Really. It's sort of complicated. I don't have time to explain." Dean glanced beseechingly at Shiarra and then started to move behind the desk to go into the back room. "I'll grab them. Two seconds," Dean called behind him as he went.

Really, it shouldn't have surprised Dean to walk in on the sight that he did. Kids will be kids. And kids with adult superpowers couldn't be expected not to try living out a few childhood fantasies.

Sam and Sasha were each sitting cross-legged on the floor on opposite sides of the room. It was relatively empty except Ula had obviously brought in a few extra things for them to play with. Like a ball. Yellow. About the size of a head. Clearly one that would usually be used for games that needed it to bounce such as kickball. Currently, that ball was suspended in the air between the boys, sailing so slowly that it went against all possible physics. It got close enough to Sam for him to touch it and he flicked it with his finger, sending it back again with the same impossible slowness towards Sasha. Both boys were giggling.

"Look, Dean!" Sam called happily, apparently having known all along that Dean was there, "I can control it real good. See?"

"_Sammy_," Dean said sharply, walking briskly up to the yellow ball and snatching it out of the air, "I told you not to mess with your powers in front of Ula. Do you have any idea how dangerous it could have been if someone else had walked in here just now?"

Instantly, Sam's entire face became one giant pout. "But, Dean, I never let Ula see. I'd know if someone was coming. I didn't stop the ball coz I knew it was you. Promise."

There had to have been a time in Dean's life when the puppy eyes didn't make him decompose into a puddle of goo, there _had_ to have been, but Dean couldn't really remember one. Besides, even this barely five-year-old Sam had some logic. "Okay. Okay, it's okay," Dean said, tossing the now normal moving ball to Sam, "I forget how smart you are, pal. You practice any other powers?"

When Dean moved his gaze from Sam over to Sasha he saw that the incubus was biting his lip with a secretive grin. Sasha laughed a little before admitting, "We arm-wrestled. It was cool."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, "Sasha's really strong too, like me, so we tried hard as we could. We both won sometimes."

Dean had to smile imagining what that must have looked like. "Sounds awesome. But I don't have time to hear about your day yet, okay? Shiarra and I figured things out so we gotta take off again. We need you guys to go back to the room though so Ula doesn't see when you change back." Dean had this awful image in his head of the motel collapsing like the Animus House even though he knew that was ridiculous.

"You know how to make us grown up again?" Sasha asked.

"Yep," Dean said, even though he couldn't be entirely sure about the details. He hauled Sam to his feet and then went over to Sasha and helped him up too. "I just need you guys to hang out in the room for like an hour. Then before you know it everything will be back to normal." Dean sincerely hoped he was right about that.

It wasn't really all that surprising to Dean that Sam and Sasha looked apprehensive. Growing up was always scary.

Before Dean could lead them both out and back to their motel room, Shiarra and Ula came through the door to join them. There was this air of female unification about them that made Dean nervous. Surely Shiarra hadn't told Ula the truth. "What's up?" he asked.

Ula gave a huge sigh of resignation and Shiarra looked at Dean as if to say they weren't as unified as they seemed and that this was all Ula's doing, not hers, even if she did seem perfectly fine going along with it all. "I…I just wanted to say that I know you're not being entirely honest with me," Ula said, "And that's okay. I can tell you're not bad people and that whatever you're doing it's so you can protect and help Sam and Sasha somehow. So…I'll look after them while you finish whatever you need to do. You really can trust me to help."

"It's not that we don't trust you," Dean stressed; they didn't have time for this, "It's just that—"

"Sam and Sasha aren't usually like this, are they?"

Dean froze. His gaze became immediately sharper as Ula said that. He looked to Shiarra who shrugged and then at each of the boys, both of whom seemed genuinely surprised that Ula had figured things out.

"It's not their fault," Ula said gently, "But they sort of gave things away when I asked what their favorite TV shows are. I liked _Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers_ and _Duck Tales_ too. When I was a kid in the late 80s. Not that I wouldn't enjoy them now, mind you, but I could tell Sam and Sasha weren't talking about DVD packs." Ula paused, looking at Dean squarely. Her face wasn't bearing even a hint of redness. "You're talking to someone who grew up on stories about fairies living in her garden. I can believe in the weird and abnormal pretty easily. That house did worse to those other people, didn't it? The one that collapsed? I know it's all related but you don't have to tell me anything. I'll watch them," she finished firmly.

On the rarest of occasions they would come across people like this, people ready to believe and desperate to help. It always made Dean so angry because they were the ones he least wanted part of the fight. "I don't know what's going to happen when we get them back to normal," he explained to Ula evenly.

"Better to have someone looking after them then," she answered much the same.

Part of Dean wanted to dissent further but he didn't have the patience or time for this fight. Before he knew it an older woman was manning the front desk and the rest of them were all in their one motel room.

Dean changed quickly in the bathroom and came out intent on gathering more supplies. If Ula had questions or concerns about the things she saw, she didn't speak up about them and Dean was grateful. He didn't notice until the moment he was ready to leave that Shiarra had dumbed-down her wardrobe too, ridding herself of her blazer and button down and leaving a tight white tank top that she accompanied with _Sasha's_ leather jacket. Her hair had been taken down as well and Dean had to admit that she looked the part of a female hunter much more like that.

"Let's go," Dean said.

"Good luck, Dean!" called Sam from behind him, and suddenly there was a large body right there and long arms wrapping around Dean's waist.

After catching his breath, Dean carefully turned within Sam's tight hold to make the hug more proper. It was getting to be a bit much for Dean, all this open affection, but he could allow and enjoy it right now because he knew how much Sam needed it. "It's gonna be okay, buddy," Dean said, sensing Sam's anxiety, "Big brother Dean to the rescue, right?"

Sam giggled shakily and hugged Dean harder, pushing his face against Dean's neck. "Yeah."

When they pulled apart Dean saw how Sasha was hovering close by. He knew the redhead was looking for that same kind of reassurance, so he stepped up to Sasha and pulled his friend close for a quick hug too, holding the back of Sasha's neck and breathing in that familiar _Sasha_ scent.

"Shi and I got this covered, so just sit tight and have a good time with Sammy and Ula." Dean felt Sasha nod and then heard a breathy whisper against his ear.

"I wanna be grown up for you, Dean."

An ache tore up Dean's heart to hear that. He couldn't even be sure if Sasha understood the full weight of saying those words, but god, Dean wanted that too. Feeding time for the incubus was so much more than just a mutual agreement between friends.

After that Dean couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

--

Dean kept clenching and unclenching his fingers around the steering wheel as he drove. He was twitchy and the forty-five minute drive to Faust's place was beginning to feel more like hours. Dean kept going over worst case scenarios in his head. Worst of the worse was that Faust wouldn't even be there, but the guy seemed too arrogant in Dean's opinion for him to run, if he even had reason to suspect something was wrong. Thinking about this so much, with all the silence currently raging through the car, had Dean twitching even more. He desperately needed distraction.

"Can we bullshit or something? I'm going nuts over here," Dean said, wringing his hands so that the steering wheel squeaked. Dean was never a nervous hunter but this was different, mainly because there wasn't a Sam or a Sasha to joke around with, and Dean didn't feel comfortable talking out loud to himself with Shiarra sitting right next to him.

"Well," Shiarra said, "Are you planning on reasoning with Faust at all or just going in for a quick kill?"

"No. Not about the case," Dean answered quickly, "Something else. Anything else. You can tell me your life story for all I care, just _something_."

There was a brief pause. "Is that your underhanded way of finding out my age?" Shiarra said through a grin.

That did the trick; Dean chuckled. "I could just ask Sasha ya know."

"Hn," Shiarra huffed, "My boy knows better than that."

Dean chuckled again.

"Besides, I would have thought you'd want insight on Sasha not me," Shiarra went on, "I know how men are. You never talk. You like to discover things yourself rather than make with the sharing and caring. And I recognize it can be difficult for Sasha to disclose things."

"It's not that. And we do talk. We do," Dean said more firmly when Shiarra raised an eyebrow at him, "Maybe not like a bunch of girls. And, hey, I wanna get to know Sasha better through _him_, not gossiping with his aunt. No offense. But," and Dean realized he would almost be contradicting himself with what he was about to say, "There is this…one little thing I've been wondering." He looked at Shiarra and her face held no reproach or mocking. "He's banished, right? Can't ever go back to the incubus/succubus plain or whatever again. But he could before. He would to see you. To fly. To be home. Almost nine of years of that…and he never once ran into his old friends?"

That question had been bugging Dean since they first met Lindsey and Charis. There would have to have been a lot of avoiding involved to pull that off, but Dean had the distinctive feeling that Sasha hadn't so much as glimpsed any of his friends since their falling out. Until that night.

A tight smile pulled across Shiarra's face.

"I would say that most of our kind between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five rarely if ever return to the home plain. It's the rebellious youth stage, the desperate for sex like an animal in heat stage, if you will," Shiarra laughed lightly, "But…I also know for a fact that Lindsey, Charismatic, all of them were home occasionally, and there was even one time where I know for certain Sasha was home too. It wouldn't have mattered though. Sasha stuck to the family house and secluded areas for flying. So to answer your real question," she said, "No, he didn't make any kind of effort either. Sasha hadn't called me since just before your run-in in Massachusetts by the way. But Charismatic did."

"The copper-haired chick _called_ you?" Dean questioned, "Why? What did she say?"

"She told me what happened, quite upset about it all, and asked for Sasha's number. I don't know how she managed to get mine. It's not as though I can go home ei—" Shiarra cut herself off abruptly like she was literally biting her tongue.

Dean had heard more than enough though. "They banished you too? Guilt by association or what? Sasha never mentioned anything about that."

"Sasha doesn't know," Shiarra said sharply, "And I'd prefer it stayed that way. No guilt by association either. Let's just say…I argued his case a little too forcefully and paid the price. Good riddance. It was my mess anyway and they banish _him_ for cleaning it up."

Of course. That stance was perfectly understandable to Dean; Sabine was Shiarra's younger sister—her responsibility. So Shiarra _had_ known Sabine was killing, Dean surmised. He could wholly sympathize with how she hadn't been able to track her sister down herself and strike the killing blow, necessary as it had been. Dean could understand that better than anyone.

"Anyway," Shiarra continued, "Charismatic or one of the others might come calling at some point. It's a big mess of course. But they're good children. All of them."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, thinking of how angry Lindsey had been but not at all out of hatred, "I don't doubt that." He hoped for Sasha's sake that something _would_ happen. Now he just had to make sure Sasha was in his right adult mind if something did.

Dean's heart sank when they finally reached Faust's place and parked the Impala hidden off the side of the road. Faust's little country home was completely dark. The sun had set right after they left Ellsworth so their surroundings were near pitch black too. There weren't exactly street lights out this far.

That worst of the worse thought that Faust wasn't home struck Dean again, but intuition told him otherwise. "If he really is gone," Dean said, "We'll still get a look at the house and hopefully pick up a trail on where he went. If he's there…"

"Then it's probably a trap."

"Seems likely. He knew to get passed your whole read emotions thing. Maybe he figured out more about us than we thought."

"Which brings me back to my original question," Shiarra said.

"We go in for the kill," Dean answered, not needing to hear the question again as he checked one more time to make sure he had his knife and that both his guns were loaded, "If this guy's been doing this for as long as I think then he doesn't have any sympathy for his victims. He may be human but as far as I'm concerned that just means there's more than one way to kill him."

Approaching the house was easy. Shiarra moved almost as much like a trained hunter as Dean did—silent and swift—that by the time they reached a promising looking window Dean had no doubt they could finish this hunt together. There was no sign of movement inside the house. Dean used his knife to slide underneath the old wood of the window and unhook the latch. It blessedly didn't creak when he pushed the window up and they climbed quickly inside.

Dean reached for Shiarra's wrist in the dark once they had their footing. He had only ended up bringing one flashlight since Shiarra had insisted she would be able to see just fine. Her senses were sharper than Sasha's, being much older. They waited a moment for some sign that they were not alone but Shiarra shook her head at Dean—she couldn't hear anything and neither could he. Taking out the flashlight then and flicking it on, Dean passed it slow and careful over the room they had climbed into. It was the living room Faust had brought them into, which was exactly what Dean had been aiming for. It was always better to start off on familiar territory.

First thing's first, Dean thought, remembering the basics of hunting his father had taught him. _If the quarry isn't immediately visible, always secure the area first before continuing on its trail_. Besides, Dean hoped he might find something to back up his suspicions about Faust being a Kronos worshipper, just to be certain.

But as it turned out, they didn't get very far into their searching or securing of the house before things started getting complicated.

"_Dean_," Shiarra whispered harshly while he was heading for the roller desk in the corner.

Dean cast her a quick glance, already irritated. "What?"

That was when Dean noticed the large rug he had just passed over that hadn't been there the day before. Shiarra was standing near the edge of it, her body jerking strangely as if she was trying to step off the rug but couldn't get passed some kind of invisible barrier. "I can't move," Shiarra all but hissed, stating the now very obvious.

Returning to the middle of the room, Dean knelt at the edge of the rug and motioned for Shiarra to move back a bit. She did, unable to go too far before she met another barrier, and Dean folded the rug over as much as he could to see if his hunch was right. Underneath the part of the rug he had moved was a still partially hidden devil's trap. Shit.

The light to the living turned on just as Dean was realizing how accurate their 'maybe it's a trap' thought had been. Dean stood quickly and turned to face the nearest entrance. Faust was standing there looking all smug and pointing an old rifle at him and Shiarra. Dean didn't have to guess what kind of bullets were in it.

"So you're not _both_ one of them then," Faust said absently, looking completely assured of having the upper hand even if Dean was still free to move about, "I thought it was strange to have an incubus and a succubus working a case like a couple of hunters. So it's what, a strange partnership of hunter and demon? That still doesn't explain why _you're_ all covered in incubus pheromones," he said with a sneer at Dean.

This guy was pretty sharp, but just because Shiarra was trapped and all but useless, and Dean had his flashlight out instead of one of his guns didn't mean Dean felt outnumbered. "What can I say," Dean grinned, "Sometimes I just can't help bringing my work home with me." Dean dropped his flashlight at the same time he reached for the gun tucked into his jeans. He had it out and steadied on Faust before the guy's eyes had even left the rolling flashlight on the floor.

"You're quick for just a human," Faust said.

"You too, I'd imagine."

"Oh," Faust smiled slyly, "I'm much more than human. I'm going to live forever. And no one, especially not you, is going to stop me." Faust said that but he didn't blindly fire at Dean or Shiarra, not with a gun also pointed at him.

"Funny thing about eternal youth," Dean said, nodding at his own gun, "Doesn't make you immortal. And I gotta say, pretty hard to live forever when you handed your precious curse over to the State."

A snarl twisted Faust's face. "It would have worked better than ever if I had had time to finish the new spells before _someone_ made the place collapse." Faust spoke with anger now, circling Dean while Dean remained between Faust and Shiarra. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," Faust sneered, "Those fools that lost their memories while the place was locked down had it coming. I was just looking for early retirement. I actually prefer maintaining an age a little older than this. One person's memories are only worth a few years for me. The last couple were certainly a surprise, incomplete as they were." Faust grinned. "Friends of yours?"

Shiarra made an angry 'ouff' behind Dean, trying unsuccessfully to throw herself out of the devil's trap. "You bastard!" she snarled, "At least my kind understands the preciousness of life."

Faust laughed out loud to hear that. "Of course you do," he said snidely, "And I'm sure your immortality has nothing to do with making that easier."

"So let me get this straight," Dean said before Shiarra could retaliate; he had to keep Faust occupied the way he wanted, "You got sick of playing things out with the tour, maybe too many people picked the right door, so you figure to hell with it, I'll just get the State to turn it into a real museum and I won't have to do a damn thing." Dean huffed. "That place would have been torn down in no time. People are freaked already after what happened to those squatters and the cop."

"It wasn't going to be like that," Faust nearly growled. He was continuing a constant circle around Dean with Dean as the pivot point trying to keep Shiarra protected behind him. Just a little further, Dean thought. "The spells would have been altered before they opened the house again," Faust said, "The lower rooms would have seemed more like a parlor trick and the choice to view the future would have ended differently too. It would have taken scattered memories from people, barely missed, not whole chunks. A good enough crowd like that, coming constant, would have kept me young for decades."

"No memories are expendable. You don't even care about the people you hurt," Dean snapped, "The people it's hurt up til now…you took their whole lives from them." Dean watched Faust's movements with deadly precision. One more step. Just one more.

And then Faust stopped.

Damn it.

"I never forced anyone through that door," Faust said, his head held a little higher as his grip adjusted on the rifle. It amazed Dean how much he really did look like that picture they found—surfer blonde hair that had looked white in the faded black and white photograph, handsome clean-shaven face, fit body in jeans and a flannel shirt, much like Dean really.

Maybe it was unfair to lose one's youth, but it was still wrong to steal another's just to keep your own a little longer.

"Everyone chose for themselves," Faust went on, "Those squatters. Your friends."

"My _friends_ didn't choose shit," Dean bit out, "They were sucked into that damn room when we tried to burn the place down and cleanse the curse."

A smile quirked at Faust's lips again. "Then they must have wanted it. They must have _seen_. Why do you think you were spared?"

Dean didn't want to hear this. He needed to get Faust to move that last step; this standoff couldn't last forever. Dean shifted, pivoting again in hopes it would cause Faust to move unconsciously forward. "Kronos," Dean said, "He was a neutral god. So I guess for you…as long as people always chose for themselves the sacrifice was willing and you weren't responsible. Right?"

"That's the idea," Faust agreed, "People look too much to the future these days and forget to live the _now_ they are in. You can't even begin to imagine how many people over the years have chosen the wrong door. And why? All the people who took the tour saw the same thing when they went inside. _Death_."

Those victims were all elderly so that wasn't surprising to Dean.

"Death is all that awaits any of us," Faust said as he at last took the small step Dean needed in order to make his move.

"Well," Dean said with a grin, "You are right about that."

Faust was standing near the roller desk and one of those chairs with wheels. If Dean could be proud of anything it was that he was one hell of a sharp shot. He fired, hitting one of the wheels of the chair and moving it just enough to hit the back of Faust's knees and trip him, also successfully re-aiming the rifle to shoot into the ceiling instead of at Dean or Shiarra.

Dean moved in immediately. Satisfying as shooting Faust right now would be, the smart thing was to get the rifle away from him first. Dean had been right about Faust being fast though, because the guy was steady again by the time Dean reached him. Faust tried to reposition his gun but Dean grabbed the barrel with his free hand to keep it pointing up and tried to jerk it away. The barrel was hot from having just fired, making Dean grit his teeth.

While Dean tried to reposition his own gun onto Faust, Faust took one hand away from the rifle to grab at that too, making it an evenly matched struggle for control.

Right. _Even_.

Dean head-butted Faust in the forehead and ripped the rifle free. He lost his own gun to the floor in the process but it was worth it. Faust recovered quickly again, however, and suddenly charged Dean, causing him to back-peddle away from the desk and for the rifle to slip from his fingers. It was a man's fight now so Dean still had the upper hand as far as he was concerned. He'd been trained how to fight by a god damn Marine.

Using Faust's own momentum against him, Dean spun them around and threw Faust towards the back of the couch where he struck hard and all but crumbled straight to the floor. Part of Dean wanted to go for one of the guns again but that would put his back to Faust. Never a good idea. Dean had another gun inside his coat but by the time he thought to grab for it Faust was already coming at him again.

Dean hunkered low and swerved to avoid the first of Faust's blows. He came up with an uppercut of his own then right into Faust's stomach, winding the other man, but even with that Faust managed to drag Dean down with him by hanging onto Dean's jacket and going limp. They fell to the floor together and with wild struggles Faust finally managed to get Dean into what Dean recognized was a very experienced and effective hold. Faust had been taught well too.

"Dean!" Shiarra called from what seemed so far away within the devil's trap, but her cry was not what was going to get Dean free.

"You have…what? Less than…thirty years experience? And you think…you can beat almost _two-hundred_?" Faust scoffed. He had an arm hooking both of Dean's arms behind him and all of his weight in a leg that was thrown over Dean to keep him pinned to the floor. "When you've seen what I've seen, touched magic and curses as much as I have, you start seeing everything differently. Like being able to recognize a succubus and fool her senses. Or weaving tapestries of memory just to steal a few meager years. But _you_…I knew there was something about you. Maybe the house would have taken you after all, like your friends. But the thing is…" Faust's voice fell to a whisper beside Dean's ear, "You can't steal life from the damned."

Dean's eyes went wide with fury, so angry for some reason that Faust just knew, that he could tell as if _'this soul belongs to somebody else'_ was written across his forehead. He could see Shiarra from this position too and he knew she had heard Faust even though he whispered. Her face was filled with the most awful confusion. Dean didn't want her to understand. He didn't want pity from her too. He was not something to _pity_.

Another of Dad's rules: when left with nothing else use your enemies own tactics against them.

There wasn't any way to be sure what Faust planned to do just holding Dean in place. All of their weapons—at least any Faust knew about of Dean's—were too far away. But Dean stilled struggled, hard as he could, and when he was sure Faust was confident in his ability to keep Dean pinned, Dean went suddenly limp. Just like Faust had done to him. This unbalanced and surprised Faust enough for Dean to slip just one arm free. That was more than he needed.

Reaching back, Dean grabbed a handful of Faust's hair and pulled as hard as he could, rolling forward at the same time so that Faust flipped over onto his back in front of Dean. Quickly, Dean straddled Faust to hold him down, using one of his own effective pinning moves. "Guess that makes me more Faust than you," Dean said dangerously, "You didn't sell your soul to the Devil. You didn't have to. You're just like those damn demons."

And as always, because Dean just didn't get his own species, he was surprised when Faust started laughing. "The thing about Faust, _kid_, is that even though he makes a pact with the Devil in that story he still receives the gift of everlasting life." And with a broad grin, Faust slammed his body upwards, something that takes a lot of lower abdomen strength with a two-hundred pound Winchester on top of you, and just like Dean had before, Faust managed to get one limb free.

Before Dean knew it they were struggling again, but Dean was sick of this. He was done. Some crazy youth-stealing geezer was not about to one-up him. Dean got in a good kick to Faust's stomach, much more effective than just a punch, scrambled to his feet, hauled Faust up with him, and rushed for the nearest wall, slamming Faust back hard. They were both breathing pretty heavily by this time but Dean could tell Faust was much more dazed now than he was.

"For the record…" Dean gasped, "Faust gets…redemption…you limp-dick. Not the same thing." Dean held Faust with one hand while the other reached into his jacket for the knife he had used to open the window. Faust immediately tried to struggle again, one of his hands grabbing Dean's wrist to prevent the knife from coming at him.

Dean just grinned. He knew he was stronger.

"You know…with the right weapon…you can kill almost anything if you stab it in the heart," Dean said in a low voice, fighting against Faust's hold on his wrist as he brought the knife closer and closer to Faust's chest, "Even a man." One final surge forward was all it took and cool metal slid cleanly into Faust's body. He stared at Dean wide-eyed but he would get no sympathy in the replying look. Dean may not take joy in killing, but there were some people you just couldn't feel sorry for.

Faust slid slowly to the floor when Dean pulled the knife free again and stepped back. The actual moment of his death was made quite clear when Faust's body started to turn ashen, aging years within moments until there was bone and then nothing but dust that crumbled to the floor.

_That_ was disturbing.

"How very _Portrait of Dorian Gray_," came Shiarra voice from behind him.

Dean turned back, a little surprised, and managed a half grin. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Well…I was gonna say…how very _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_," he shrugged, "But whatever floats your boat." Dean wiped his knife clean on his jeans, retrieved his lost gun, and then walked over to the devil's trap. He sliced through the circle with his knife, flicking the paint until the seal was broken.

"Thank you," Shiarra said simply. Dean didn't miss how her tone was a little too soft.

"I'll…get things set here so we can burn the place. Better if there's nothing left. Normally I'd take more time but…I'll do all that. You call and see if we saved the day or not."

"No," Shiarra said, touching Dean's arm with a firm hold, "You call. I'll take care of this." Her tone allowed for no objected and Dean had the silliest urge to just hug her. She could say anything right now, ask him about what Faust meant—even though he was certain she had already figured it out—say something about how cold he had been while killing Faust—even though he was pretty sure she didn't mind—or who knows what else. But she just took the last of his burdens and told him to call home.

Dean would have been truly grateful too if he had been able to get any kind of signal out there. He hated not knowing if Sam and Sasha were okay, but Faust's country home didn't have a damn phone either, the freak, so there wasn't much more they could do after torching the house other than drive back to Ellsworth hoping. All of Faust's books, spells, and tools of worship had been found in the basement. They were making a clean getaway. Even if someone did find something in the wreckage later, it would be nothing but dust and ashes.

The place was ablaze and they had to get out of there quick before any neighbors, far away as they may be, noticed the fire and called for help. Dean knew that: never leave evidence and never _ever_ get caught. But when Dean slid into the driver's seat of the Impala and Shiarra slid in silently besides him, he found he couldn't drive. He just couldn't. He knew she knew now and that she was waiting for him. It wasn't at all like how Sam and Sasha had dealt with this, and he kind of had to respect that.

Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, Dean didn't even take out his keys. There wasn't time for this but he knew he couldn't drive until he got it out. So he just stared forward, took a few breaths and started speaking.

"A year ago…Sam, he…he got killed. Stabbed in the back. I couldn't…save him. And I…couldn't…let him die, so I…I made a deal. Crossroads demon. You know, the usual sad, stupid story."

"Ten years?" Shiarra questioned without an ounce of obvious emotion in her voice.

Dean had to chuckle darkly. "Nah, see…I'm special. She gave me _one_. Got about three months left."

"Sasha knows this?"

"He does."

"Trying like mad to save you somehow I imagine." It wasn't a question really.

"Yeah. Him and Sam both. Crazy freaks." Dean smiled sadly to himself and clenched his eyes shut. He was the one that was supposed to save them. He'd done it tonight—he hoped, since they couldn't get a hold of them—and he'd done it before, but it wasn't right how much they were both willing to give up to save him. He didn't want them getting caught up in something that would bring them down with him when his fate was his alone.

"Dean," Shiarra said, and still her voice was just plain calm, not angry or sympathizing or anything else Dean had received when someone found out about the deal, "I've been around a long time. And one thing I can tell you about demon deals…" she trailed a little, maybe waiting to see if Dean opened his eyes and looked at her. He didn't. "There is no way out of them. It's a choice you made. A contract."

Dean swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Guess they're hoping they can kill the contract holder or, I don't know, beg him, her, whatever to let me go. Not too fucking likely, huh."

"I can't begin to guess who holds the contracts, but no, not too fucking likely." There was the hint of a smile in that and this time Dean did open his eyes and look at Shiarra finally. She was smiling and there was no pity there just a certain kind of understanding. "You didn't need me tonight. Or at all today really. I thank you for indulging me, but you were successful solely on your own. It's not that I doubted that, it's only…well, there are things Sasha can do, things your brother can do that sway people more easily or give them an advantage in a fight. You have none of those same abilities and yet you accomplish all the same things…as just a man. Deklin would have liked you."

Whatever weight had resettled on Dean's chest it lifted at least a little and he couldn't help grinning to hear that. He grew up on stories of Deklin Kelly, a great hunter even John Winchester had hoped to emulate. Okay, so now Dean was fucking the guy's son, but there were other things to be proud of.

His smile sank pretty quickly though as he looked at Shiarra squarely to reply.

"There's never been a question whether or not I _can_ do this job alone. Even Dad thought so. But I certainly know one thing about Deklin Kelly that I can be sure we have in common. And that's in knowing that having someone you can do this job with is the only thing that makes it bearable. If that means I have to put up with the super-twins stealing my thunder once in a while, well…at the end of the day I'm just happy they're there." Dean sniffled and realized his eyes were way too wet for after a successful hunt. "Okay," Dean said, fishing out his keys finally and getting the motor running, "That's enough of that. You tell those idiots that I got all weepy around you and this friendship is off, ya got me?"

Shiarra laughed. "Dean, though I know it may not be much consolation…if there is anyone who can prove both me and the universe wrong…it is most definitely you."

Dean knew without a doubt that Shiarra meant those words for more than just his relationship with Sasha and it made him feel just a little bit lighter again.

The drive should have felt like hours the same way the drive before had been, but instead it flew by, and in what seemed like a blink they were back at the motel. By the time they were within good cell phone range they were so intent on just getting to the motel they didn't even think to try calling again. Dean parked as sloppy as he ever had and bolted out the door of the Impala as soon as the keys were out of the ignition. He was almost to the main lobby door when Shiarra grabbed his arm.

"Wait," she said.

"What is it?" Dean almost yelled. He wanted to get inside. He wanted to know if it was okay. It had to be okay.

Shiarra just stood there, looking up at him. Dean was too anxious for this and he was about ready to turn and run whether Shiarra had something important to say to him or not. He was thankful she hadn't ripped his head off after finding out about the deal but he wanted to get in there and check on Sam and Sasha.

Therefore, maybe it was because of that, because Dean was so distracted by other things, because he didn't notice Shiarra's lips pressing firmly against his until after the first five seconds.

When Dean did finally realize, he couldn't help giving a little gasp, and that brief parting of his mouth gave Shiarra the very opening she had been waiting for as she turned the kiss intimately deep. Dean had no intention of kissing back, it was just so hard with how much those soft lips and the way her kiss was so damn deep…reminded Dean instantly of Sasha.

And that made him instantly _nauseous_ because he was basically being kissed by his boyfriend's mother and that was just wrong. Even if she was an exceptionally good kisser. Dean was thankful when Shiarra pulled away before he had to give her a good hard push. He fairly gaped at her then for at least a minute.

"Hmmm," Shiarra hummed contentedly, giving Dean a somewhat crooked smile, "I guess that explains it then. Never did get to manage that with Deklin." She wiped the corners of her mouth a little, fluffed back her hair, and then made to move around Dean and go inside the motel.

Dean was physically incapable of moving. He just stood there. "What?" he said to himself. He managed to turn his head and found that Shiarra was at least waiting for him just inside the lobby door. "What?" he mouthed at the glass, "_What_?" He couldn't form anything more coherent than that. Then he thought over the look that had been on Shiarra's face and the words she had said.

_I guess that explains it then._

Weirded out as Dean was, he realized that he probably had just been given the biggest compliment possible from an incubus or succubus. So it wasn't just Sasha that Dean could make weak in the knees. That had to count for something.

Striding past Shiarra with a hard look and then turning quickly to hide the smirk that was still building, Dean moved quickly passed Ula's mother behind the front desk and went for their room. The apprehension he had been feeling returned, dancing through him as he got out his key and reached for the doorknob. He could knock but he was fairly certain he needed to do this himself.

Opening the door, Dean took stock of the room before him, seeing that both Sam and Sasha looked as though they had been sitting but had then stood abruptly upon hearing a key in the lock. Ula was sitting at the table. She was smiling. _She_ was smiling. Sam and Sasha were far beyond just that, both looking caught somewhere between joy and great relief. Dean barely made it all the way inside the room to permit Shiarra behind him before Sasha was right there in front of him, grabbing him by the folds of his jacket and kissing him hard enough to bruise.

Unlike Shiarra's kiss, this one had Dean instantly melting. It wasn't just because it was Sasha and he had missed this for those couple of days, it was…well, everything really. That firm press, the way their mouths just opened and found tongues without thinking or fumbling, the way Sasha's hands gripped so hard, just…_everything_.

They pulled apart and Dean was breathless. He stared into those too blue eyes, eyes that looked back at him with love not just blind childish devotion. "Hey," Dean gasped out, "That better have been a twenty-five-year-old you doing that coz otherwise it'd be kinda creepy."

A laugh erupted out of Sasha immediately and Dean heard Sam chuckle too. "All grown up," Sasha said with a smile, "You had us so worried. Why didn't you call?"

"We were in rural frickin' Maine. You try finding a signal," Dean shot back.

Already Sam was coming up behind them and Dean knew his sap of a brother wanted his affectionate moment too. Sasha moved to hug his aunt and Sam didn't give Dean any chance to protest as he pulled him in for a hug too. It was tight. Too tight, like maybe Sam had forgotten he had that super-strength.

Dean didn't want to think about dealing with powers or anything like that right now. He just wanted this. What he had right here. Sam. Sasha. Right now all of them were okay. That was such a rare thing he wanted to savor it. He had so many questions, like whether or not the guys remembered being rugrats or if they had just snapped back to normal and not known who Ula was. Dean was banking that they remembered everything though and he knew they would get to talking about it all soon enough. He just wanted to let Sam squeeze the life out of him for one second longer.

"So…just so I know I'm not going crazy," came the somewhat annoyed but otherwise humored voice of Ula, "I'm guessing one of the other things you didn't mention was that you're not actually married to Shiarra. Either that…or you have a very open relationship."

Shiarra barked a laugh at that, then Sasha, and finally Sam, hot against Dean's neck. When Sam pulled away and Dean had enough air in him to actually release any kind of chuckle, he laughed long and hard too until he was out of breath all over again.

tbc...

A/N: Opinions on the end of that hunt? One more chapter for this Arc to finish things off, so you'll get to know what the boys remember and goodbyes and...well, some other things. :-) Then begins Arc 6 and by the looks of things I may yet again have more planned than I thought. I'm sure you don't mind.

Head on over to deangirl1 again, folks, for another new chapter. This one is called "Feathers" and is the plot bunny I have been waiting for. So good! Thanks for all your wonderful support! My wedding is less than a month away now, but I'll stick with you right up until. I'm afraid there won't be any writing during my honeymoon though. ;-)

Crim


	40. Part 10: The Awakening

ATTENTION! The next chapter of Incubus after this one will be posted by deangirl1, so you will have to watch her for that. It is very important and is canon, taking place between this arc and the next. Please read it when she posts. I believe it will be its own new story rather than an addition to her previous Incubus Redux pieces. The next arc will take place several weeks later. Thank you in advance. Also, thank you for sticking with this, because you are in store for the longest chapter yet by about 2000 words. Enjoy!

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Part 10: The Awakening

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It was just like being at Bobby's that night when Sasha woke up from his coma and everything moved in strange jumps Dean could barely hang onto. He remembered that at some point Ula excused herself to allow the 'family' their reunion time, being far too understanding for a normal human being really. He remembered how Sasha and Sam exploded into talks about what they remembered, which seemed to be pretty much everything, and how they were so anxious to hear how the case had ended up. Dean was pretty sure he told most of the story about Faust, but then maybe Shiarra stepped in to fill in the blanks more times than he wanted to admit. He was just so tired. _Exhausted_. He was at the point of passing out by the time he realized Shiarra was going back to her own room in the motel and Sam and Sasha were trying to get Dean into bed.

Dean supposed he had been holding his breath with his heart beating at 130 or higher for the past two days. No wonder he fell asleep as soon as he laid back on the pillows, still fully clothed and mumbling about how it was too early to go to sleep and they really needed to celebrate or something and…and…

And then Dean was waking up and it was early morning. Too early; Dean would much rather sleep late today. He'd earned it, after all.

He was facing the nightstand when he woke up and saw his watch sitting there blinking at him. It was six AM. Urg. Dean rolled over and found the firm, immovable body of Sasha beside him, laying on his back with his chest slowly rising and falling in sleep. The covers were pulled up over the incubus' chest, leaving only his pale neck and face and the glorious red hair. Dean looked down at himself and saw that either Sam or Sasha or both had stripped him down to his boxers which Dean decided to just be thankful for. He wanted to curl in next to Sasha and sleep for at least a few more hours.

As Dean was beginning to do that, scooting closer into Sasha's warm body and breathing in all that wonderful _Sasha_ scent, he glanced briefly past the incubus over to the other bed to check on Sam. Who wasn't there, Dean realized with a start. The bedding was rumpled as if it had been slept in but there was no Sam.

Panic seized Dean immediately. For three nights in a row Sam had woken in the night with yellow eyes, towering or threatening or something seemingly sinister every time. Was it happening again? Dean should have thought of that before he allowed himself to fall asleep. He should have known better. He hated that his brother was starting to come with more of a warning label than ever before. He hated that Sam needed to come with a warning at all. He was just Sam. Just Sam.

Wasn't he?

Dean sat up and threw the covers aside. He had to stay calm. Sam couldn't have gone far. Dean shuddered to think that the yellow eyes would lead Sam to do something to Shiarra or—even worse—Ula. He was half a second from setting his feet down on the floor when the bathroom door opened. Glancing worriedly over his shoulder, Dean tensed to fight, to run, whatever he needed to do, but staring back at him from the doorway, and then entering the main room again with slow tired steps was just a normal, _hazel-eyed_ Sammy.

"Dean…? Is everything alright? You should go back to sleep." Sam walked back to his bed and sat down, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand like a…well, a five-year-old, which thankfully he wasn't anymore, mentally or otherwise. It looked as though he was going to lie back down in the bed when he realized Dean was still staring at him. "Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean said like reflex—it really _was_ reflex for him. He closed his eyes tight and then opened them again, trying to get his bearings better. Everything was okay. Questioning why would just tempt fate to change that. "I was getting antsy waiting for your slowness to get out of the bathroom," he added, "Primping for your dream dates now? Nature calls." Now that Dean had thought about it he really did have to use the bathroom. That was probably what had woken him up.

Sam just grinned and shook his head at Dean, settling back into bed. He was asleep again by the time Dean came back. Dean enjoyed the feeling that he was a little responsible for the lack of yellow eyes tonight. It seemed that getting young Sammy to open up a little more to his powers had done the trick. Dean still wanted to talk to Sam about all that but they would get to it. For the next few hours Dean would content himself with tucking his body into Sasha's and holding the incubus close with an arm hugging his waist. Sasha purred unconsciously in sleep and nuzzled Dean's neck like a cat.

With Sam sleeping peacefully in the other bed and Sasha sleeping peacefully in Dean's arms, Dean allowed one of those rare moments of believing everything was going to be okay. It felt nice.

When Dean woke up the second time it was because the other side of the bed had grown cold and there was sun streaming in through the windows. He was facing where Sam and Sasha should have been visibly sleeping, but this time both of them were missing when Dean opened his eyes to check. As he came to more fully, Dean could hear low voices and the hum of a laptop; he knew not to worry. Of course he was still surprised to find Sam and _Shiarra_ sitting at the table instead of Sam and Sasha.

"_Hey_. Half-naked, half-conscious man in the room. Ya mind?" Dean said, sounding somewhere between angry and very groggy. He sat up and ran a hand through his short, messy hair, but still made sure that the covers covered him even if he was wearing boxers.

"Oh please," Shiarra said dismissively. She was back to her glamorous apparel, wearing a form-fitting green skirt that flared at the bottom, green expensive-looking heels, and a slightly lighter colored green blouse.

Dean smirked to think that he liked her better in pants, a tank top, and Sasha's leather jacket. Very Slayer-chic. Of course Shiarra had just blinked at Dean when he said that to her last night. "Yeah, whatever, you old cougar," Dean said to her now, allowing his smirk. He wouldn't soon be forgetting that stolen kiss in the parking lot. No wonder Sasha was so good at that kind of thing; it ran in the family.

Sam was fiddling on Sasha' laptop—he must not have gotten his own out of the car yet—and had to cough to hide the laugh that bubbled up within him. Dean smirked wider.

"Say, where's—" Dean had been about to inquire over a certain redhead but just then the bathroom door opened to reveal a freshly showered and already dressed Sasha. Dean realized that Sam was ready for the day too. They must have let him sleep. This was one time he didn't mind it at all.

"We're thinking of sticking around for today since we're pretty well settled here anyway. We can rest. Check out possible new hunts and demon activity. That sound okay, Dean?" Sasha asked as if he had been part of the conversation all along. He was wearing one of his especially low-riding pairs of jeans and _Dean's_ favorite black T-shirt. Dean wondered if Sasha even realized.

"Sounds good to me," Dean said. Normally he hated sticking in one place for too long, but he was sore as hell, especially his poor battered shoulder that just wasn't getting the time or relief it needed to heal. Dean was also more than content to let the geeks return to research duty. And he really wanted his turn in the shower. "Ahem," Dean coughed in Shiarra's direction, holding the sheets to indicate he was about to get up.

Shiarra rolled her eyes dramatically but then politely turned her head, allowing Dean to grab a quick change of clothing from his duffle and head for the bathroom. Sasha discretely thwapped Dean on the behind as he passed him to which Dean turned his head and winked. The whole 'they were kids for a couple days' thing did nothing to make Dean uncomfortable around Sasha now. He looked forward to the next time he could get Sasha alone, though to be honest not only because he could go for a good tumble some time soon. There were things Dean wanted to talk about. Many things.

Dean took his time in the shower. He didn't have any cuts or too many new bruises from the fight with Faust, but his previously dislocated shoulder was almost back to square one—sore, multi-colored, and even a little swollen again. Dean's lackadaisical choice for getting ready was probably why Shiarra was saying her goodbyes by the time he rejoined the others.

"What? You're doing the whole save us, ditch us thing again?" Dean smirked. Shiarra had her purse over her shoulder and was standing near the door. She had already packed up her Bentley.

"Well, you know how much I adore torturing you boys with my presence, but I wouldn't want to be in the way while you're doing your research. And I do have my own things to get back to. If you get the chance some time though, and I know how difficult this may be," she said, looking at Dean with a swift apologetic glance, "Maybe the next time you boys take a little break from all this you'll think about coming to Seattle. All of you," she stressed.

Sasha hugged Shiarra first, good and strong, then Sam who admittedly blushed a little since she also pecked his cheek, and finally Dean went up and hugged her too, tight with a whispered, "Thanks," and he meant it just as much for her simply being there as he did for the specifics of her not letting the others know that he had told her about the deal. He didn't want their influence changing how refreshingly she handled it.

"Walk me to my car," Shiarra said to Dean when they pulled apart. It wasn't a request. Sam and Sasha gave Dean puzzled looks as he grabbed his coat to follow Shiarra out, but Dean just shrugged. He could imagine several different things she might want to discuss in private.

It was another cold January day in Maine, lightly snowing to add to the already bountiful mounds everywhere but the roads, and the roads were free only because the plows had been through early. Dean admired Shiarra's Bentley as they neared it. It was a classic, like one of the ones from the 20s but well kept. It wasn't really Dean's style but he had to admire a good piece of aged machinery.

Shiarra set her purse on the passenger's seat and closed the side door again before turning back to Dean. She looked shockingly serious. "Dean, I like you," she said simply, "I've liked you from the start to be honest, much like with Deklin, which was why I tried so hard _not_ to like you but…well." She shrugged.

Dean didn't say anything, not even to gloat jokingly about how 'well of course he had won her over.' He sensed something unpleasant coming.

"I had started to think that maybe you would be good for Sasha. That maybe you might be…something permanent. But the truth is, Dean, in…three months, did you say? You'll just be another bad memory." The air went instantly still around them, but Shiarra spoke on. "How hard you make it for him is up to you. Call me a bitch for saying all that if you like. I do hope, _pray_ that you can find some way out of your deal, Dean, but…" she trailed, shaking her head sadly.

Again, Dean found no pity there, not really pity, because Shiarra knew why Dean had made the deal and understood in a way few could. She wished things could be different, looked at things more practically than Sam or Sasha, but she didn't pity him, and for that Dean could never be angry with her for wanting to protect her own. "I know," he said. And he did, but he also knew he couldn't survive these last three months without both Sam and Sasha there, even if it was selfish, even if it made things harder for both of them. It was the only way he could keep an eye on them until he was gone and make sure that they were going to be okay.

When Dean came back to himself out of his thoughts, Shiarra had the passenger door open again and was fishing inside her glove box for something. Dean made a point of looking up because that green skirt of hers was pretty damn tight across the rear. "And…" Shiarra said as she surfaced from the car, "I believe you wanted this back."

Dean just stared as a leather-bound journal was placed in his hands—a very specific journal. _Dad's_. Dean had been so caught up in everything since last night that he had almost forgotten about needing to retrieve the thing from local police evidence. "How…how did you get it?" he managed, holding the journal tightly in his hands. It was the hunter Bible for them and almost as much apart of Dean as the Impala—a final remnant of his father.

"Oh, I have my ways," Shiarra dismissed, "Take care of my boy?" she said then, not really as a question.

Slipping the journal into his coat, Dean looked up at Shiarra with a firm nod. "For as long as I can," he said back. He couldn't smile though. He just couldn't find the strength to form one even after the gift she had just given him.

Shiarra leaned up to kiss Dean very light and thankfully more _motherly_ this time on the lips. "I meant my offer about you boys coming to stay with me for awhile. If you can."

"Yeah. Who knows. And hey," Dean grabbed Shiarra's arm before she could disappear around the other side of the car, "I was hoping I could ask you something quick. It's…nothing big, I was just…kinda curious and I didn't really want to ask Sasha."

Understandably that earned Dean a raised eyebrow. "Alright," Shiarra said slowly.

Dean had a feeling he was going to regret this but curiosity had already gotten the better of him. "See, when he was still a five-year-old, Sasha said something that got me thinking. He, uhh…mentioned these friends of his. Eppy and…Atty, I think?"

"Of course," Shiarra nodded, "They're part of that same core group as Charismatic and Lindsey. What about them?"

"Well…" Dean glanced away, finding the compacted snow on the cement surprisingly interesting, "Aheh…he said something about them…having two fathers. Is that…true?"

Risking a glance upwards again awarded Dean just what he expected; Shiarra's expression had narrowed to an intimidating stare. "Yes, they do. And this interests you because…?" Her prompt was dangerous.

Part of Dean wanted to laugh it all off but he was pretty sure that would just get him in more trouble with the succubus. "So…an incubus and another incubus can have kids together?" Dean asked rather than really answer Shiarra's question. Shiarra nodded as if she was waiting for some further punch line. So Dean went on, "Does that mean…one of them actually gets _pregnant_, or…"

"Our genetics may be different from humans, Dean, but males of most species still lack certain things for that. We're not seahorses," Shiarra said sharply.

Seahorses? Dean decided not to ask. But he still hadn't had all of the questions he did want to ask answered. "So then…?"

"It's a process. One your own species isn't all that far from accomplishing," Shiarra said, a little exasperated but at least willing to explain things, "There are certain rituals, involving sex of course, that can combine the genetics of a same sex couple. The child then grows within a surrogate."

"Like the in vitro stuff?"

"Only mystical. If the couple is female then they simply decide beforehand which one will carry the child. If they are male then there is a chosen surrogate. However, the child is very much that of the actual parents. Believe me, Epica and Attoinette are the perfect combination of their fathers. I've known them for years. Their appetites are practically identical."

Okay, Dean really didn't need to know that. "Right. Ehh…thanks. I was just…ya know…curious."

Shiarra stared at Dean particularly hard before letting Dean off the hook with that. "I like you, Dean," she said, in the exact same tone as she had said it before, "But I mean it when I say that how hard you make this for Sasha over the next few months is up to you. How I choose to react to how hard you make it for him, however, is up to _me_." There was as much humor as there was honest threat in those words.

Again, Dean understood, but selfish or not he wasn't about to push Sasha away right now. And why did Shiarra have to think that Dean being curious about the whole same sex pregnancy thing had to have anything to do with him and Sasha? Dean wasn't asking for their sake or anything. Did she forget he was human? But then maybe she had, Dean thought wryly, everyone else seemed to be missing that point lately.

"_Dean_…"

"Yeah. I get you," he said to Shiarra, "But I think we both know that there is no way I can make this easy on Sam or Sasha anymore. They just don't make that possible, ya know."

Shiarra sighed deeply. "I suppose I can't argue with that. Our boys certainly are stubborn if anything. Take care, Dean. For my sake too." Then just as swiftly as she had moved into their lives Shiarra was out of it again. Dean had this horrible feeling that this might be the last time he ever saw her. He didn't want to think like that. This was a day to relax. A day to forget all those horrible, nasty troubles of theirs. And he wasn't going to be getting many more.

--

When Dean returned to the room he had to wonder if he had just walked in on yesterday, because, hard as it was for him to believe at first, Sam and Sasha were wrestling on the bed. Okay, so it was more like Sam had Sasha from behind, trying to get something out of his hands, and somehow they had _ended up_ on the bed, but the end result was the same. The sight immediately reminded Dean of that hunt with the Trickster. Damn Sam and his larger frame and insane monkey reach.

"Do you two need a few minutes?" Dean smirked as he entered.

They had both been giggling like the five year olds they had so recently been, though Sam did seem intent on getting whatever it was Sasha was clutching so protectively. Now, however, they froze. In that awkward backwards embrace. On the bed.

Dean valiantly held back his laughter as he came around to get a better look at them. Once he saw what it was they were fighting over though he lost it. It was the coloring books their young personas had so diligently worked in. "Aww, are you fighting over who gets to keep the pretty pictures?" Dean teased through chuckles, "Or can't decide who stayed in the lines better?"

This distraction was enough for Sasha to worm his way out of Sam's hold where he then quickly got up from the bed, still holding the books tightly to his chest. Sam huffed and sat up straight on the edge of the mattress rather than try to snatch the books away again. "He was going to throw them away," Sasha said to Dean, as if that entirely justified their tussle.

"They're ridiculous," Sam defended himself, "The whole thing was."

"Look, call me a packrat if you want, but I want to keep them. They're souvenirs from the hunt. Proof we survived being five. Again."

Dean and Sam both chuckled. To be honest, Dead had been planning on keeping the books all along. "I'll take them," he said, stepping over to Sasha and holding out his hand. There had to be some residual effects from being five for two days because the expression on Sasha's face was that sort of cautious pout only a child could wear. "I'm not gonna let Sam throw 'em," he assured Sasha as he took them, "This is evidence. Frickin' hilarious evidence too. One of us is bound to have a real fridge in a real house someday. And these are gonna be the first thing that goes up on it." Dean smirked at the thought. Of course then he had to go and think that the chances of him especially or really any of them ever having a fridge in a stable home that was _theirs_ was about next to nothing. "Maybe we can send them to Uncle Bobby or Aunt Ellen, eh, kiddos?" he mended, "I'm sure they'll be so _proud_."

"Don't you dare," Sam said, even though he was grinning wide enough to show off his dimples, "I think we can keep this hunt to ourselves. And I won't try to throw them away again," he said to Sasha, "There's just…a few things I'd rather not remember about the last couple of days."

Sasha blanched. "Good point."

"Like what?" Dean said, tossing the coloring books over by his duffle. One was Spider-Man and the other was Care Bears. He had a pretty good idea which one had been used by which five-year-old. "It wasn't all that bad. I mean, looking back on it since it got all fixed and everything. Nothing too crazy happened."

Studying his friends for a reaction Dean noticed the furtive glances Sam and Sasha gave each other before coming to some sort of consensus and then turning quickly away again. Then it hit Dean. They remember everything. Which would have to include bath time.

"Oh god," Dean laughed, "You remember watching each other naked!" Dean barked another laugh and then realized that yes, his brother—very adult now—remembered seeing his boyfriend naked. "That's not funny."

This time it was Sasha who laughed, but Sam stood up from the bed and gave the incubus a look. "No, it's not. Can we try and put that behind us maybe. I mean, I don't mind the playing. We had fun for five-year-olds. It was kinda…nice." Sam shrugged shyly. "But the bathing and…finding those pictures on your phone, Dean, which I know what they were now that I'm an adult, thank you…yeah. I can do without those memories."

"Dude," Dean said with a grin, happily forgetting anything about naked _child_ Sam and Sasha, "Careful what you wish for. All memories are precious. Well," Dean really had to grimace, "Maybe precious isn't the right word but you get what I mean."

Sasha walked up to Dean, still chuckling over the whole thing, and obviously more okay with any remaining memories than the others. He said, "I think I can live with having seen Sam naked. Just so long as I get to see you naked, Dean Winchester, _soon_ and more often." He accompanied his teasing words with a very light pat on Dean's shoulder.

A pat that immediately had Dean gasping in pain because it was his hurt shoulder that still refused to heal.

"Dean?" Sasha asked worried, realizing immediately that he had done the wrong thing, "I'm so sorry. Is your shoulder still hurting you that badly?"

"What gave it away?" Dean said through clenched teeth, his good arm reaching over to touch the injured shoulder even though he couldn't actually bring himself to make contact without fear of causing himself more pain.

"We should take a look at that," Sam said right away, coming up behind Dean and bodily moving him to sit on the bed. Suddenly, Sam and Sasha were on either side of Dean, both trying to get his shirt off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _hey_!" Dean nearly shouted, pinning his arms down to his sides to prevent his companions from basically stripping him, "Do ya mind? I do not need both of you fussing over me. If _one_ of you wants to look at it, fine, but that's it. _God_, playing Mom made me forget what damn mother hens you both are."

And then came the matching pouts and scowls. Sometimes Dean wondered if Sam and Sasha were the brothers. They sure seemed to have a lot of similar expressions. At least Dean had never caught Sasha with Sam's patented bitch-face. Sam's current expression actually looked a lot like that as he said, "_You_ can do it," to Sasha and then turned back to the computer on the tabletop, "I'll keep checking the radar to see if there are any nearby hunts or demon signs."

Dean was kind of pleased that his nurse for the morning would be Sasha instead of his brother. Sam was damn good at patching wounds up and all, and had pretty gentle hands for a behemoth. But Dean kind of longed for a few Sasha touches right now.

Carefully, Dean removed his own shirt, thank you, but then let Sasha look over his shoulder and take him through the motions. Motions literally. Sasha had him attempting all sorts of movements to be sure there wasn't any further damage besides the excess swelling. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any, and as long as they iced the shoulder good again and didn't have anything new happen to it before it had the chance to heal this time, it would be fine. Dean promised to be more careful, at least to appease Sam and Sasha. It wasn't as if he could help that Faust wrenched his arms behind his back during that fight. Things like that just seemed to happen—worst possible fight scenarios while already wounded. It had to be some kind of evil rule or something.

While Sasha was helping Dean ice his shoulder, they discussed with Sam a few possible hunts. Sam seemed reluctant to bring it up but he mentioned wanting to try summoning the demon they had sent after the contract holder again. If that came up as another bust then they needed to find another demon to send, and quickly. Maybe if they kept sending more and more demons down for the same mission, the contract holder would eventually get fed up or make a mistake. Of course that meant finding demon activity.

Dean tried to listen as Sam extolled the merits of heading for Indiana where there was a possible vengeful spirit at a primary school. A lot of the signs could apparently go both ways, either spirit or demon, and it seemed their best bet right now. It also wasn't as far away as some other choices.

So yeah, Dean tried to listen as Sam went into detail, but…Sasha's free hand kept rubbing his lower back with slow, soft circles while the other held the icepack in place. Sasha was sitting so close to Dean too that their hips were leaning against each other's. If Dean looked over, which he did, Sasha was right _there_.

Somewhere between _'small town'_ and _'we need to find another demon'_ Dean totally tuned Sam out. Sasha was just…looking at him. No smile. He didn't need one. His eyes spoke everything. He was reaching across Dean with his left hand to get at Dean's right shoulder, and Sasha's right hand was still tracing those circles. And then the hand started to trail a little lower, teasing the waist of Dean's jeans. And Sasha was leaning just a little bit closer. The redhead was practically holding Dean already with the way his arms were halfway around him, so it wasn't all the hard to just let the kiss happen.

This was pure bliss compared to last night, and last night's fierce welcome home had been pretty damn blissful too. At first Sasha was just placing gentle little presses to Dean's lips, his right hand straying just a little below Dean's beltline to tease his tailbone. Dean shivered. He was the one who pressed forward and sought out Sasha's tongue, which answered him eagerly. Dean's left hand sought out Sasha's hip then and just clung right there, first to the edge of jeans and then rising up underneath Sasha's—well, _Dean's_—black T-shirt to find skin. Dean half expected Sasha to push him back onto the bed.

Then Sam cleared his throat. Loudly.

"Sorry," Sasha said sheepishly, pulling away and repositioning the icepack on Dean's shoulder since it had started to fall, "We're listening."

Right. Sure they were.

Sam seemed to realize the truth behind that too.

"Look, let's just say we're going to Indiana. Unless you have any objections?"

Dean and Sasha shook their heads.

"Good. Now…do we need to get you guys another room, coz I do not want to deal with waking up to you two making out in the other bed again. Once was _more_ than enough, thanks."

Much as Dean liked that idea, there was something else he wanted more right now. "Can we discuss sleeping arrangements over lunch? I'm starving."

It was unanimously decided that Dean's idea was genius. They hadn't actually grabbed anything for breakfast while waiting for Dean to wake up. They knew better than to eat without him. That mistake was another 'once was _more_ than enough' situation. And then some.

They were halfway out the door, planning to walk to this little place on the corner rather than worry Ula or anyone with room service today, when Dean remembered something Faust had said that was still bothering him. He knew it shouldn't matter but he still felt like he needed to ask.

"Hey…guys," Dean said, while Sam already had the doorknob turned and they were all in their coats. Sam and Sasha turned back to look at him quizzically. "It's nothing really, just…Faust said something to me and…I can't help thinking…well…he said the reason you two were pulled into that room and I wasn't had to be because you _wanted_ to see the future. That you…must have actually seen something then or you wouldn't have turned into kids. So…did you? See anything in there?"

It was as if someone had taken an eraser to both of their faces, Sam and Sasha went so suddenly pale. They looked at each other before turning back to Dean, and when they shook their heads with the same, "No, nothing," on their lips, Dean knew they were lying to him. He also knew why.

"Right. Well…better get some grub, huh?" Dean smiled big and pushed on past them, taking a deep breath once he was out of their visual ranges. He couldn't help thinking about what Faust had also said, about what everyone saw in that room because it was the only inevitable thing. Dean had a sinking feeling that Sam and Sasha hadn't seen themselves.

--

After lunch they decided to check out the hospital. They had been pretty lax about making sure whether or not the other victims had recovered too, assuming that of course they had, but now they wanted to be sure.

The cop and the two male squatters had already checked themselves out. The only one that remained was the Jane Doe who Dean noticed now had a name, Jennifer Laurie, and who also looked fully recovered. They didn't go in to see her. They were out of uniform and it was almost certain she would remember them. Dean was glad to get at least a glimpse of her though and to see that her eyes no longer had that faraway look.

There was nothing to do when they got back to the motel but research into this Indiana thing a little more and relax. Dean loved that. Sam and Sasha set to work and he let them, lounging back on the bed and just enjoying that they were back to normal. He and Sasha would get around to grabbing another room later. Dean liked it being all three of them unless he wanted to get frisky right that second. That thought wasn't too far from the surface but he could wait until evening.

It was late afternoon when they finally took a break, satisfied for now with what they knew, and Dean searched out something on the TV. They got sucked into that _Stargate_ movie on one of the movie channels and about twenty minutes from the end realized they were hungry for dinner already. As soon as the movie was over, with Dean's shoulder feeling much better after getting iced before and then again that afternoon, Sasha suggested walking a little further this time to the pizza place Ula had mentioned and bringing some back to the motel to watch another movie or two. They had earned a little R & R after their schedule lately, and it wasn't as if there was anything else they could do until they left tomorrow.

"You guys go ahead," Sam said, giving a sudden yawn, "I think I've been staring at a screen too long today. I need to rest my eyes. Wake me when you come back and I'll be all refreshed, I promise. But no making out during the movie unless you get your own room."

Dean laughed. "Spoil sport. Anyway, it's your loss if you want a beauty nap. It's a smoldering thirty degrees out there. Perfect for a walk," he snarked, "If I get sick I'm blaming you," he said to Sasha, even though he was already grabbing his coat.

Sasha was grinning and didn't seem at all upset that Sam wouldn't be joining them. "Don't worry, Dean, I'm sure I can keep you warm on the way there." Sasha slid an arm inside Dean's coat and grabbed Dean around the waist, pulling them close together.

"Not a chance in Hell," Dean said, putting both hands on Sasha's chest and pushing, "No PDA's means no snuggling on the sidewalk. I'll take my chances with the elements."

"Aww," Sasha pouted.

"Sorry, baby, but the puppy eyes only work when you're five."

"_That's_ a lie," Sam chuckled as he flopped down on his bed.

"The peanut gallery can shut up, thanks," Dean grumbled.

Sasha was all and out laughing now. "Have a good nap, Sam. We'll be back soon. Come on, Dean." And with that, Sasha grabbed Dean by the arm like how a normal couple would stroll down the street and led them out of the motel. That lasted all of two seconds, because before they were even to the lobby Dean wrenched his arm free, puppy eyes be damned.

It didn't actually feel as cold as it really was since there wasn't much wind today, but Dean started to wish he had taken Ula up on her offer when she asked if they wanted to borrow some scarves for the walk. His leather jacket just didn't do the trick in this kind of cold. It kind of annoyed him that Sasha seemed so impervious, just as he had been that morning in Missouri when he flew with Dean—naked.

There was no end to what Sasha owed him if Dean really started tallying, so he felt no shame whatsoever when he steered their conversation immediately to the Animus House and some of the things they had seen. It had been torture enough waiting to know certain things while Sasha was a five-year-old.

He decided to start with a peace offering. "You know," Dean said as they were crossing the street. They had several blocks to go to this pizza place and they hadn't called ahead, so there would be plenty of time to let Sam nap. "Your aunt told me that the one chick, Charis, called her after we ran into her in Massachusetts. Asked for your number. I think she might try calling you to get together some time."

"Really?" Sasha looked absolutely overjoyed, "That'd be amazing. Though I'll bet _without_ Lindsey. But…that's okay. Just seeing any of them…would be nice. Charis was always sort of like a big sister. Well, all of them are older than me, but she's the only one that ever really seemed the older sibling type. She sort of held the fort together when we were kids. I'm not surprised she wants to try mending fences after running into each other like that."

"Which brings me to my first question." Dean was done beating around the bush. "Shiarra also said that you didn't make any more of an effort to see any of them than they did. Why? You're so happy to have seen Charis for like five seconds and you didn't even try before? Were you really just that scared they'd want nothing to do with you?"

Sasha stared down at the sidewalk and Dean was pretty sure he had hit the nail on the head with that one. "You weren't there. You don't know what it was like when I first told them. All of them were…terrified of me. Like they thought I was suddenly going to turn around and kill all of them just because I wanted to be a hunter. I…I didn't know what else to think."

"But you were kids. You were sixteen. It's been nine years. You don't think some of the other besides Charis miss you? I'd miss you."

"You're biased," Sasha smirked.

"Yeah, well…maybe just a little. Still…that Cam guy, he seemed pretty easy going. I bet he'd—"

"How do you know about Cam?" Sasha broke in suddenly, "I never mentioned him."

Shit. "Uhh…well…you see I was just, uhh…"

"Dean, I'm teasing you," Sasha smiled, "I know you spied on me in that one room in the Animus House. You don't have to make up some lie to avoid telling me."

Dean paused in their walking to gape at his companion. "You know? But how? You didn't even turn around once."

"I think my five-year-old predecessor said it best," Sasha said and then put on a very small, childlike voice, "You feel really loud."

That got Dean chuckling a little. "Okay. Ya got me. Sorry I spied. I was just…I just wanted to know more about you before all the hunter stuff. You never talk about it. I wouldn't even know Charis, or Lindsey, or this Cam guy existed if not for crazy circumstances and seeing that memory. I know it's hard for you, but if you ask me, you're the one who's making it hard. I know they haven't made much effort, either, obviously, but maybe that's the problem. You're all waiting for someone else to make the first move, and that, I can promise you, usually gets you nowhere."

They had started to walk again but this time it was Sasha who stopped. "You're really interested?" he said, and it was a question but only halfway, like Sasha already thought he knew the answer, "You wanna know Sasha, the early years? Coz I'll tell you. It's not like there's anything I would ever want to hide from you, Dean. And you've told me so much, it…it's really not fair, I know."

"Hey," Dean said quickly, "Don't make this sound like obligation. That's never anything good. I want you to tell me because you want to tell me, not because you think you owe me."

"I know. So…what do you want first?"

Wow. There was a loaded question. Dean decided to get them walking again while he thought about that. "You said the others are all older than you, right? And these others are…Charis, Lindsey, Cam…and some girls called Eppy and Atty?"

Sasha laughed a little. "Yep. That's us. We were a pretty big group. Six in a year is a lot. I'm the youngest with my birthday in December. See, the change doesn't happen BAM on your sixteenth birthday, it's more like there's a specific time of year that it happens to anyone born within a certain range, so we were the ones from our year. I was actually still fifteen technically when the change happened. But I was the only one."

"Wait, you keep saying that you were the only six. You mean there were only six incubi or succubae born that whole year? Anywhere?"

Sasha laughed again. "Dean, there are only like six thousand of us. Usually, as many die each year as there are new ones born, so we keep pretty even numbers. Can you imagine how many of us there would be on earth if there were more than that? There's a good many anyway and most of them stay in the home plain a lot of the time."

Dean supposed that did all make sense, but this went a little further than graduating with a small class size. Sasha and his old friends had to have been ridiculously close, and it pained Dean to think that they had all just turned their backs on him. "So six is a big number?"

"Yeah. I'd say average is more like two. Maybe three or four. We had three boys and three girls. A good even mix. And I know of at least four of our kind that died that year to even things out. My parents…and Lindsey's."

The pizza place was visible ahead of them finally but Dean slowed down and finally stopped again. "Lindsey's parents died that same year too? Was it hunters?" Dean felt he probably didn't need to ask.

Sasha smiled weakly.

Figured. "Bad year for that."

"Yeah. It's why we were always so close. My aunt raised me. His grandfather raised him. He hated hunters more than I ever could, more than Shi too. He always thought it was so cool though that my dad was a hunter, because my dad chose to become one of us. That made him different. But for one of us to become one of them…that didn't go over so well."

Dean huffed. "Bit of a double standard if ya ask me," he shrugged and then continued walking again.

A grin cracked onto Sasha's face. "Lindsey's…he's not too forgiving. He took it more personally than the others. I understand. I would never want to push him."

"But you miss him." It wasn't a question.

"Sometimes."

Dean cast Sasha a knowing look.

"Okay, a lot of the time. I miss all of them. They were…"

"Everything?"

"Yeah. But I have new additions that make that a little easier these days," Sasha grinned, reaching over discretely to take Dean's hand in his.

That was pretty unfair, pulling something like that in a situation where Dean would look like a jerk if he pulled his hand away. He cast a quick look around though and there wasn't really anyone around. Fitting his fingers with Sasha's he gave the surprisingly warm hand a good squeeze. When Sasha grinned and tried to lean over to steal a kiss too Dean pulled his head away and said, "Don't push your luck."

Sasha just laughed,

"But ya know," Dean said before they reached the pizza place, kind of enjoying having Sasha's hand in his, even though he knew it would probably never happen again in public. This was Maine not Alabama. He didn't exactly expect the homophobes to come charging out after them. But other places weren't always as forgiving. "Much as I know Sammy and I are more than just substitutes, you gotta realize it's not the same. You're always gonna miss them coz ya love them. Like family. Not much way around that."

Sasha's hand squeezed Dean's a little tighter. "I know. And I'd love to change things. I'd love to have Charis call me up and to start finding a way to have all of them part of my life again. It's just…" he sighed and peered at Dean from beneath his lashes. They were almost to the door now. "Would I sound like a complete coward if I said I was scared?"

Everyone was scared of something. Dean could never look down on that—though he still retained rights to tease Sasha for his spider fear, because that was just ridiculous. "It doesn't make you a coward. It just makes you…well, I was gonna say human, but…you get what I mean." Dean smiled.

They walked the last bit to the pizza place and stopped just in front of the door. Dean turned to Sasha, afraid he was going to have to _ask_ for his hand back, but then Sasha lifted their linked hands up to his lips and kissed the back of Dean's palm.

Which is of course when some teenage boy came waltzing out of the pizza place with a couple boxes and a two-liter and just about dropped all of it to find some guy kissing another guy's hand.

"Uhh…oops," the kid said, wide-eyed. He was kind of scrawny and short but still looked close to eighteen. He had geek written all over him but wasn't at all bad looking, like one of those geeks all the girls secretly thought was hot all through high school even though none of them would ever ask him out. "S-Sorry," he stammered, apparently not knowing what else to say. His face was about three shades of red.

Dean jerked his hand away from Sasha, who was grinning like crazy, and would have stormed towards the door and right inside if the kid wasn't still standing there. "Free show's over, kid. Mind letting us through?"

The kid blushed harder. "Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to…yeah. Bye!" And then he was gone. The kid had to be in track, or he at least should be, because he sprinted pretty impressively around the building to wherever his car was.

Sasha might be laughing but Dean did not find this funny. "Keep your hands to yourself, ya big freak," Dean said, albeit affectionately, because these days he just couldn't help it, "Try anything inside and there'll be no getting our own room." It wasn't lost on Dean that he said that in the same paternal tone he had been using when Sam and Sasha were kids. He really needed to get over that.

Sasha didn't seem to notice though, saying close and soft beside Dean's ear, "Liar…" which Dean knew was entirely true. That didn't mean he wouldn't kick Sasha incredibly hard if the incubus did try anything. Dean still had his standards.

They ordered two larges and some soda to go, which they waited for in one of the booths, _across_ from each other too because Dean knew how much Sasha liked to lean into him. Of course being across from each other meant that Sasha could hook his foot around Dean's ankle. Dean supposed he could allow that.

Much as Dean had given Sasha the quick version of the early years—Winchester style—back in Nebraska playing lookout for the seven deadly sins, Sasha gave Dean the basic run down of growing up as an incubus. They had their own version of school. Yes, they had TV and access to other important things like that. The incubus/succubus plain was actually very similar to the human world. Houses, shops, clothing. Only the landscape was more vibrant, Sasha said, not sure how else to explain it.

Being in true or human form didn't really matter, although human was encouraged of the young for practice. School was finished by sixteen in preparation for the change and then there was prep time with their guardians before being sent out into the world. Before then they were not allowed to go to the human plain alone. Ever. But Sasha told Dean about a few times he and Lindsey and Cam had snuck away to see movies. The trouble they got into had always been worth it.

By the time Sasha and Dean had their pizza and were walking back to the motel, Dean didn't even have to prompt Sasha along. The incubus seemed to be enjoying talking about old times now that he had fallen into it. Sometimes that old sadness would cross his face but then he would grin or laugh about something and it was all okay again. It struck Dean as funny that even as an incubus Sasha had managed to have a more normal childhood than him.

"Sorry," Sasha said once they returned, "I just talked your ear off for a solid hour with all that. Sure you don't have any regrets?"

Dean had to grin because he really had enjoyed every moment. He thought about Sasha's question and gave him a long once over. "Nope," he said, "No regrets on my end." He smiled wider when he saw the deeper meaning of that dawn on Sasha.

"Hey," Sasha said before Dean could open the lobby door, "I was hoping to talk to Ula a minute, thank her proper for everything she did for us since she sort of made herself scarce last night. Think you can carry all this to the room yourself?"

The pizza boxes were already in Dean's arms; he was fairly certain he could handle a two-liter. He snatched the soda from Sasha. "Be my guest, man. Don't go hitting on her now." Dean walked on into the lobby and heard Sasha snort behind him. He caught the beginning of their exchange—Sasha's polite greeting; Ula's blush that was somehow audible—while Dean himself simply waved and moved on. He was hungry and Sam had gotten a plenty long nap.

The room was dark when Dean got inside, but first glance showed no sign of a sleeping Sam. The bathroom light was visible beneath the door so Dean figured it was safe to turn the main light on too.

"Good timing, Sammy!" Dean called, setting out the pizza and soda on the table, "Grub's on! Sasha's smoothing things over with Ula. Probably thinks she's still a little freaked by the whole thing. Guess I can't blame him." Dean heard the bathroom door open behind him. "I hope you don't mind the extra…olives…" Dean's voice fell away as he turned around. It was a good thing he had already set down the food because he probably would have dropped it.

Yellow eyes. Yellow eyes and Sam walking slow and steady out of the bathroom towards him.

"No…" Dean backed away instinctively and his thighs hit the edge of the table. This couldn't be happening now. They had beaten it. Dean had gotten young Sam to drop all of adult Sam's barriers. Thinking of that made Dean grit his teeth though. The now restored adult Sam probably put them all back up again, damn it, giving them one free night and then making everything ten times worse. Shit.

Dean thought of when yellow-eyed Sam had pushed him into the bathroom. Adult Sam didn't remember that incident, other than knowing that Dean had mistaken young Sam for an enemy in the dark and struck him. This time Dean was filled with the same overpowering panic, but hell, if punching Sam had snapped him out of it before, it seemed a pretty fair guess it would work again.

Pushing from the table, Dean walked right up to Sam, pulled his fist back and swung. But Sam was prepared for him this time. Dean's fist aimed for Sam's jaw but Sam's hand was right there to catch it. His grip was too tight, enough that Dean felt all of his knuckles crack under the pressure. He cringed. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best idea.

Sam pushed Dean's fist aside and Dean waited for an answering blow as he searched his brain quickly for his next move. Nothing came to Dean but no blow struck either. Suddenly, Sam's arms were wrapping around him, holding him close in a tight enough embrace to make Dean gasp. Was he trying to crush him? Then Dean realized. Yellow-eyed Sam was _hugging_ him.

"Dean…" Sam breathed against his brother's ear.

Dean shivered from the sudden warmth. "Sammy…?" he whispered, his own hands finding hold along Sam's lower back.

"Dean," Sam said more forcefully.

"Yeah, man. I'm Dean. Your brother _Dean_." Dean pulled out of the hug and Sam allowed it, though he kept his hands firmly gripping Dean's biceps. It was haunting looking into those yellow eyes but knowing that somehow there was still some of Sam looking back at him. "Sammy…? You really in there?"

"Dean," Sam said again. His voice didn't sound any different than usual but it gave Dean chills to hear it anyway. Why was 'Dean' all Sam could say? Those yellow eyes were looking him over as if maybe they had been trying to be certain this was Dean from the beginning. Sam smiled, knowing that indeed this was his brother, and the next words that left him were pure determination. "_Save_ Dean."

That should have been a comfort to hear but it wasn't. Something in the changed tone made Dean shiver again. It was a frightening determination, the kind that would do anything, _anything_ to accomplish its goals. Dean didn't want that of Sam. He had never wanted that.

But what made it all so much worse was hearing the door open behind him and the preceding words from Sasha as the incubus returned.

"So I think it's all okay now. Not that it wasn't before. But I asked Ula to have breakfast with us tomorrow since we're leaving. She's really a nice…" Sasha trailed, his jacket halfway off and the door already closed behind him before he looked up and noticed that things were _not_ okay in the room. "Oh god…"

"Sasha, quick—!" Dean began, but he was cut off abruptly when he attempted to move towards Sasha. Sam's hands held him firmly in place and then moved Dean to the side, effectively putting himself between Dean and Sasha. He finally released Dean as he began to approach the incubus himself. "Wait! Don't!" Dean tried to sprint forward, to get in front of Sam again and stop him from whatever it was he planned to do, but he barely managed a single step before his whole body went rigid, held in place by Sam's TK.

This was bad. Did yellow-eyed Sam think of Sasha as a threat?

"Sasha, run!" Dean screamed. He didn't want to take any chances. Sasha could still get away; he was so close to the door. "Go!"

For a minute it looked as though Sasha was going to listen to Dean despite how his eyes betrayed that he did not like the idea of leaving Dean alone with Sam. But before Sasha could make his move something happened. Sam was still a few feet from Sasha, not even touching him, but Sasha's eyes went suddenly blank, his body relaxing out of its tension. Sasha stood up straighter with those dead eyes, like he was waiting for something. Waiting for an order.

Sam never said anything aloud but some kind of message was sent and Sasha gave a slight bow of his head before turning towards the door. He stopped before his hand reached the knob, turned back to Sam, gave another nod, and then headed for his duffle. Dean watched, horror-stricken, as Sasha pulled out his iron knife and tucked it into his coat before heading back to the door again.

"Stop!" Dean called after Sasha, "What are you doing!? What are you making him do!?" he shot at Sam next, since Sasha was already out the door and there was nothing Dean could do to stop him. Dean couldn't even move. He had never felt so helpless. He glared daggers when Sam turned back to him. "Where did you send him?" he asked through a furious growl, "What did you tell him to do? What are you making him _do_?!"

Sam walked back to Dean with a similar blank expression to what Sasha had been wearing. Dean tensed. Or he would have if he had been able to move. When Sam reached him Dean finally felt his body relax out of that awful hold, but only to have Sam grab him by the arm and lead him forcefully across the room.

"Why are you doing this!?" Dean screamed when Sam practically threw him at one of the beds, "Why?"

Stepping close to where Dean was on the bed, Sam tilted his head just slightly as if he didn't realize that any of his actions were harsh or wrong. "Save Dean," he said simply.

"Save me?" Dean spat back, "How does this save me? Tell me. _Please_. Talk to me!" Dean couldn't stand the stunted language Sam was using as if Sam was only half in control or maybe not at all.

Apparently Sam was done with their conversation though because he didn't respond, he just stepped in even closer to Dean and grabbed him by the shoulders. Before Dean could even begin to realize what was happening Sam was lying him down on the bed. Panic ripped through Dean as he thought of his dreams, those horrible, awful dreams, and he tried to struggle out of Sam's hold. But Sam was just too strong and when he got sick of dealing with Dean's resistance he simply put a small command into Dean's brain.

_Don't struggle._

Dean knew the command was from Sam, that he didn't really feel any better about the situation himself, but he couldn't resist. His body went limp, willing and pliable under Sam's touch. It wasn't fair. This wasn't happening. Sam wasn't _doing_ this. No horror would be worse than seeing a reality made out of Dean's nightmares. Too many possibilities were already running through Dean's mind. It made Dean flinch when Sam sat on the edge of the bed next to him and reached to smooth back his hair.

Only after a few minutes had passed where Sam did nothing but gently run his fingers through Dean's hair, sitting there but not moving to do anything else, did Dean allow himself to relax the way his body was. Sam was acting rough and foolish and didn't make any sense, but he was still Sam. He still sought to comfort Dean somehow even while he did these awful things. Of course Dean couldn't fully relax knowing that Sasha was out there doing god knows what under Sam's sway. If it really was something to help Dean then it just made Dean feel worse.

After awhile, Sam ran his fingers down Dean's face to get him to close his eyes. He shushed Dean and even said, "It's okay. It's okay, Dean," and Dean tried to stay calm as Sam wanted. He knew it wasn't just the mojo either. Dean needed to stay calm and think his way out of this. There were so many ways this could go horribly wrong.

It felt like hours passed with Dean practically dozing while Sam stroked his face and smoothed his hair. All of the plans Dean came up with fell flat when he remembered, 'oh yeah, but then there's _that_ power,' until all he was left with was dumb luck or divine intervention and Dean really didn't like either of those options. He was both relieved and frustrated at not having more time to think when he heard the door open at Sasha's return.

Dean felt Sam get up from the bed and realized thankfully that he could move again too. For now he decided not to push his luck and just sat up, opening his eyes and squinting towards the door at Sasha. The incubus looked maybe a little beaten like he had been in a fight, but was otherwise okay. What caught Dean's attention though was the young blonde woman in Sasha's arms that had Sasha's iron knife sticking out of her chest.

"No…" Even if Dean had wanted to move just then he wouldn't have been able to. Sam hadn't actually sent Sasha out to kill someone. It just wasn't possible. It became clear, however, that the girl was still alive when Sasha set her on the floor in front of Sam. She was breathing heavily. Then her eyes opened and it all made sense to Dean as he took in the sight of her black eyes.

A demon. That wasn't much of a comfort for Sasha's sake though. Sometimes iron to the heart worked on demons the same way as Palo Santo wood, immobilizing them, but not always. Thankfully, this time it had worked because the demon clearly had no ability to move on her own. It wouldn't kill the demon, but Dean was pretty sure that Sasha had killed the host.

Sasha stepped back, leaving the demon to Sam, who studied her a moment before suddenly grabbing her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly from the floor, and slamming her hard up against the wall. With Sam preoccupied, Dean slowly got up from the bed and moved towards Sasha, praying he wouldn't come up against another wall of TK. He reached his friend just as the mojo left Sasha and bright blue eyes blinked from being blank to blessedly coherent.

"Dean…?" Sasha said, sounding understandably confused as Dean came to stand right in front of him, "What…?" Sasha's eyes darted just enough to the side to take in the sight of Sam holding the demon up against the wall. At least he could see that she had black eyes but Dean knew that wouldn't make Sasha feel much better when he noticed… "Is that…my knife?"

Dean was thankful he didn't have to explain right then because they were distracted by the one-sided conversation going on behind them. Sam wasn't talking but the demon sure seemed to be hearing something and she did not like what was being said. "No!" the demon pretty near shrieked, making Dean glad they didn't really have any neighbors since so few people were staying at the motel right now, "Stay away! Leave me be!"

The knife was still in her chest, making it impossible for her to struggle against Sam. Dean had never seen a demon look so scared of another being though. But then maybe he had. Those few moments when the demon that first told them about the contract holder looked truly scared of Sam, maybe that was because the yellow eyes had been showing, just as Dean feared.

"I don't know!" the demon yelled next, barely able to shake her head, "I swear I don't know! No one does! He killed her for trying to find out! They killed her!" There was silence again as Sam apparently said, thought, _whatever_, something else. The demon's eyes went wider with even more terror. "No! Please!" she begged, "They'll just kill me too! There's no point! You'll never beat them!" For a moment her voice went soft and Dean thought maybe she was trying to be understanding rather than hurtful when she said, "Nothing can save your brother now."

A sound escaped Sam like a feral growl, like the way Sasha sounded only when he was frenzied, and suddenly the demon expelled out of the girl's body, shooting downwards to disappear like they had seen so many times before. The girl's body went limp and Sam held onto her, easing her gently back to the floor and lying her down.

Her eyes were closed at first but they unfairly opened again to reveal soft brown eyes. Not black. No longer black. Now it was just the girl. With Sasha's knife in her chest.

"She's still…she's still alive," Sasha said miserably, "_God_…what did I do…?"

_Nothing_, Dean wanted to say, but as much as he knew that was the truth he also knew better than to think that Sasha would accept it. "Sam, stop…" he said to the figure of his brother, watching as Sam pulled the knife out of the girl to which she gasped painfully. He couldn't watch this. He wanted Sam to snap out of it now. He wanted to wake up.

Dean didn't know what he expected Sam to do. The only reason Dean wasn't rushing over there to protect the girl from Sam was because he was being so strangely gentle. She was staring up at Sam as he placed his hands on her wound. She flinched at first, tender as the touch appeared to be, but then she gave a thankful sigh, her eyes closing as she drifted into what looked like a peaceful sleep instead of death.

After situating the girl and removing his hands, Sam looked up at Sasha.

"No!" Dean cried immediately, stepping in front of Sasha to block him from Sam's gaze, "You're not making him do anything else. God, Sammy, what did you do to that girl?"

Sasha's voice came unexpected and quiet from behind Dean. "He took her pain away."

Turning his head to look back at Sasha, Dean found the incubus' expression much calmer suddenly, staring almost thoughtful down at Sam and the girl. After a moment Sasha met gazes with Dean again. He smiled sadly.

"I understand. She would have died anyway, Dean, even without the knife wound. The demon made sure of that. That's why Sam had me use the knife to begin with. And just now, Sam made her believe it doesn't hurt anymore so she can die peacefully."

"How do you know all that?" Dean gaped openly.

"Because. I can hear him." Sasha's eyes turned to look down at Sam again and Dean's gaze followed. Sam was still crouched by the girl, patiently waiting. He didn't look sinister really. Never had. Except in Dean's dreams. "It's still Sam, Dean," Sasha went on, "He's just split in two. The waking Sam's been fighting so hard to keep this Sam away, but he has to give in. Like you had him do as a child. It's the only way he'll be able to control it."

Suddenly, Sam stood up, apparently done being patient, and took a few steps towards them.

Again Dean blocked Sasha, holding his arms outstretched.

"No!"

"It's okay, Dean," Sasha said softly. The incubus stepped up close behind Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He just wants me to take her home. If he doesn't use his powers I won't remember how to get there."

"No," Dean said again, staring at Sam instead of Sasha as he spoke to make it perfectly clear he meant his words for both of them, "He doesn't get to use you like that. He doesn't get to treat you like one of his god damn demon soldiers." Sam's gaze was hard as it stared back at Dean but Dean was not about to waver.

"Dean," Sasha said, almost patronizing, as he stepped around the wall Dean had made of his body, "I am a demon. Close enough to one. And so is Sam. But this isn't evil. He took her pain away, Dean. He sent that demon after the contract holder because they killed the other one. Didn't you get that? He's trying to save you." That phrase clanged like a gong in Dean's head and he hated it. "No matter which version he is, Sam's trying to save you. He can use me for that."

Dean's arms dropped back to his sides as Sasha walked past him. But he couldn't let things go on like this. He grabbed Sasha's arm before the redhead could get too close to Sam. "No. This is wrong. This has to be wrong."

It pained Dean how full of compassionate resolve Sasha was when he looked at him. "It'll be okay, Dean," he said again. And then he turned to Sam. "I'll take her."

Just like before Sasha's eyes went dead blank, just a mindless puppet for Sam to control, and Dean couldn't do anything. Sasha went to the sleeping—maybe dead now—girl, picked her up gently from the floor and left the room. Dean hoped discretion was part of Sam's suggested orders, because this would certainly be interesting to explain to Ula.

But Dean didn't really care about that. He couldn't think in terms of logic, whether or not Sasha was right, or that somehow things would be okay in the end. He was too angry. At Sam, at those damn yellow eyes, at Sasha for willingly going along with it all, at the deal looming overhead that was the reason for everything, and everything else too.

Dean looked hard at Sam, who was also staring at him, and just charged, no thinking just a mad rush at Sam until Dean had slammed his brother back against the doorframe of the bathroom. "Get out!" he screamed in Sam's face. No, not Sam's. It was the yellow eyes. It was their fault. "Get out of my brother!" Dean yelled on, "Be Sam! You've had your fun, now be Sam! Stop trying to save me. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth any of this. You don't…you don't do things like this, Sammy, sending Sasha out to do your bidding. You can't let the dreams be right. You can't. Just be…Sam. _Be Sam_."

It was too much for Dean, all that emotion welling up inside him and trying to get out. In the end he wasn't yelling at all anymore; he wasn't holding Sam in place. He was sobbing and clinging to Sam's shirt.

This was too messed up. He didn't want Sam doing these things for him. Not for _him_.

The yellow-eyed Sam, so strange and different but apart of Sam too, looked on with its mottled stare and Dean saw an answering tear fall to match his own. Sam's arms shot out then and pulled Dean in against him, crushing him to his chest for another desperate hug. Dean just sobbed harder, dampening Sam's flannel shirt. Softly, he heard, "I'm sorry, Dean," and then the strong body holding him went lax and fell straight to the floor, taking Dean down with it.

A sob wracked through Sam as they hit the floor. Dean didn't have to look; he knew the yellow eyes were gone. Sam was clinging just as hard to Dean now and it seemed so wrong somehow for them to be crying in each other's arms like this. There had to be a breaking point somewhere, Dean knew that, but he hated how they kept finding new ones.

"Dean…I…I'm sorry," Sam choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"Sammy…"

"I remember…everything this time. Everything," Sam admitted, "God, Dean…I don't want to scare you like this. I never…never wanted you to see me like this."

"Sam," Dean said more firmly. He sensed the angst, the self-loathing that was coming and he didn't want Sam to keep doing that to himself. Dean knew he wasn't one to talk, but it was his job to get on his brother's case, damn it. "Don't go blaming yourself for this, Sammy. I don't care if those yellow eyes are apart of you. They're not—"

"They're _me_, Dean," Sam broke in. Both their bodies were entirely leaning into each other for support, with Dean's head held against Sam's chest and Sam's face pressing into Dean's hair. "This is my fault," Sam said, "It was so open…so bare with those walls down. I could feel everything I was capable of, Dean, and I couldn't bear it. I had to put the walls back up again."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean tried, "I get why you—"

"No. It's _not_ okay. I can't keep running scared, Dean. I have to give in, like Sasha said. I have to fight."

Dean understood what Sam was saying and that it was exactly what Dean wanted really, but he still had to say, "Giving in is fighting?"

"I can beat this," Sam said with conviction, "I can control it, Dean, I know I can. No more running." Finally, Sam pulled away from Dean—Dean doubted he could have done it—and looked at his brother resolutely with red-rimmed hazel eyes. Dean was fairly certain his didn't look much better. "No more running," Sam said again, "And no more surprise visits from yellow eyes without me there too."

There was no denying Dean liked the sound of that. Sam having these powers was fine by him, but only if all conscious and unconscious parts of Sam were in control. Suddenly, Dean thought of Sasha out there flying on autopilot.

Sam seemed to immediately understand the look that must have crossed Dean's face. "He'll be okay. He didn't go far. He'll be back sooner this time. No demon to…catch." Sam made a pained face. "_Fuck_. How can he forgive me for doing that to him?"

"You heard him," Dean shrugged, glad that both their tears were drying at least, "Apparently he's fine with being used if it's for me." This time it was Dean's turn to make a face. "_That_ didn't sound right."

A choked laugh managed to find its way out of Sam.

"Think we might get ourselves off the floor and stop acting like girls long enough to look presentable by the time he gets back?" Dean queried.

Sam nodded.

They were sitting at the table, the uneaten pizza between them, when Sasha finally came through the door again. At first his eyes were that same dead stare, but all Sam had to do was look up at him and Sasha blinked back to himself. He smiled when he saw that everything was okay again.

"Figured you could handle things without me," Sasha said, patting Dean on the back as he came up to the table. Dean wanted to smile back but he knew Sam wouldn't let Sasha get away with acting so nonchalant.

Sam was out of his chair in an instant and pulling Sasha into his arms. The kid just couldn't help himself when it came to hugs. "I'm so sorry. I'll never do that to you again. I swear to you. I love you so much. I don't want to lose you or Dean. I'm taking your advice," he said, pulling away with an attempt at a smile, "No more trying to push the powers into some tiny corner in my head. I have to except them. The only thing that's ever really hurt me or someone else because of them was from me trying to keep them away. That doesn't mean I'm going to just open myself up to new powers without trying them first, but…no more holding myself back."

Of course Sasha didn't really need the apology but he was happy to hear Sam's proclamation. He obviously believed it was the best choice too. Part of Dean wanted to believe otherwise, but there really wasn't a nice third option hiding somewhere. It was either let Yellow Eyes run amok or deal with the powers directly.

Dean asked if Sam knew what those other yet to be discovered powers were, but he swore that like his younger persona, he couldn't be sure. One of them, however, seemed to be the ability to feel the presence of nearby demons, since Sam had been able to send Sasha after one so close by. That had been a power steadily growing though, meaning there were still others that they knew next to nothing about. After tonight, Dean didn't really want to think about it.

They ate maybe half the pizza, all of them having lost most of their appetites, and decided on calling it an early night. Dean and Sasha had both lost their _other_ appetite as well so there wasn't even any talk of getting another room. They wanted to head out early anyway, after grabbing a quick goodbye breakfast with Ula of course in thanks for all of her help.

Dean sunk into bed that night feeling bodily and emotionally wiped. It felt kind of liberating, having gotten all of that off his chest, even if it did nothing to stop the angst twins from wanting to help him at all costs. Maybe things would be better now. Different. Dean trusted that during the night there would be no strange encounters with yellow eyes, and even if there were at least Dean knew now that even the beast in Sam didn't mean him or Sasha any real harm.

Still, that didn't keep Dean's dreams at bay, which seemed to rear their ugly heads at him with a newfound vengeance. Dean woke up shivering in the middle of the night with Sasha's arms wrapped protectively around him. Dean didn't remember what he dreamed, only that it included red and yellow eyes, lots of pain, and that horrible haunting laughter. Dean almost didn't realize at first, faint as it was, that Sasha was softly singing to him.

_And all love through darkness  
Don't you ever stop believing  
With love forlorn  
With love you'll find your way  
My love_

Damn mental triggers. Dean felt the tears welling up in his eyes immediately. Sasha had called him out of his nightmares with the Lullaby and Dean shivered even harder to hear it consciously. He saw no truly restful nights on the horizon for him. His time was too short. The future too bleak. But in Sasha's arms, wrapped in the Lullaby he remembered from his youth, Dean wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that behind the door to his future there was more than fire and brimstone waiting.

--

Breakfast went by smoothly. Ula only blushed for a few minutes, and really, Dean couldn't blame her, what with being surrounded by three adult and very handsome men. Well, at least two of them were handsome, Dean thought with a grin. By the end, everything was easygoing, and they laughed at Ula's stories of the rugrat versions of Sam and Sasha.

They had all of their things packed with plans to head to Patoka, Indiana soon after. Dean and Sam had been waiting in the car for Sasha actually, who said he just had a few other things to say to Ula, when Dean finally got restless enough to go back in after him. He found Sasha leaning over the counter towards Ula, whispering something. Dean smelled a rat, though he couldn't be sure about what.

"Anything I should be worried about?" Dean prompted as he stepped back inside the lobby, arms crossed over his chest.

Sasha jerked away from Ula and Ula's face immediately flushed, not from embarrassment or guilt it seemed, but more from apprehension. "No," Sasha said with what Dean recognized as a false smile, "Nothing to worry about. I just had to…tell her something."

"Okay. What's going on?" Dean was not in the mood for mind games.

"Oh. I'm causing trouble," Ula said miserably.

"No you're not," Sasha jumped in, "It's just…look, you don't need to worry. I've already told you I believe you. And Dean will too. He trusts _me_, right? Dean," Sasha said, turning to Dean suddenly without a thought towards explaining that little exchange, "Why don't you take a picture? We wouldn't want to forget Ula when she's been so good to us."

Now Dean knew something was up. But he had a feeling that somehow Sasha was trying to tell him something, especially since Ula looked a little worried. Dean fished out his phone and flicked it open to take a picture as asked. "Okay, but you better explain…why…" Dean trailed as he held the phone up to take in Sasha and Ula's figures. "Why…Ula's eyes are shimmering like a shapeshifter!" Dean switched his phone to his left hand and reached with his right back to where he had his gun tucked into his jeans.

"Dean!" Sasha called out, hands held up defensively, "It's okay. I've known Ula was a shapeshifter since I got back to normal. Shi sensed it too, she just…didn't think it was important since she didn't sense any ill will. Ula also sensed me and Shi all along. That's why she was so understanding. She knew we were hunters."

"But…" Dean just didn't get this, "Shapeshifters are not like an incubus or succubus, dude. I've killed _three_ of them. Believe me, I know. _Evil_." Dean's hand twitched to continue its trek to grab his gun.

"Not all of us," Ula spoke up, though she did look wary of Dean going for a weapon. She didn't know that the bullets in Dean's gun weren't silver right now. "I know most of my kind kills the people they take the form of, but I never have. I swear. Ula died five years ago. _Naturally_. And I…well…I needed a place to hide out and the family was just so happy to have their daughter back. They know I'm not really her, but I like being Ula. I don't mean anyone any harm."

Of course Dean picked up on the important part of what she had just said. "And who were you hiding from?"

Ula's expression sank a little further. "I'll admit, hunters, but…but they didn't understand. Please…"

"Dean, Ula's on the level," Sasha said, "Really. Some creatures can fool our senses. Not shapeshifters. She's been living here as Ula for five years. When she has to shed her skin she just takes on the same form again, a little older. She's just living out her life. Simple. Quiet. And she makes Ula's family happy. I was just talking to her about ways to keep other hunters off her radar. I didn't mean to keep it from you, I just…"

"Figured I'd react…like this," Dean surmised, and finally he pulled both hands back out into the open, filled only with his phone, "Okay, I'll buy that. People seem to be so fond of keeping these little secrets from me. Well…alright. But you better believe we'll be back in this town faster than my baby can do a 180 if we ever catch wind of mysterious deaths around this place."

It took Ula a moment to realize that Dean's words meant he was giving the okay. Her entire face lit up and she nodded vigorously. "Thank you so much. I swear, I'd never hurt anyone. I watched over Sasha and your brother, didn't I?"

Dean couldn't deny that. He gave Sasha a good push though when they were finally heading to the car, because really, people needed to stop keeping things like this from him, and they were so telling Sam too.

Of course when Dean got into the car, seeing Sam beside him and Sasha in the back visible through the rearview mirror, he couldn't help grinning to himself. Letting Ula off the hook, or whoever she really was, wasn't all that hard to believe of Dean Winchester these days. He knew better than anyone how things—_people_—were rarely as simple as they first appeared.

THE END...of Arc 5! To be continued right here with Arc 6!

A/N: Good news folks. there will be at least 8 arcs now, so I'm going to stop putting a cap on. Who knows where this will finally end. I just keep getting ideas. And after all, I do have to get them all the way to Dean's final days. Thanks so much for the amazing response on the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one and please feel free to leave another cookie. It is always appreciated. Congrats also to Jae Winchester for being my 500th reviewer! He has more treats coming soon. ;-)

Crimson


	41. ARC 6: Reconciliation, PART 1: Sex

Okay so the two chapters thing didn't pan out what with me getting SICK the week of my wedding. But I'm getting better and I was not going to leave you guys without this. Never say I don't deliver. ;-) I will see you again the week of July 21st. In the meantime I believe deangirl1 will have something new for you, and there may be a newcomer to the Incubus companion pieces as well, so watch for that. Thank you all for your kind comments and regards for the wedding. Love you and please enjoy this particularly fun chapter.

* * *

Arc 6: Reconciliation, Part 1: Dean Fucking Winchester

--

For the first time in three weeks Dean wasn't even a little sore. Let the trumpets sound, he thought with a crooked smile. His shoulder had taken the longest to heal after the bar fight from Hell. It still burned Dean that they hadn't even gotten to the hunt in Patoka, Indiana really, aside from research, before having to high tail it out of town. What bothered him the most, of course, was that the reason they had had to leave was him. Or rather the scumbag Pete and his buddies and what they did to him.

Dean took some pride in how much of a fight he had been able to put up at first, what with being vastly outnumbered and drugged and all. Not a one of those hicks would have stood a chance otherwise. If Dean wasn't so seasoned a fighter things might have turned out much worse for him. He still shuddered at the thought of what Pete had really wanted to do with that pool cue. Thank god for the owner of the bar and his gun, even if he was just another homophobic jackass looking out for his own neck more than Dean's.

After the first few days Dean had stopped playing over the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' in his mind. There were too many anyway: what if they had chosen a different bar, what if Dean had thought to tell Sasha earlier to keep their relationship a little more low-profile in places like that, what if Dean had asked Sam and Sasha to stay, what if Dean had thought of a way out of drinking that roofied beer, what if Dean had managed to make it to the door…?

Dean had already thought all of those possibilities and more a million times over. He didn't need to waste any more brain cells on something he couldn't change. He was okay. He had been beat to shit, but it hadn't gone as far as it could have. Sam and Sasha had been freaked but that had turned out good for them all too, because now they had a better understanding of how to work together. Dean wasn't quite enlightened enough to be _thankful_ for what happened to him though. Not when he and Sasha hadn't had sex since his birthday, which was swiftly coming up as a month behind them. They had managed to fool around in the Impala's backseat for awhile on the way to Indiana, but a little over-the-clothes grinding and heated kisses was not enough to sustain an incubus or the libido of one Dean Winchester.

After the bar fight it became more than just missed opportunities. It wasn't that Dean didn't want Sasha—he ached for the guy on a regular basis—he had just become a little squeamish about touch in general after what happened. He had good reason at first—he was frickin' sore!—but as his wounds healed and the bruising faded, Dean found himself still resisting going that extra mile whenever Sasha started kissing him. They had even had their own room several times, but as soon as things got heated Dean would grow breathless, and all Sasha had to do was look at him to know it wasn't just because of arousal. Sasha didn't even let Dean explain or try to defend himself when that happened, the incubus would just smile and let Dean go. Really, the guy was too selfless sometimes. Sasha needed to feed and Dean was messing it all up. Dean almost wished Sasha would just lose it and _take him_ already.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, fogged over since Sasha was in the shower, Dean took a good look at himself. The knife wound that had been on his stomach was completely healed, and while a little of the welts on his back were still visible they didn't look like they would leave any marks behind once they were gone. His ribs were good, his bruising was almost completely back to normal skin tone, and the only thing that looked like it would leave a lasting reminder was the cut above his right eye. The stitches were out but it was obvious now that the cut would scar. It was small enough, but it ran through Dean's eyebrow just a bit, parting the hairs and making it that much more visible.

"I like it," Sasha had said when they first realized it wouldn't be going away, "Reminds me of Spike on _Buffy_ and _Angel_. I always thought his scar was sexy."

Well, if that was the case Dean supposed he didn't mind all that much. After all, Dean thought of Sasha's scar as sexy too, the one right over his heart that had proven to Dean how much he needed the incubus in his life.

So why was Dean waiting for Sasha to take _him_? He was healthy, it was a brand new day, they weren't anywhere near Indiana, and he and Sasha had their own room _right now_. They had fallen asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow the night before, coming off of a hunt for a banshee in Louisiana that just would not stop giving them the run around. Literally. Okay, so thanks to her maybe Dean's _calves_ were a little sore, but he decided to bask in the fact that nothing else was.

Then, bare-chested in just his boxers in front of the mirror, Dean realized how selfish he was. Not because he had been holding out on Sasha—the incubus was far too understanding anyway—but because right now Dean didn't care that Sasha needed to feed. He cared that _he needed Sasha_. And no amount of breathlessness or panic as an aftershock of that damn bar fight was going to keep him from getting what he wanted.

Dean turned his head to look at the silhouette behind the shower curtain moving languidly under the flow of the water. He grinned wide and dropped his shorts to the bathroom floor in one swift motion. Sasha didn't even know he was in the bathroom. Sasha thought he was still sleeping. It sparked something in Dean that could easily overtake any apprehension, knowing he would be giving the incubus one hell of a good morning.

Snaking an arm around the curtain, Dean stepped into the shower from behind Sasha as quietly as he could. He, Sasha, and Sam had grown so comfortable in each others' presence that they were probably the only people who could surprise each other. If anyone else had tried to sneak into the shower with Sasha, Dean was pretty sure they would end up with their heads cracked open on the porcelain.

Soap was being washed off Sasha's back as he held his head under the stream of water. It slid down his hips and legs until finally falling prey to the drain where Dean could see Sasha was up on his toes to get that much closer to the warmth. Dean knew Sasha washed his hair first—the big _girl_—so that meant the incubus was done if he was rinsing his body. Perfect.

"Mmmm…" Dean hummed loudly as he glided his hands around Sasha at the hips. He felt the incubus' initial flinch of surprise, but as Dean slipped in closer, his chest coming flush against Sasha's back and his hands finding the perfect hold between Sasha's belly and the beginnings of that coarser red hair, Dean felt his lover ease back against him.

"That had better be my boyfriend or this could get awkward," Sasha said in a way that made Dean positive the incubus was grinning.

Good. Dean was grinning too. "Actually, it's Dean. What's this about a boyfriend?"

Sasha laughed right away and Dean felt his whole chest vibrate with how closely they were met together. Unconsciously, Dean bucked his hips forward against Sasha and started to kiss his way across Sasha's wing tattoos. Water was still pouring down Sasha's skin and Dean lapped at it, hungry for the redhead like never before after three long weeks of recovery. Dean wasn't recovering anymore, not physically or from the emotional fallout that had followed. Now that he had Sasha in his arms again Dean couldn't believe he had held back for so long.

As Dean pulled Sasha out of the spray of water and more firmly against him, he allowed his hands to stray lower until both of them had equally teasing holds to fondle Sasha eagerly. The rumbling purr that left the incubus in response had Dean reeling in pleasure. "God, I've missed you…" he whispered against Sasha's neck.

There was a moment of silence and Dean could feel Sasha's shoulders grow tense. "I didn't go anywhere," he finally replied.

"No," Dean agreed, "But I did."

Dean was bringing his mouth down to Sasha's shoulder again when the incubus started to turn in his hold. Dean removed his hands from below Sasha's waist and loosened his arms to allow this, but he didn't like the sorrowful look on Sasha's face. He didn't want to deal with puppy eyes or pity. He wanted _fire_, damn it.

"Don't mourn me now that I'm back," Dean said firmly, "I don't want to ever see you mourning over me." Dean knew that was a tall order, although if he did end up in Hell in the next two and a half months then he wouldn't be _seeing_ the mourning anyway, even though he knew both Sasha and Sam would be wallowing in it.

Sasha gave a small frown and that was it for Dean. He renewed his hold by gripping Sasha's biceps and swung the incubus around to press him back against the side wall of the shower. Dean crashed his lips to Sasha's and pressed forward tightly, feeling that familiar twin heat he had missed so much. They were both already hard and Dean could feel Sasha giving in, melting into the kiss and their embrace.

Therefore, he was pretty pissed when Sasha pushed at his chest to part them.

"Dean," Sasha gasped out, "You don't…you don't have to do this…if you're not ready. I'll understand. I don't want you to push yourself just for me."

Dean growled low in his throat, hating those words and the reasoning behind them. He maintained his hold on Sasha's arms and shook the incubus for good measure. "Who says it's just for you?" he said plainly, "Maybe _I'm_ the hungry one for a change, huh? Maybe _I_ need it. I'm not hurt. I'm not sore. I'm not…mentally scarred or whatever shit you and Sam have been tossing around. I just miss you," he said with more sincerity, running his hands up and down Sasha's arm to feel the warmth of that pale, soft skin, "I've missed this. If I want you this badly I think I'm damn well _'ready'_, thank you, so will you shut up already and let me have my way with you? It's been almost a month. I know you gotta be out of your mind by now." Dean grinned as he said that, moving his hands from Sasha's arms to trail down his chest, down his hips and thighs along the tattoo lines, and then back to the prize. Dean took Sasha in hand and gave a good, firm pull that was both loving and insistent.

Those perfect blues flashed red just as Dean knew they would; Sasha had fit in flawlessly as human for nine years, feeding and hunting under the radar, but around Dean the incubus lost all control. It was about as big a compliment as Dean could imagine.

"You hungry for me, baby…?" Dean breathed against Sasha's lips, leaning in close but still keeping enough space between them to pump Sasha's length in his hand, "Coz I am _starving_ for you."

Sasha purred again as Dean stroked him and his eyes flickered back and forth from red to blue and back again. "Well," he said breathlessly, finally rediscovering his grin, "If you put it like that…" Sasha lunged his neck forward that last little bit necessary to capture Dean's lips, kissing hard and possessive like Dean had done before Sasha pushed him away.

Within the kiss and with Sasha hot and slippery slick in his hand, Dean allowed his friend the benefit of the doubt and let his mind wander to the anxious, horrible things he knew were lying in wait in the back of his mind. And yeah, they were there, a choke of fear that stuck in his throat, a flash of Pete and unwanted hands, those damn nightmares when it was Sasha and _Sam_ for fuck's sake, and even the little bit of disbelief that remained to remind Dean that he never thought of himself as someone who would find love, let alone with a man.

Dean allowed all of that to wash over him, and as much as it made his chest just ache, it did not make him want to stop kissing and touching Sasha, and he would never let any of those voices be enough to stop him again.

"Dean…" Sasha gasped as Dean broke from their lip-lock to kiss fiercely down his neck with something close to bites. The water was still striking their sides, hot and filled with steam, and Dean had not let up on the work he was doing between Sasha's legs. It had the incubus trembling in no time, and Dean devoured every moan, every quiver as if he was the true incubus and Sasha was his perfect meal.

Unable to do much else with how Dean had him pinned, Sasha reached out to touch Dean's hips, sliding his thumbs up and down the grooves while his fingers feathered down Dean's backside. When Sasha started to move his right hand between Dean's legs, however, Dean pulled out of reach and took his hands from Sasha's skin.

Sasha mewled pitifully. Dean knew how crazed Sasha had to be right now. A month was the breaking point and Sasha had been so patient with Dean even as he struggled more and more to remain in control. Dean really had to thank him properly for that.

"I have plans for you, Mr. Kelly," Dean said, parroting what Sasha had once said to him, "And I want you hard. And fast. Against the shower wall right…_now_." Dean's lips were wet from the shower water when he ran his tongue over them. Sasha's already hazy eyes followed the movement. "We can save the foreplay for round two."

Sasha's eyes widened at that and lit with a spark of devilish interest, having finally settled on blue again, at least for now. "Round…two?" the incubus repeated. His breaths were coming harsh and ragged.

"At least," Dean said with a wink, "I've got a whole month to make up to you, after all. Because I _want_ to," Dean added quickly, knowing Sasha would go and ruin things by saying something about how Dean shouldn't think he owes him, and he understands, and other sensitive shit like that that Dean so didn't want to deal with right now, "I want _you_," Dean finished, smiling wide and entirely confident. It wasn't an act or him fooling himself. It never had been. Dean knew what he wanted.

Lunging for Sasha again, Dean grabbed him by the hips, captured those damp lips for another kiss, and ground their erections together, pressing Sasha's back against the tiled wall. Sasha answered with an eager tongue that battled Dean for control—deep and penetrating—and with a like hold on Dean's hips that rocked them together incessantly.

The water made everything slippery and smooth so that Dean wanted to run his hands over everything. He pulled Sasha from the wall and started to move them both towards the back of the shower. Sasha was willingly led and only when the incubus struck new tile did they break apart from their kiss, their bodies still pressing into each other everywhere else.

Dean dropped his hands to Sasha's thighs and slowly trailed them all the way up his hips, his belly, and past his ribs until he got to the redhead's chest. They were far enough from the stream of water now that it only got their feet and a little of Dean's legs. Dean felt Sasha shiver deeply. He had it on pretty good authority though that Sasha wasn't just suddenly chilled.

If it was true that Sasha lost himself when he was around Dean then it was definitely a two-way street. Dean dipped his head and pulled Sasha's left nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make Sasha gasp and then flicking his tongue over the nub playfully. Sasha gave an impatient buck of his hips in reply. It was Dean's turn to gasp as his erection slid hot and wet against Sasha's equally damp thigh.

"Well…if you insist," Dean managed with a crooked grin before grabbing Sasha's shoulders and bodily flipping him around so that the incubus' chest and the side of his face pressed into the tile. Dean could see a wicked grin on Sasha's face as he enjoyed this bolder, rougher Dean. Dean liked that. He molded himself against Sasha's back and let himself just barely slip in between Sasha's cheeks as a tease.

With a low growl, Sasha pushed back into Dean, but the angle was all wrong and it only made the tease worse. "_Dean_," Sasha whined when he didn't get what he wanted fast enough.

In answer Dean moved his hands to Sasha's waist and his thumbs pressed hard into Sasha's lower back. "You sure?" Dean prompted. Wound up as Dean had been lately and without the full confidence to do something about it until now, Dean had not been lying when he said he wanted Sasha hard and fast _now_. At least for the first round. Still, a little rough play was not the same as being downright brutal.

But Sasha nodded against the shower wall and said, "You won't…hurt me. Can't. Just…just…_please_."

A tiny electric jolt shot down Dean's body when Sasha said that. No wonder Sasha liked it when Dean said 'please'. Someone having that kind of need for you was the most penetrating turn-on.

Dean still slipped his fingers in first to give at least a little stretch and help guide him in. They were both still dripping water but Dean wet his fingers and coated himself with spit anyway. When he began to press in he started off slow, relishing in just how much he had missed this. He had so little time left and he had wasted almost a month of it.

As soon as Sasha released a deep-throated purr and his hands slid up the wall to better support himself, Dean grabbed Sasha's hips more firmly and thrust the rest of the way in. Sasha gave a strangled cry and pulled back a fist to slam into the tiled wall. Dean could still see that grin and how Sasha's tongue darted out over his lips. That was more than enough encouragement. Sometimes a hard and fast fuck was much more necessary and enjoyable than a long night, and that was exactly what Dean wanted now.

Pulling himself up tight against Sasha's back, Dean made it so that as much of their bodies touched as possible as he jerked his hips feverishly forward. Heat spread out over his entire body at the feel of Sasha; the little bit of hot shower water that touched them had nothing to do with it. One hand stayed on Sasha's hip but the other trailed up Sasha's back, ghosting lightly over the wing tattoos where Dean planted more kisses. Then he snaked his arms around to Sasha's front and pressed himself flush against Sasha's back again. His free hand could barely travel up Sasha's chest with how Sasha was pressed forward into the wall so he smoothed it down Sasha's stomach, into that red, red hair, and curled his fingers tight around Sasha's cock.

The noises that left Sasha seemed much more animalistic than usual, Dean thought, more growls than purrs but with frustrated whimpers too. Dean took that as a sign to pick up the pace until Sasha was practically eating the tile and he could barely keep up with moving his own hips back against Dean's.

Dean heard a low growl begin that grew louder and louder and then finished off as something like a roar. Suddenly Sasha's hands that were pressed up against the wall became black, taloned claws that pulled back and tore into the tile. Little bits of the shower wall chipped away and fell down into the tub. Dean chuckled darkly and thrust even harder, working Sasha's dick in his hand with swift pumps.

The closer Sasha got to his end, the more his body seemed to morph. His feet remained the same, thank goodness—clawed feet on a wet tub floor couldn't be good—but Dean watched as the incubus' skin paled to white, his hair grew just a bit longer, and the wing tattoos became raised like they wanted to push right out of his body. Had Sasha lost himself enough to turn completely into his incubus form, Dean knew he would be more thrilled than anything. He had fought and killed things that weren't human all his life, but this man with him that was much more than a man was all his.

Sasha was so close, Dean could feel it in how Sasha was starting to tense just slightly. So Dean slowed his jerking hips and ran his thumb over Sasha's slit before stilling his hand as well. It wasn't to be cruel, Dean just wanted to make sure Sasha heard him loud and clear, that Sasha understood, because Dean understood now and he would never forget again.

"You," Dean breathed softly into the crook of Sasha's neck, "Just you. It was always…going to be you. Someone who can…fight with me. Know me. Know this life. And still joke…and laugh…and fuck all night long when we want to. It had to be…you…to get me to feel this way. And no one…_no one_…is ever going to tell me that's wrong." Dean leaned forward and kissed just below Sasha's right ear. "I love you," he whispered.

Upon Sasha's gasp of hitched breath, Dean immediately picked his pace back up to where it had been before, almost too harsh in his haste, while his hand renewed its firm pulls.

That agonizing pause and hearing Dean's words seemed to be all Sasha needed. He clawed at the tile again, causing more chips to fall down at their feet, and then his whole body trembled violently as he came in Dean's hand.

Dean allowed that hand to just hold Sasha while he continued to seek his own end, fast and hard just as he promised. Dean lasted an admirable amount of time longer, while Sasha breathed heavily against the tile, still pushing back every time Dean pushed forward. When Dean came he pulled out just before and spilled down to the tub floor so that the water from the shower washed the mess away. Dean pulled away from Sasha and reached his sticky hand under the stream of water. By the time he looked back Sasha was already turned around, leaning _back_ against the wall now as the features that had morphed into his incubus side faded to human.

That devilish grin of Sasha's was lazy and satisfied now, and those perfect blues shone with all the love Dean knew the incubus had for him in return. Half a second passed with them staring at each other like that and then Sasha was across the shower, pushing them both under the hot stream of water and kissing Dean deeply. The incubus' hands feathered everywhere he could touch on Dean like he was trying to thank Dean and express his joy with his fingertips.

"Geez," Dean gasped when he managed to pull away, shaking his head and blinking past the water that had run over him, "I didn't think you'd be able to move…quite so quickly after that…you resilient bastard."

A chuckle rose from Sasha, low and rumbling. "I recover fast," he shrugged, leaning forward to kiss Dean again, sucking in his bottom lip and biting just slightly.

Dean could feel Sasha hard and hot against his thigh. "Yeah," he grinned, "I can tell. But don't get too far ahead of me now. We've only just started." With that Dean kissed Sasha once more, firm and swift, and then shot the curtain open and climbed quickly out onto the bathmat below. Before Sasha could follow him Dean snatched up the towel Sasha had set out for himself and left the bathroom to dry off.

Sasha's laughter followed after Dean, and when Dean actually caught sight of the incubus again, who had grabbed another towel and was mostly dry, Sasha was working on getting the excess water out of his hair. Dean was pretty well dry too—his hair didn't need the extra attention—and he tossed his towel to the floor, giving Sasha a wink as he backed towards the bed.

"Aren't you gonna pay me back properly for that impromptu shower scene?" Dean snarked, "Coz I know you wanna." Feeling the bed hit the back of his knees, Dean eased down onto it as wanton and inviting as he could manage.

And there was that look Dean had seen on Sasha's face countless times, starting back when it still scared Dean to see that kind of hunger directed towards him—at least from a _guy_.

Sasha dropped his towel and gave his head a good shake, leaving the damp strands looking longer and deep red as they clung to his cheeks and a little at his neck.

"What's gotten into you?" Sasha asked, half laughing, "And before you say 'nothing yet' I would like a serious answer. Coz…well…just yesterday I could feel that you were still uneasy. But now…I know you're not faking or trying too hard or anything. I can feel that you're ready, that you're…horny as hell frankly. What changed?"

Again, the incubus had to go and ask a serious question when Dean was ready to play. Dean knew better though than to try and dismiss it. "I figured you'd know by now, baby. I'm an all or nothing kinda guy. I'm either miserable or fucking fantastic. Not so much with the middle ground. So I guess…I wasted enough time on over-thinking, being pissed and woozy or whatever, and…now that that's out of my system I just wanna be me again. Is that so bad?" Dean grinned sideways as he asked that, lying back on the bed with his elbows propping him so that Sasha got a clear view of everything, especially his taut abs.

And if nothing else at least it worked to get Sasha distracted, because Dean could see how those blue eyes devoured everything they were seeing. "Bad is…definitely not the word that springs to mind," the incubus said as he began—finally—to walk towards the bed, "Round two, huh? Then we best be getting to that foreplay, doncha think?"

At last they were on the same page. Dean welcomed the warm, soft, and still slightly damp presence of Sasha as the redhead crawled on top of him. "Still got an hour til we're s'possed to meet Sammy for breakfast downstairs. Plenty of time," Dean said. He drew Sasha's face down to his and kissed the incubus again. He never tired of it, of feeling that skilled tongue dance with his own, the heat, the depth that made Dean tremble. And of course their regained erections were more than ready again and pressed against each other as Sasha lowered himself onto Dean, almost too hot for Dean to stand.

Dean wasn't lying when he said he had plans for Sasha though. They were trying to scoot themselves further up the bed so that their heads were actually on the pillows, but as they tousled and kissed with roaming hands on each others' backs, Dean rolled them so that Sasha was the one beneath instead of him.

The incubus pulled out of their kisses and stared up at him with a bemused expression. "Hey now. I thought it was my turn," he teased.

"And I thought you wanted foreplay," Dean shot right back. He immediately went for the pulse point on Sasha's neck, sucking hard even though as an incubus Sasha was impossible to actually mark. They always faded so quickly, while Dean's were more lasting reminders. Not that Dean minded all that much when he would find a little bit of Sasha marked on his skin.

Dean continued to kiss down Sasha's neck, nipping and swiping at the damp skin with his tongue. As he worked his way lower, capturing each nipple in turn with licks and just the tiniest bites, the butterflies started to grow a little. But then Dean remembered he wasn't listening to any of that nonsense anymore and he kept on going.

It wasn't until he was pressing his thumbs into the grooves at Sasha's hips and licking his way down below Sasha's bellybutton that the incubus realized Dean's plan. Dean knew the exact moment when it hit Sasha too because the guy gave a sharp gasp as if the very thought of it made something in his belly quiver.

Part of Dean almost thought Sasha was going to interrupt and try spewing some of his 'don't think you need to do this just for me' crap, but Sasha didn't say a word. Dean glanced up as he hovered over that bit of red hair, and Sasha was just watching him with the craziest intent almost as if he didn't believe Dean would do it, but damn how he wanted him to.

Sure, Dean hadn't actually done this for Sasha before—it was always Sasha who went below the belt. Well, Dean hadn't actually done this with anyone, much as he did enjoy going down on a girl, especially if she was the type who really liked it. But Dean didn't want any part of this relationship with Sasha to go one way. Equal opportunity, he figured. And whatever got Sasha hot made Dean that much hotter too, that he knew for certain.

Dean thought of how Sasha had first done this to him and couldn't resist starting at the base of Sasha's cock and licking one long wet strip all the way up to Sasha's tip. It didn't really feel any different from licking any other places, although there was a tang of salt and the shaft was definitely hotter than any other part of Sasha right now. Dean followed the same path again, licking from base to tip, and heard a sharp intake of breath. Dean knew he could do better than that.

Flicking his tongue over Sasha's slit he tasted the small bit of wetness forming there and wasn't in the least deterred. Slowly, Dean descended with his lips parted just slightly, looking up at Sasha so he could watch Sasha watching him. There was so much intensity in those blue eyes that Dean had to grin, and then his lips spread even wider as he took Sasha into his mouth. As he moved further down, Dean worked his tongue along the underside of Sasha's cock, consistently hearing moans now and heavy breathing in response.

Dean pulled back before taking Sasha too deep, but only to bob back down, taking him just a little deeper. He did that for awhile, each time descending to take that much more of Sasha into his mouth, until finally he willed his throat to relax and swallowed Sasha all the way down. It made Dean's eyes water a little but it made Sasha moan so loudly that Dean hoped for Sam's sake he wasn't right there on the other side of the wall to hear it.

There was a good amount of wetness left on Sasha when Dean pulled completely away, and Sasha hissed to meet cool air again. Dean licked his hand to add a little more lubricant to the process and ran it all over the heated skin, giving a few good pulls. Then Dean returned with his lips, sucking on just the tip, going down all the way to swallow Sasha back into his throat again, and then returning his attention to the head.

"Ugnnn…" Sasha tried pathetically to form syllables, "You…your…your _lips_," he finally got out.

Dean pulled away so that those mentioned lips were hovering less than an inch from returning to his work on Sasha. He flicked his eyes up to Sasha's face, just grinning. "Yeah…?" he prompted.

Sasha's head dropped back to the pillow for a moment and then lifted up again. "Your lips…" he said more clearly this time, "…your lips…were _made_ for doing that."

A snort left Dean before he could help it. "There's a small, very straight part of me that would have taken that as an insult a few months ago," he said.

Sasha barked a laugh. "What? Me saying…you have…cock-sucking lips?" Sasha's smirk was way too self-satisfying as he said that.

Dean couldn't let that slide. "Only for you, baby," he said with a wink, and then flicked his tongue slowly over Sasha's slit while keeping his lips well enough away.

After a few moments of that, Sasha was mewling for more again. Never doubt, Dean thought, that Dean Winchester always wins in the sexual torture department. He could drive anyone out of their minds if given the chance, he just enjoyed doing it to Sasha more than he ever had to someone else.

Eventually, Dean complied with Sasha's whines, returning his lips and tongue and every part of his mouth to making Sasha moan and writhe on the bed. Dean was fairly certain he would get Sasha to come a second time with just that when suddenly Sasha's moans turned into another one of those ravenous growls. Before Dean could even blink or take a breath the next time he pulled from Sasha's skin, he found himself miraculously on his back on the bed with a red-eyed and fanged incubus pressing him into the mattress.

Sasha kissed Dean close to painful, what with the prick of fangs and all, but when the redhead pulled back and Dean got a clear look of those features he loved so damn much, Dean knew he was lost somewhere in paradise. "I love it when you get all take charge on me," he said breathlessly.

A rumble of a laugh replied. "That's my line," Sasha said, and just as swiftly as before he kissed Dean again, none too subtly grinding against Dean's hip.

A minute or so of them kissing like that and both of them rubbing their hips together passed when Dean suddenly felt the grip of Sasha's fingers clutching his arms grow sharp. "Ah!" Dean cried as he gasped for air out of their kiss. Something had definitely broken the skin. But that wasn't the only thing Dean realized as he took in the sight of Sasha more fully. The incubus was almost completely changed now.

"Sorry," Sasha said quickly, rubbing at the cuts he had made on Dean's arms—shallow and superficial really—with thumbs that were promptly becoming _thumbs_ again instead of talons, "I don't know what's wrong with me today. Guess I missed you a little too much."

Dean imagined that anyone else would probably be a little freaked by that, by how much more than usual Sasha was losing himself to his incubus nature, but Dean wasn't just anyone. He knew Sasha was no monster, and no matter what Dean's dreams showed him, Sasha would never intentionally hurt him.

Besides, Dean thought the whole incubus look was freakin' _hot_.

Gripping Sasha's arms in return as those incubus features faded, Dean stared at the slowly retracting wings and mourned that they were going with the rest. He smiled at Sasha, brushed the damp hair from his forehead and said, "Nothing to be sorry for if I make ya crazy, baby. And anyway…I kinda think your wings are sexy."

That seemed to surprise Sasha, as much as Dean remembered the surprise on Sasha's face the first time he realized Dean liked the way he looked when he was fully transformed. Surprise melted to a pleased grin pretty quickly though and while Sasha's other incubus features continued to fade the wings sprang back to full life.

Dean thought Sasha looked like some kind of dark angel like that, human with just those black wings spread out in the air above them. It made him hum in contentment.

"Getting a bit of a fetish for me, Mr. Winchester?" Sasha teased.

"Oh _hell_ yeah. But just you," Dean assured the redhead, "Just you."

They started kissing again and Dean laughed inside to think that he sort of missed the fangs too and wondered what it might be like to be with Sasha when he was fully transformed. Sure, the scratches on his arms stung a little, but that kind of pain was hardly a deterrent.

Dean kissed back around Sasha's neck up to one of those slightly pointed ears, licking the rim. His eyes strayed to the wings though and he had to reach out and touch them, bringing both hands back to the thick tendons where they pushed out of Sasha's back, and then to the inside of the wings caressing as far out as his arms could stretch. Sasha moaned halfway to a growl and immediately started to tuck his knee between Dean's legs.

"Wait," Dean stopped him, resting his head back onto the pillows, "We've done this position. I was thinking…maybe we'd try something new on my end." Dean tried not to snicker at that double entendre.

"Oh really?" Sasha grinned. His wings had settled down a little to drape over them and fall off the sides of the bed. "What did you have in mind?"

Such a loaded question. "Whatever way you want me, baby."

_That_ got a flash of red eyes. Sasha bit his lower lip and his once again blue eyes darted down Dean's body. He looked back up then, leaned close enough for Dean to feel warm breath that carried the scent of toothpaste, and whispered, "Turn over."

Again a little tightness settled in Dean's belly but that just made him want to comply more. There was no reason any position should make Dean uncomfortable if he was with Sasha. Rolling over onto his front, Dean peered back over his shoulder and there was no doubt he loved everything he saw.

Sasha ran his hands up Dean's back, so soft since they were purely human. "This actually isn't the position I want. But it will be easier for you to start like this."

Dean had started to rest his face onto the pillow but again he looked back, his brow furrowed now.

"Don't worry. You'll like it," Sasha promised. And Dean knew, as always, that he could trust the incubus with anything.

Settling himself back onto the pillow again, Dean awaited what he thought would be Sasha's fingers starting to stretch him. But instead Sasha hoisted Dean's hips into the air just a little and suddenly there was warmth and wet between Dean's cheeks from Sasha's tongue.

It could be counted as one of Dean's more unmanly moments because he immediately squeaked.

Sasha just laughed a little and swiped out with his tongue again, pushing in just the smallest, most unbearable bit. Dean was almost shaking when Sasha finally started using his fingers, but it made for much easier preparation since Dean was properly wet and ready. Dean was actually a little shocked when Sasha's started to press into him, because he had assumed there would be a little more foreplay yet before they got to the finale a second time. He should have suspected though that Sasha had everything well planned.

"Careful now," Sasha whispered, fully inside Dean but without the slightest buck of his hips, "I'm going to lift you up and start to sit back. I've got you, I just want you to know."

"Sit back?" Dean repeated. He suddenly got an imagine in his head of him in Sasha's lap, aptly impaled and rocking back on Sasha with those wings wrapped around them. _Fuck_.

And Sasha was reading his mind again, it seemed, because that was exactly how it happened. Dean helped as much as he could to lift up, get his legs out from under him, and then sit back on Sasha's thigh with the incubus still inside him. When they were finally sitting, Sasha was in so deep Dean shivered.

As Sasha held onto Dean at the hips and started rocking them together, the wings did indeed fold around them like a warm blanket, totally covering Dean's chest and upper legs in black skin.

Dean felt like he had been given the greatest gift to be able to touch them more. They folded over each other and the edge on the inside was right in front of Dean. There was a thicker bit of skin all along the edge of the wings like that same tendon feel at their base. Dean reached out for the very tip of the wing nearest him and pressed into it with his thumb in gentle circles.

Sasha's hips bucked in response. They could definitely do foreplay and fuck at the same time, Dean decided. It made him grin to think that fondling Sasha's wings was a little like first base. That gave Dean a wicked idea and he leaned forward a little—which also pressed him back on Sasha further and made the incubus let out a strangled cry—and then Dean ran his tongue along the edge of Sasha's wing and continued over the inside too.

"_Dean_," Sasha whimpered. Dean was pretty certain Sasha had never had anyone do naughty things to his wings. Maybe the change, but Sasha didn't really remember any of that, crazed as he had been. This was so much better. This was Dean finally being able to give Sasha something new like Sasha had given Dean so many new and wonderful experiences.

Dean nibbled and ran his tongue over places on Sasha's wings as if they were any other normal human body part, and really any part of the body, human or otherwise, could be worked on sexually. Sasha's wings seemed to be a particularly sensitive area for him.

Of course the more Dean sucked and teased that black skin the more firmly Sasha pulled Dean back and forth onto him. Sitting as they were brought Sasha in deeper than he had ever been in Dean before and that marvelous spot inside of Dean was consistently struck. He would get Sasha to come first again though—guaranteed.

Since Dean was leaning forward it made it easy for Sasha to lean his chest onto Dean's back and lick at his earlobe. It made Dean jerk up a little and he almost smacked Sasha in the face with the back of his head.

"Warn me," Dean panted, "Might…break your nose next time."

Sasha just chuckled. "Then lean back."

It would take Dean's mouth away from the wings, but Dean couldn't help melting back against Sasha with how those soft hands started running up and down his chest. Without Sasha's hands to help move him, Dean rocked himself more firmly back on Sasha and moved his own hands to grip the sides of Sasha's thighs beneath him.

Finally, Dean felt when Sasha opened the circuit to him, at first in small waves, and then more fully and encompassing so that Dean felt completely swept away. He marveled every time Sasha did this, being able to feel how he made Sasha feel. It filled him with such pride to be able to do that for someone. This was every bit of nourishment Sasha needed and _Dean_ gave it to him. Sasha didn't want anybody else. Dean didn't want anybody else. Dean wanted this. Just this. Forever.

A sharper buck from Sasha broke a cry from Dean's throat and his nails raked up Sasha's thighs. The incubus hissed in pleasure. It was becoming too much again, like the first time Sasha opened Dean to the circuit. Like some miraculous drug, Dean was in another world, one where only he and Sasha existed. Where no deals or scary monsters could touch them.

Sasha jerked a little and Dean felt the incubus lift him up off of him as if Dean weighed nothing. Dean felt a little of Sasha's release strike his lower back and that telling heat was all it took to push Dean over the edge too. He felt it building low in his gut and when Sasha grazed his fingers down over Dean's cock that was the end. The circuit gave one final pulse that quivered through Dean's body—Dean's releases was what Sasha really fed from, after all—and then Dean was left with the aftermath of coming down off that high.

Dean thought vaguely of how he had succeeded in getting Sasha to come first twice, and not once did Dean feel truly uncomfortable or frightened of Sasha's touch. He was in control, he made his own choices and he stood by them, and he wouldn't be forgetting that again.

Before Dean could find his way back to himself, exhausted and trembling, he realized he had been laid down on his side on the bed with his feet towards the headboard. Sasha wasn't with him.

Dean blinked across the room and caught sight of the incubus, watching as the wings faded from Sasha's back so he could fit through the doorway of the bathroom. He came back with a dry towel to clean them both off and Dean could barely move throughout the whole thing. "Overload…" Dean managed when Sasha sat on the edge of the bed with a slight frown, "No…worries. You just…really got me _good_. I feel like I could sleep for a week." Dean grinned to himself and rolled onto his back now that he was clean and wouldn't risk leaving a wet spot. He frowned though when he saw that Sasha still looked worried. "Dude, what's up? Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that."

Sasha cracked a grin that Dean could tell was mostly fake. "I enjoyed it too much. That's the problem. I…I took too much from you, Dean. Twice in one day is one thing, but I should have been more careful. I could have really hurt you."

Dean allowed that to wash over him. He felt more exhausted than usual because Sasha had drained a little too much of his sexual energy. Dean recognized the danger of course—he hadn't even noticed anything was wrong because he had been enjoying himself so much. That could be a real problem if it ever happened again.

"I don't know what I'd do…if I hurt you like that."

Snapping to attention, Dean reached out to grab Sasha's wrist, tight as he could. No way was he dealing with angst after their amazing sex-capades. "Hey. So I gave…two pints of blood instead of one…and it's making me a little woozy. You didn't hurt me. You gave me one helluva ride…and lost yourself in the moment too. I know you'd never let it go further than that. And if you give yourself some credit for a change, you'll realize you know that too."

Of course Dean had become a pro at diffusing these situations, and like magic Sasha's smile turned genuine. There was worry there, because that's just how Sasha was, but Sasha was soothed. Dean just wanted both of them to be confident in all ways. They had every right to be. "'Sides," Dean said, "I can sleep this off for twenty minutes if ya wanna curl in next to me, and we'll still have enough time to dress, pack up, and go down to meet Sammy. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," Sasha replied, immediately climbing onto the bed until they were curled together still facing the wrong way, "Perfect," Sasha said again, stroking Dean's face as he looked at him, "Just like you."

Really, Dean couldn't _not_ laugh. "I ain't perfect, baby. Anything but."

"True," Sasha agreed with a slow nod, "But believe me, Dean, compared to you…perfect would be boring as hell."

Dean couldn't imagine a better way to end things while he drifted off into light dozing than to laugh long and hard over that and rest his head in the crook of Sasha's neck.

"I love you, Dean."

Well. Except for maybe that.

--

Fully recovered, dressed, and packed for the road, Sasha and Dean appeared right on time to join Sam at the meager continental breakfast. Sam was already sitting at a table and had coffee waiting for them. It smelled amazing, mostly because Dean really needed his daily dose of caffeine. Dean grabbed a couple donuts and sat down while Sasha waited for a bagel to pop up out of the toaster.

"Ready to hit the road, Sammy?" Dean said, drinking a long swallow of his coffee, black just as he liked it. Sam didn't immediately respond and Dean had to look up. He saw that Sam was staring at him with occasional glances over at Sasha, looking all smug about something. "What?"

Sam glanced over at Sasha again, smiling strangely and then looked back at Dean with a quirked eyebrow. "You two sure seem _chipper_. Resolve a few…lingering issues this morning, did you?"

Dean almost choked on his first bite of bear claw. "_What_?"

Now it was Dean's turn to look at Sasha who was bobbing his head as he spread peanut butter over his popped-up bagel, humming jovially. Okay, maybe there were a few more tell-tale signs than Dean first realized. He had had a bit of a bounce in his step on the way to the table and he had been grinning pretty much since the shower scene. Still, Dean cleared his throat loudly when Sam started chuckling.

"Shut up. So I needed a little…incubus time. Mind your own business."

"Right," Sam grinned, "And I'm betting he needed a little Dean time too. Just glad to know you guys are okay. Had me worried for awhile."

Sweet as Sam's concern may be, it made Dean a little queasy. "I really didn't need to know that you think about my sex life," Dean said, "Shouldn't you be focusing more on your own? You're as bad as a freakin' monk lately, Sammy. We need to get you laid."

Naturally, Sam's grin immediately fell prey to his common scowl. "I wasn't talking about your sex life." Sam paused when he realized how untrue that was. "Okay…I _was_ talking about your sex life. But more than just that, thank you. As in the whole relationship and any lasting…fallout from…before. And I definitely don't need _you_ thinking about _my_ sex life."

"What about your sex life?" Sasha jumped in, having returned with his bagel and a glass of orange juice.

"Just about, you know, its _non-existence_," Dean supplied.

A grin strained across Sasha's face as he valiantly kept from laughing, but Sam was not pleased. "Not everyone needs sex all the time," Sam defended, "I am not an incubus or _you_," he said pointedly to Dean, "I'm not going to just jump into bed with someone. And I…I don't think it would be safe for me to be with anyone anyway."

Damn. That made all the fun just fall right out of the conversation.

Sam was not dangerous. For the last three weeks he had been working on controlling his existing powers and also on expanding his 'sense demons' power to further it than just nearby towns. If Sam could get to the point where he could sense where demons were in a larger radius than they would really be in business. Dean saw that as a good thing. And so was the fact that Yellow-Eyed Sam hadn't dropped in on them once since Maine. Sam even seemed more relaxed lately, which Dean couldn't have been more thankful for. They weren't exactly any further into solving Dean's deal, but every time they had run across a demon lately Sam had sent it after the contract holder like before. None of them ever returned, but after awhile that had to at least get annoying for whoever held the contracts.

Bottom line though was that Sam really needed to get it through his head that it was just as important to live his life as it was to save Dean's.

"We don't have a destination yet right?" Dean said, looking over his companions who were eyeing him warily, "No obvious hunt. I say you kill-joys listen to me for once and we try our luck at Atlantic City, huh? Sammy, I know you can count cards. A little mind reading wouldn't hurt either."

"Dean," Sam said chidingly, even though he was fighting to hide a smile.

"Come on. You can work on sensing demons on the way. If you pick up on anything, we'll stop. At least til we get wind of another hunt." Dean could tell Sam was almost willing to give in. Sasha was laughing and shaking his head, but Dean knew the incubus would throw in his vote if Sam agreed too.

"I want to go somewhere secluded for awhile though," Sam said, "Give me a chance to really let lose with some of this stuff without risking hurting someone."

"So you'd rather fry a few more squirrels?"

Sam gave Dean a look.

"Kidding. Kidding," Dean amended, "I'm just saying—" But Dean didn't get to finish what he was saying because Sasha's cell phone started to ring.

Sasha smiled in apology and reached for it. Dean figured it was about that time for a Shiarra check-in. But then when Sasha looked at the ID he scrunched his eyes as if he didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" The incubus listened for a minute and suddenly his whole face lit up. "Yeah. Yeah, really good actually. Of course. It's good to hear your voice too."

After a minute, Sasha could tell that Sam and Dean were eyeing him curiously, especially since Dean made no attempt to hide that he wanted to know who Sasha was talking to. So finally, Sasha put his hand over the mouthpiece for a moment and spoke with the widest smile on his face.

"It's Charis."

tbc...

A/N: Here ends the chapter of sex! And I don't think it's really a cliffy since meeting up with Charis was inevitable and will be almost entirely pleasant as the start to the next chapter. But believe me, from here on out you are in store for harder and harder hunts and villains. I have up to nine arcs fully planned and it's gonna be one helluva ride.

Crim


	42. Part 2: Old Friends

I return! A few days late, I apologize, but married, healthy, and with a long chapter to start of the rest of this arc. Please, friends, go and read deangirl1's new Wedding story for Incubus Redux if you want a first-hand account of my nuptuals. Everything went wonderfully. Oh how much more wonderful if a certain couple had actually attended. :-) Also, check out the website through my profile for pictures. I'll have them up soon. Enjoy!

* * *

Part 2: Old Friends

--

Sasha looked so uncharacteristically nervous that normally Dean would have had to tease the incubus as mercilessly as possible. Given the circumstances, however, and just what it was that had Sasha relentlessly fidgeting, Dean took what Sam often called 'the high road'. Dean didn't generally like 'the high road'; he liked getting down and dirty, damn it, and in more ways than one. But that didn't mean he didn't know when taking things too far was plain and simple a bad idea. Sure, Sasha was smiling as goofy as a middle school kid going on his first date, but this was a lot bigger than that.

As it turned out, and Dean didn't doubt at all that Shiarra had something to do with it, Charis wasn't too far away from them in the larger city of Alexandria. It was only an hour's drive from the small Louisiana town they had just finished banishing their banshee, and since they had no planned destination yet it wasn't out of their way.

"Where am I going again?" Dean asked of the rearview mirror.

"Next left, Dean. Oak Street. It should be on our right," Sam supplied. He had been more than happy to give up his usual front seat spot. Letting Sasha sit in the back to fidget and overanalyze over everything all by his lonesome just hadn't sounded like a good idea.

Of course Sam and Dean both had offered to sit this one out and let Sasha meet with Charis alone—Dean had even said Sasha could borrow the Impala, which was without a doubt the kindest gesture that existed for Dean Winchester—but Sasha insisted that Charis wanted them to come and that he was more than happy to have them along too.

"There's an open spot there," Sam pointed out after they had turned the corner. The little coffee place Charis had said she would meet them at was right on the corner of the next intersection.

Dean parked without hassle, turned off the engine, and sat, knowing damn well that Sasha would not be jumping out of the car quite yet, much as Dean liked to believe this was a happy occasion. "Dude, she wants to see you. She was the nice one, remember?" Dean said, "I'll take a peck on the cheek over a dislocated shoulder any day. And I'm pretty sure that's about as much as she has planned anyway, not a raiding party. We already know she left Lindsey at home, right?"

Even though the comment had been meant as a joke, Dean quickly understood his mistake as something dark passed over Sasha's expression. "She didn't leave him home. He refused to come," Sasha deadpanned, "She took this long to contact me hoping she could convince him, but…" he trailed with a deep sigh. Then, straining to return the smile to his face, Sasha looked more melancholy than nervous for some reason, which Dean hardly thought of as an improvement. "Sorry. Bright side. I'm totally there. Really. Charis wants to see me, and I want to see her, and I couldn't be happier to have you along too." Sasha glanced back to be sure Sam understood that he was just as much included.

Dean still had a strong feeling that he and Sam would both be feeling like a giant Winchester third wheel before long, but for now he was happy to be able to support Sasha. After all, Sasha had something that neither Dean nor Sam had ever really had—friends outside the hunter life that he didn't have to hide anything from and could still get in contact with today.

Sam hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Jess.

"So…going in might be a good idea, ya know, in the next _hour_ or so," Dean teased since Sasha had made no move whatsoever to open his door, "It's gonna be okay, man. She just wants to catch up. Get to know the 'you' you are now, the whole adult kickass hunter package. I know you want the same thing. Nine years is a long time to be stupid. 'Bout time both sides wised up, if ya ask me. Come on." And with that Dean promptly got out of the Impala with all intentions of hauling Sasha out after him if necessary.

Thankfully for the redhead's sake, Sasha got out on his own, along with Sam, and the three of them made their way into the little out of the way coffee shop on Oak Street.

It was dark like one of those old beatnik poetry places and there were very few people spaced out at different tables and cushy chairs drinking lattes. Dean was so ready for his mid-morning dose of coffee. The caffeine from breakfast had long since run its course through his system. They had basically left their motel as soon as they finished eating—Sasha had barely even touched his bagel—and made straight for Alexandria. Sasha had been thrilled that Charis was close and wanted to meet right away before they got caught up in another hunt. From what Dean had been able to vaguely overhear, Charis sounded equally ecstatic that everything had worked out so well.

Yep, Dean thought, Shiarra had definitely played a hand in all this. And for that Dean liked the succubus even more.

"Sasha!" sounded a familiar lighter female voice from one of the corner booths. The boys all turned and easily spotted Charis' copper-colored hair and the way her silvery eyes seemed to glow in the meager light like a cat's.

She was indeed alone, not that that was surprising, but her smile and exuberance couldn't have been more genuine as they approached the booth and she got out to embrace Sasha just as heartfelt as she had at Dean's birthday. Dean allowed some small surprise though when Charis also immediately turned to embrace _him_, and then moved on to Sam as well.

"I'm so glad you both came too," she said, sliding into the booth again and inviting all of them to do the same. Dean slid in opposite Charis next to his brother so Sasha could sit beside his old friend, to which Sasha cast Dean a thankful smile. "I feel like I need to start by apologizing for…well, everything. I hope Lindsey didn't hurt you too badly that night," she said to Dean.

Of course Dean immediately dismissed the comment. "Nothing that didn't heal eventually," he said. After all, it wasn't Lindsey's fault that the damn shoulder kept getting worse instead of better. Dean had two other assholes and company to thank for that. "Couldn't convince Billy to tag along, huh?"

Charis looked confused at first until recognition hit her and she laughed lightly. It moved her under the light a little and Dean caught sight of her dusting of freckles. "I probably would have had better luck asking the actual Billy Idol to come out for coffee." She instantly turned to Sasha beside her. "You have to know that it's not that he doesn't—"

"Still care for me," Sasha finished, smiling somberly, "I know. Everyone seems to be of that consensus. Lin just apparently missed the memo."

A frown crossed Charis' face. "He just worries. For _you_," she insisted, "You know the reason he's probably the last person who would ever trust hunters. You know what he thinks of them. And it's even worse with it involving _you_ because to him it feels like this huge…" Charis trailed, like she didn't want to finish the phrase even if it wasn't her thoughts she was explaining, "Betrayal," she finished distastefully, "But please understand that not all of us think that. Even at first it wasn't like that, it was just…I don't know. Maybe we were just scared teenagers and there's no other excuse, but that's no excuse either. Lindsey took it the hardest when you left because he chooses to make it personal. It's not. I know that." Suddenly, Charis gathered up Sasha's hands to hold them tightly in her own. "It was something you had to do, and we should have been able to understand that. You're father was a good man, Sasha, who tried to live in both worlds and maybe even could have done it. You wanted the same thing. And…even though I'll admit I still have a little…fear…" her eyes almost imperceptibly glanced over at Sam and Dean, "I could never believe you were a bad person or that you would choose to be with people who were."

If Dean had ever doubted his liking for Charis before then it was certainly thrown out the window now. Her speech also had the effect of making Dean _dislike_ Lindsey that much more. Okay, so the guy's parents had been killed by a hunter. Understandably he would hold a bit of a grudge. But Sasha's parents had gone the same way and Sasha turned that anger into something he could use to help others, to maybe prevent mistakes like that from happening again.

To Dean that made much more sense than shunning a good friend for wanting to make a difference. And yet Lindsey still had enough pull with Sasha to make the redhead question himself, because despite Charis' speech Sasha still looked crestfallen.

"Not a bad person," the incubus repeated, nodding but not as if he agreed, "You really think so? Even with everyone turning on me, forcing me out, calling me _kinslayer_? Of course I know I didn't have a choice," he continued before Sam or Dean or even Charis could contradict him, "But it doesn't change that I killed our kind, my own family, and that I'm not even welcome in my family home anymore. Maybe…maybe Lindsey's more justified than I want to believe."

Oh Dean was all over speaking up in response to _that_, but Charis beat him to it. "_Sasha_," she said in a tone that Dean had to admit was firmer and more commanding than Shiarra at her most motherly, "First of all, Lindsey does not believe you should be banished any more than the rest of us. He uses what happened with your aunt as a reason to prove you _should_ return home. That's what he wants. He wants you home and away from hunters he thinks will one day turn on you. That's the only thing that will make him happy at this point," she huffed, "And it's _bullshit_. Any ten year old could sense how much these two love you. I'm more grateful to you two than you could imagine," she said to Sam and Dean, "For being what we couldn't but should have been from the start. You're braver than the five of us put together for that."

Dean Winchester was not one for being put on the spot, but he never said no to admitting a job well done. Befriending and loving Sasha was something he counted among his greatest accomplishments. So while Sam gave that boyish smile as if to say, 'oh no, not at all' or whatever other shit Sam's unassuming expression was supposed to say, Dean gave a firm nod of acknowledgement.

He then promptly ignored Sam kicking his ankle.

"Dean said the same thing…about Lindsey worrying over me more than hating me," came Sasha's voice, soft and not quite so self-loathing. A smile twitched at his mouth as if he wasn't sure he could believe what he was realizing but he desperately wanted to. "Lindsey really…he really just wants me home?" Sasha asked Charis, to which the succubus nodded with a somber smile that spoke of how much she wished the same, "Okay. Then when you go back to him tell him this. _I want that too_. I do. But not if I have to give up what I am. Or _them_," Sasha indicated Sam and Dean, firm with resolve now, "I want to be able to go home and see everyone, but I can't. And I don't regret that. I did what I had to. I'm a hunter first because that is what I do and what we do is what makes us who we are. I'd like all of you to get to know this me, but hunting is always going to be part of the package now. If Lindsey can't accept that, I understand, but only if it's because of what _I_ am, not _them_. He doesn't get to hate me because of them. They've saved my life so many times now I've lost count. And that's the part that matters, that it isn't about keeping track or owing each other, it's just what we do. I hope you can understand that too."

Maybe for a split second Dean had felt a sense of panic when Sasha started off by saying he just wanted to go home. It was the same panic he felt when Sasha with the mind of a five-year-old had said the same thing, huddled in the back of the Impala. Hearing Sasha's amendments, however, had Dean glowing. He had no doubts that Charis was on the fast track to accepting them and Sasha being hunters, even if Lindsey still wanted to be a jackass.

Of course the two sex demons kept saying things like 'all' and 'the five of us' and other words that indicated the conversation included more than Lindsey and those present. Dean knew the others' names, but he didn't _know_ them, other than having seen a glimpse of a fifteen-year-old Cam.

Before Dean could ask about all of that though Sasha and Charis had made their peace and were falling into more casual conversation.

Dean was reeled in when Sasha started telling Charis about how he had met the Winchesters. It seemed to solidify her acceptance of them to hear how they had saved Sasha even after learning he was an incubus and thinking him the bad guy. As it turned out, Dean didn't feel like half of a third wheel at all because soon it was all of them together filling Charis in on what had been happening to them. Even when Sasha explained more about his time hunting alone it never felt awkward, and when Sasha finally started pressing Charis for information, well, Dean couldn't deny his curiosity.

"You're both heading for twenty-six already, Charis, I know you've sworn yourselves to each other by now," Sasha was saying in a teasing and—Dean couldn't help noticing—_brotherly_ way, "I'm not going to be mad that I missed it. Disappointed, sure, but it was never a secret that you two were pretty much mated since birth."

Dean wrinkled his nose at Sasha's word choices and turned to Charis. "Does all that sworn to each other, mated crap mean you're something like _married_ to that white-haired asshole, coz I am so sorry for you if it does." Of course Dean was smirking, not _entirely_ serious, but that didn't stop Sam from kicking his ankle again.

Charis giggled and Dean could have sworn he saw something of a pink blush rise up in her cheeks. "No denying it, I guess. Lindsey and I did swear ourselves to each other pretty much the day after he joined me in being twenty-five. Never saw much point in waiting. And yes," Charis said more specifically to Dean, "That basically means we're married, just our people's way of it. We can't take another as our mate until the age of true adulthood, but after that it's simply our choice. And I am sorry you missed it, Sasha. Cam stood for Lindsey of course, but it should have been you."

"Who knows," Sasha shrugged, "Maybe some day…Lin could still stand for me." Sasha smiled at that and Dean had the strangest feeling that the incubus was trying very hard not to look at him. "So I want to know," Sasha went on quickly, "Did you throw in any human touches? You know my parents got married in a church and everything, Dad being Irish Catholic and all. Apparently, he told my Mom that if they didn't get married in a real church his poor dead parents would come back as vengeful spirits and he really didn't want to have to salt and burn _those_ bones." Sasha laughed aloud at the joke.

Charis rolled her eyes, but gave a light chuckle too. "No church," she said, "But I did have a white dress and Lindsey looked very handsome. Cam played for us but I would have liked to have had you there to sing something. You two always complimented each other so well."

"Played?" Dean broke in, because frankly he liked that _he_ complimented Sasha so well, "What does this Cam guy play?"

Apparently, Sasha was only too quick to pick up on Dean's trepidation. "Piano. And not because he ever wanted to. I think his grandmother sort of forced it on him. There's always something, skills and talents and whatnot that our families are certain will better us for hunting."

"Like waltzing and singing and having an account through your aunt for Armani suits you never wear?" Dean supplied.

Sasha's bright blue eyes narrowed but he was still smirking. "To name a few. Cam was always the most resistant to that kinda stuff though. He's a little more simple and gritty about things. Or at least…I assume he's still like that," Sasha added with a look at Charis.

A slightly somber smile caught Charis' expression again. "He is. I'm hoping you'll be able to find out for yourself soon. I gave Cam and Eppy and Atty your number. I'm guessing they'll find their…own ways of getting a hold of you…in their own time."

To be honest that made Dean a little nervous, especially considering the halting way Charis just said that. He liked Charis, but it sounded as if Lindsey was just _looking_ for an excuse to take Sam and Dean out of the equation and there was no way to know for sure if any of those others would feel the same way. Dean didn't really like the idea of one or more of them just dropping in.

Of course by the time he had some coffee in him and the conversation started whirling again, Dean was more inclined to believe Lindsey was the exception and not Charis. So many of her stories involved those other names—Cam, Eppy, and Atty—and often had amendments of '_and Eppy and Atty couldn't stop saying how much they wished you could have been there_' or '_Cam forgets sometimes that it's just the two boys now, and when it hits him he looks as crushed as he did when you first left_'. Dean supposed he was most thankful for all the times Charis said how sorry she was that they had all been so stupid for so long, because losing all that time only because of fear was such a waste.

It really was.

"I'm going to need to head out soon," Charis said eventually, after hours had passed and they had long since managed on what the coffee shop served for lunch, "But I'd like to make this a more regular thing. Between hunts every so often maybe?" she said with a wide, genuine smile. She had clearly grown quickly comfortable around Sam and Dean, trusting Sasha and what she could feel from all of them. "I'll keep working on Lindsey. Maybe now that I've gotten the chance to get to know you two he'll believe me more when I say you can be trusted. In the meantime," she said, her smile turning the slightest bit crooked as she reached into the purse beside her and pulled out a slip of paper, "I may have a job for you."

"A job?" Sasha repeated.

"A hunt?" Sam clarified.

"Right up your alley from the looks of it," Charis nodded, unfolding the paper with an address and bits of notes written on it, "There's this school in Pittsburgh—larger area than you're usual, I know—where a lot of mysterious deaths have been occurring. Mostly students too. High School. They might have shut the place down by now if the deaths didn't look like accidents. Too much of a coincidence I figure though. Interested? I have more written here."

Sam was the fastest in reaching over to pull the piece of paper towards him. He scanned the notes for a bit and then resettled back on the name of the school with a chuckle, pointing it out to Dean. "Who knew there'd be a prep school somewhere with a name like that?"

Dean leaned closer to Sam and the piece of paper. Really, he couldn't help chuckling either. "_Winchester_ Thurston Prep School," he read with a smirk, "Pittsburgh, here we come. How'd you learn about this hunt anyway?" he asked Charis.

Something like that somber smile appeared on her face again mixed with mischief so that together her expression had this strange hopeful look to it. "Someone passed the info along. I thought you'd find it useful. I never said I had a problem with hunting. Only if the hunters are coming after me or mine. Stick to the real bad guys, boys, and we won't have a problem," she grinned.

It wasn't lost on Dean that she hadn't actually answered his question. Then again how often did women ever do that really?

--

They had a long drive ahead of them from Alexandria, Louisiana to Pittsburgh, but they planned to drive straight through and crash once they got there. As a bonus Charis decided to hitch a ride until about the halfway point since she was meeting up with Lindsey in Kentucky. Despite owning a car she hadn't brought it with her. She only had along what was in her large purse, and had apparently had flown to Alexandria. Dean didn't press for whether or not that included an airline. Either way it solidified Dean's theory that Shiarra was keeping tabs on them and had obviously passed their whereabouts along.

It had been a long time since there had been a woman in the Impala, especially when it wasn't just to make out with Dean. Charis sat in the back with Sasha, reminiscing and catching up the entire way. Sometimes they were entirely immersed in each other and Sam and Dean could both enjoy listening in on the chatter of life-long friends, something neither of them really had outside of each other. Other times they were pulled into the discussions too, which Dean realized were becoming more and more centered around him, specifically around him and Sasha.

The fact that no one ever needed to ask anymore but just _knew_ both annoyed and filled Dean with pride. "So what exactly does this 'Hands off; Sasha's Property' sign above my head look like anyway?" Dean snarked as he drove, "Are we talking neon blinking lights or just a giant arrow from Sasha's dick to my ass, coz this is getting on my nerves that anyone even slightly supernatural can tell I'm screwing an incubus."

Sam's eyes were bugging out of his scull as he gaped at what Dean had just said. Of course Sasha merely laughed, and to the girl's credit, Charis—albeit a little pink again—giggled as well. "It's a little more subtle than that," she managed, "And to be honest, less about the sex or pheromones and more about the—"

"Charis!" Sasha suddenly cut her off, looking oddly panicked.

"What?" Dean pressed, more than a little worried if Sasha was that adamant about him not hearing the end of that sentence. He could see the anxiety marring Sasha's face from the rearview mirror. "If the tell-tail sign isn't the pheromones from lots and lots of sex then what is it?" Dean was serious now, and had a feeling he had good reason for it.

Charis didn't answer, too busy staring incredulously at Sasha to indicate that he should be the one to explain, not her. Unfortunately, Sasha didn't look any closer to speaking up either.

"_Sasha_," Dean said with a tinge of anger, "If you did something to me you better damn well tell me what."

"It's not…I-I didn't…I didn't _do_ something to you," Sasha sputtered, "It's…it's not a big deal, really."

"Sasha Jonathan Kelly," Charis said with that same Shiarra-worthy authority, "It _is_ a big deal, especially for you to have marked him without telling him. He's human. He can't feel it like we can. You don't just mark someone without their permission. You know better than that."

It truly amazed Dean how quickly and easily Charis could get Sasha to cower. "I…I was trying to protect him!" Sasha defended, "I wasn't trying to lie. I thought if I marked you as my…potential mate," Sasha admitted to Dean, "That it would keep you safe if we ran into any of my kind along the road. Of course then Lindsey decided to take it an entirely different way…" Sasha trailed and bit his lip like a child being scolded.

Oh Dean hadn't even begun with the scolding. Of course he fixated on the part of that explanation that angered him the most since he hadn't been told about it before now. "Potential mate? So…so what does that mean to people who can see it? Are we…_engaged_?" Dean almost choked on the word. This was too surreal and so not funny. For once Sam had the decency to look shocked into silence instead of taking this up as an opportunity for teasing. Smart man.

"Well…engaged might not be the best way to put it, but…" Sasha faltered, looking pretty much like a cornered animal now, "I suppose you could look at it like that."

"Do _you_ look at it like that?" Dean demanded. He was barely watching the road anymore, focused far too much on Sasha's face in the mirror.

Sasha's whole posture was crestfallen and his face spoke of so much anguish it usually would have broken Dean's heart, but for once that wasn't going to be enough to soften Dean's feelings on the matter. Especially after Sasha responded with, "If I _did_ look at it like that…would that make this conversation better or worse?"

"_Sasha_!" Dean slammed a hand against the steering wheel, "You don't…you don't _do_ something like that! You don't make those kind of decisions for someone! I never agreed to be your _mate_ or your…_fiancé_ or anything else! I'm barely handling the whole boyfriend thing. _Fuck_. You and Sammy are so much alike sometimes it kills me."

"Me?" Sam practically squeaked since he had remained valiantly silent and out of the argument until now, "What do I have to do with anything?"

No amount of huffs could possibly be enough to express Dean's feelings in response to that question, but he gave a good huff in Sam's direction anyway. "You're kidding me. You, Mr. I'm-gonna-mojo-you-whenever-I-feel-like-it don't know what you have to do with this conversation? You two and using your powers for my own good on me is not okay. And if you ever think about doing anything like whatever it is you did to me again," Dean growled at Sasha, "Then you better ask first. And don't go thinking I'm gonna be accommodating the first time you bother asking either. Now take this…_mark_ or whatever off me. _Now_."

Dean's tone allowed for no reproach and he was at least a little pleased to see that Charis seemed to completely agree with him. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and was looking all disapprovingly at Sasha.

Sasha on the other hand was thoroughly crushed. Dean could feel it without even having to look at the shattered expression on the incubus' face. Dean didn't care either. It wasn't as if Sasha had ever _proposed_ or anything, and what the hell would that mean anyway? It wasn't like marriage really, it was just…what? Swearing themselves to each other? And what did that mean? That they wanted to be together, sure, Dean got that, and he wanted that, he did. He wanted to be with Sasha. But Dean wasn't stupid. He knew what it really meant that Sasha had 'marked' him as his 'potential mate'. It meant that at some point Sasha hoped, no, _expected_ that Dean would allow Sasha to initiate him as an incubus.

And that kind of thinking wasn't good for anybody. Planning for a future like that was just stupid when Dean didn't have a future to give. That was what Shiarra had wanted to impress upon Dean the last time they parted, and Dean got that. Sasha apparently didn't.

"I…I can't just take it off of you, Dean," Sasha said in a low, barely audible voice, "I'd have to…sever the link…and only then would it wear off eventually on its own. But if I did that then…I wouldn't be able to open the circuit to you anymore."

"Fine. Do it," Dean said sharply.

Sasha took a breath that sounded suspiciously like he was staying tears.

Dean was not going to cave on this. They were supposed to be honest with each other. They were supposed to be past shit like this. They were supposed to be able to think of a future as a tangible, possible thing too, damn it, but they couldn't. They were supposed to have more time. But they didn't. And as much as Dean hated that, he hated being reminded of it more. Why did Sasha have to keep dangling perfect in front of him when he knew it was just going to be taken away?

"I know what you're thinking," Sasha said suddenly, "I know why you're angry."

Right. Sure he did, Dean thought, gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

"I know I should have told you, should have asked, should have been honest, should have, should have, _should have_. But we would have been right here sooner, Dean, with you thinking you're not worth it, don't deserve it, won't live to get it, or whatever other fucking stupid things you tell yourself. You keep saying you want to let us help you, Dean, that you believe we can, but you're so full of _shit_. You won't let yourself believe you can be saved. Why? Do you want to die? Do you want to leave us?"

"Stop," Dean pleaded, sounding suddenly more like Sasha, forlorn and desperate instead of angry, "Don't bring her into this," he said, not having to indicate Charis since it was quite clear who he meant, "It's not her business and it's not yours to try and get inside my head. Or yours," Dean added pointedly to Sam, as if he half expected that Sam was crawling around inside his head already, "I don't need either of you psycho-analyzing me. Can't this just be about me being angry coz you overstepped your bounds not asking me first? You'll fix it, I'll get over it, we'll move on. The end."

"But it isn't the end!" Sasha shouted, "Will you stop saying it like that! Why do you have to act like there's some final chapter end to the book of your life looming—"

"Because there is!" Dean had half a mind to pull over so they could finish having this out face to face and be done with it already. "I…_know_ you can save me, okay? I believe it. If anyone can save me from Hell it's the two of you." Dean glanced up and saw Charis' eyes widen in the rearview mirror. "Yeah. Sold my soul to bring this sorry sonuvabitch back to life," he said with a thumb jerk at Sam, "Smart move on my part, huh?"

Of course Sam frowned in disapproval but Dean wasn't about to care right now.

"And of course I don't want to leave you, idiot," Dean shot at Sasha, "I'm just being practical. There's a fifty-fifty chance here. Either we fix the deal or we don't. And if we don't, and I have to leave you pathetic assholes behind to take care of yourselves, then I want to leave you with as little extra baggage to carry around as I can. If that makes me the bad guy in this argument, I'll take it." Dean paused, allowing the tense silence that followed. Eventually, he looked up at Charis again in the mirror. "Sorry you had to hear all that."

If anything Charis looked mildly amused. "I'm not," she said plainly, "You're a fucking idiot."

Dean almost choked. "Come again?"

Charis still had her arms crossed as she had for Sasha and she regarded Dean with that same motherly manner too. "You're an idiot," she said, "I added the fucking part because I figured you'd understand it better that way."

A snort immediately rose from Sam as if the guy couldn't help it or something, and Dean turned a nasty glare on him in reply.

"You think you can make things easier on yourself and Sam and Sasha by not looking forward to any kind of future, even though it couldn't be more obvious that you do," Charis went on, "And probably often by my guess. You don't want them to think about it, or at least to know and have to face that they think about it. That's why you're angry. _Dude_, as if I haven't dealt with _that_ kind of martyrdom before," she smirked with a flick of her eyes at Sasha.

Sasha, in fact, looked like he was trying to quietly curl himself into the tiniest ball of incubus he could manage and maybe, hopefully disappear.

Sam, amazingly enough, wasn't chuckling at all but looked damn close to it with how much he was straining to hide his grin.

And Dean…well, Dean had almost distractedly sped up enough to ram their car into the one in front of them. "Did…did you just call me _dude_?"

This time the snort that rose up was definitely from Sasha, who immediately cleared his throat to mask it. "She, uhh…she does that."

"What?" Dean pressed, "The 'dude' thing? Or the older sister bitch-out monologue she just threw at me?"

"Uhh…pretty much both."

"Huh. Coulda warned me."

"_Dean_," Charis said in that tone that just bled authority, "I didn't know about the deal. I'm sorry. But if there's even a chance of breaking it then you shouldn't be giving up on a future so easily. Sasha was wrong to mark you without telling you," she added with a glare of silver fire directed at the incubus, "But you're not upset for the right reasons. I appreciate that you being upset has nothing to do with the incubus issues. Just the intimacy ones. That's kind of cute, actually. But don't be angry with him for wanting a future with you. It doesn't take an empath to feel how much you want the same thing, even if you are afraid it won't happen."

_Damn_. Dean knew he didn't have female friends for a reason. Jo was entirely different.

"Look," Charis continued, smiling all sweet again like she hadn't just ripped Dean a new one, "I know it's a few hours yet until my drop point, but I think I'll leave you boys be. Lindsey and I have been meaning to stop home anyway. It was great to see you, Sasha," she said, pulling the redheaded incubus in for a fierce hug, "Until next time I'll keep working on Lindsey. He can't say no to me forever. Never was very good at that."

Sasha laughed into Charis' copper hair as they finished their hug. "Thank you," he said. The sentiment was heartfelt and meant for far more than just Charis' promise to speak with Lindsey.

Understandably, Dean and Sam were a little confused by what Charis meant by this planned departure, and Dean wondered if he was supposed to pull over and just let her out on the side of the road. But Charis simply said her goodbyes, smiling all friendly at the brothers, though with a slightly harder look at Dean, picked up her purse from the Impala floor, and in a moment was simply gone as if she had never been in the backseat at all.

Dean's initial reaction was warranted shock and anxiety but then he remembered the discussion they had had with Sasha once about the whole hearthing home thing.

"Dude, did she just bamf?" he asked. Unfortunately, the usual expected chuckling or smartass remarks didn't respond. Instead, it was suffocatingly quiet. Even though Sam was staring forward and looking like he wished he could bamf too, and Sasha was staring down at his lap, Dean still felt as though both their eyes were boring into him.

"Dean…" Sasha spoke first.

"Don't," Dean said almost viciously soft, "I'm so sick of apologies I could scream. I screw up too, ya know. And a lot more often than you two. Your screw-ups just come with all that superhuman to go with 'em. Doesn't make it worse than me being a jackass for no reason."

"Dean, there was reason," Sasha dissented, "I shouldn't have done something like that without asking you."

"No, you shouldn't have. Just like I shouldn't have taken so long to tell you a certain something not long ago. Pot and Kettle again. Story of this trio's life together." Dean sighed and released one of his hands from the steering wheel to run back through his short-cropped hair. "I gotta stop…doing this. I know it ain't fair to quit believing in a future just coz I'm scared. And I am. Scared. I'm fucking terrified over here, okay? But you gotta realize I've never been the plan ahead guy. I'm the moment to moment, never know when you're gonna _die_ guy. Only this time I _do_ know and it's screwing everything up. I never had anything to really…look forward to…before."

As he spoke, Dean seemed to be trying to wring out the steering wheel in his hands, making that awful squeaking noise. He wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn't have to _see_ everything so clearly. Not exactly a good idea on the road though.

"You don't…have to sever anything," he said quietly to Sasha, "I think I'd miss the circuit…if I never got to feel it again." Simple words maybe, but Dean didn't try to hide the emotion in his voice that spoke of his double meaning.

A smile was Dean's response, sweet and loving as always; he knew that without having to look up at the mirror. "Dean…I…" Sasha trailed, searching for the right words, or maybe wishing they were alone for this, "I just…want _you_. I love you. And I wanted every possible person or thing that would be able to see the mark I left on you to know that. I know I was wrong, but if it helps…most things other than an incubus or succubus would only sense the excess pheromones. They'd be more likely to think you _were_ an incubus than to think you're sleeping with one."

Well that certainly explained Faust. Dean sighed again. As long as he didn't think of it as being engaged or anything crazy like that, or that Sasha so obviously wanted Dean to join him as an incubus someday, Dean wouldn't panic. It was hard enough realizing he loved Sasha and was loved in return. This whole promising themselves to each other thing was pushing it.

Dean was more than willing to let this go. To just allow that he was marked or whatever and pretend nothing had changed. He could quietly hope for the future and fear it at the same time. But he should have known that Sam would have to go and make things awkward again.

"Uhh…would it be weird if I asked—"

"Yes," Dean said without thinking.

Sam scowled. "I was just wondering—"

"Whatever it is, Sammy, I'm sure you don't want to know."

"Dean," Sam practically whined, "I'm not looking for intimate sex details okay. I was just wondering what you mean by this…circuit."

"And I _knew_ that's what you were gonna ask, and the problem is that it _is_ an intimate sex detail."

"It just means the flow of sexual energy between me and Dean when I feed," Sasha offered, "Theoretically I can open anyone to it for a short time, but it's something…bigger if we're connected the way we are now since he's…marked."

Dean hated that particular way of saying it. There really wasn't a better one though. "Anything else?" he shot at Sam, "Wanna know how many different places or positions we've—"

"No!" Sam interjected, half-horrified at the mere mention, "I don't need to know anything else. Sorry. This is just…unconventional, so I like to be aware of the…safer things. Details you can keep to yourselves."

"What do you mean unconventional?" Dean threw right back, "An incubus having sex with a human is not that off the map."

A slow grin broke into Sam's expression. "Actually, I meant more the whole you, Dean Winchester, sleeping with the same person on a regular basis. I mean, come on, how often has _that_ happened."

Really, Dean was a master at one-handed—and sometimes _no-handed_—driving. He had to be so he could always have at least one hand free to punch Sam in the arm. He took a little pride in the fact that Sam still grimaced when he did it too, despite all that resilience and super-strength. "So anyway…we good?" Dean asked the rearview mirror, "I wanna be sure here that there's nothing else we're keeping from each other. I'm a dying man. Can't take too many more surprised."

Naturally, that awarded Dean a deep frown from Sasha, but knowing Dean's humor as the incubus did, the frown quickly faded into a half smile. "You're not dying, Dean. Period. And I haven't kept anything else from you, I promise. I didn't even mean to keep _this_ from you, I just…wasn't sure how to bring it up. You're not keeping anything from _me_, are you?"

Dean honestly took a moment to think about that. "Well I'm sure there's a crap ton of sexual fantasies I haven't gotten around to telling you yet, but…I think you're safe. But if I haven't mentioned enough how much I hate these chick flick moments of caring and sharing, please consider this your last warning, coz next time I will not be nearly as forgiving. We gotta knock this off and have some fun or something, huh? Pittsburgh's gotta have some good hot spots to hit. Can't spend all our time on the job."

"Actually," Sasha said with something much more akin to his usual smirk, "Pittsburgh is quite widely known for its gay and lesbian community. Bars, clubs. There's actually this B&B—"

"Okay, forget I asked," Dean cut in.

"We could get a good deal."

"I don't even _want_ to know how."

"Well, it would keep us off the usual radar," Sam supplied.

"Hey," Dean spat in Sam's direction, "Stop encouraging him."

Of course Sam was grinning wide enough to show off his dimples, the bastard. He had way too much fun watching Dean squirm to be entirely evil-free. "Just helping you embrace your new lifestyle choices, bro."

Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel as Sam grinned at him and Sasha giggled in the back seat. "I swear to god, Sammy," Dean said, searching out one of his old but time-honored threats, "One of these days I am so selling your ass to the circus."

--

They finally arrived in Pittsburgh early the next morning, having taken turns driving and catching a few hours of sleep, which meant that when they finally checked in—to a Super 8, god damn it, not some frilly B&B—all of them wanted nothing more than to crash. There was apparently some Home and Garden show thing at the Pittsburgh Convention Center that had a lot of rooms booked, so they had to share. Considering all of them burned out as soon as they found their beds, none of them really cared.

They awoke some time in the afternoon and decided to just order in, research more into what was going on using Sam and Sasha's laptops, and maybe pay a late night visit to the school before actually getting into some regular field work the next day. They had already decided to go the easy route and just present themselves as PIs looking into the mysterious deaths. If this prep school thought some of its students' parents were worried enough to hire out then they would be a lot more accommodating.

Sasha suggested Chinese for food, which Dean decided he didn't have nearly often enough what with how ridiculously good the fried wantons and sesame chicken was.

About ten o'clock they gathered up all they had been able to find out and compared it with Charis' notes. Dean was still a little curious as to how she had gotten her info, but he didn't brother bringing it up. "Okay, so this is what we got so far, right?" Dean started in, staring over Sasha's shoulder at his laptop screen while Sam was next to them looking at their notes on paper, "Winchester Thurston Prep School has had six deaths in the past month. They only got about fifteen-hundred students, so that's crazy no matter how ya look at it. Looks like four were students, and two teachers, all having something to do with this show they're starting to work on."

"Their Spring Musical, _'Once On This Island'_," Sasha filled in, "Good show. It's a modern, Caribbean telling of _'The Little Mermaid'_."

"And _why_ do you know that?"

"Oh shut up," Sasha said without losing a step, "I've heard you humming _'Singing in the Rain'_ more than once so don't even try to play innocent with me. To _continue_," he said with much stress on his words despite his grin, "Both teachers were helping on the play, the music director and one of the costume people, and all of the students were somehow involved, whether chorus or just stagehands. Maybe we're dealing with a vengeful spirit of some kid who didn't get the part he wanted once."

Sam, who was also grinning to himself over Sasha and Dean's previous exchange, sifted through their notes. "Possible. Not all of the deaths happened near the auditorium but they did all happen in the same campus. No deaths reported in the buildings for the younger kids and middle school. And the types of death are all different. No normal spook M.O. One teacher fell from the catwalk, the other was found at the bottom of a staircase. And the kids…inhaled paint fumes, slipped on a wet floor in the hallways, impaled on a…urg. Power drill," he read off the notes.

"And the last one?" Dean asked.

"Most recent," Sam went on, "Cynthia Hedin. Senior. Stage Manager. Found with a seven industrial staples in her jugular. Bled out. _Man_," Sam looked up, "I can't believe these people keep passing this stuff off."

"Well, they do all look like accidents," Sasha shrugged, playing Devil's Advocate, "Maybe _that's_ the M.O. Maybe someone died in an accident during a school play there. Any previous deaths in the place?"

Sam shook his head. "Not on my end. But then a school like this could probably cover something like that up. These deaths are all fresh and it was still like pulling teeth to find what we did. Barely managed to get a hold of the police reports."

"Sounds like asking faculty and students is gonna be our best bet for finding out more then," Dean said, patting Sasha's shoulder and tossing a glance at his brother, "Still wanna hit the school tonight?"

"Definitely," Sam insisted, "If it's somehow demon related—"

"You would have sensed it already," Sasha cut in.

"Maybe not," Sam shrugged, "Pittsburgh is pretty big. I wanna be sure. And who knows. Maybe I can learn to sense other things. We're going to have to be careful though. I'm sure a place like this has security, not just a janitor mulling around. The last thing we need is police attention."

Amen to that, Dean thought. He was not in the mood for another FBI chase.

--

They waited a few more hours before heading out, taking along as many of the basics as they could think of—EMF, holy water, iron, rock salt, and even this enchanted dog whistle for calling out black dogs that Sasha had grabbed from one of his father's storage places. Better to have all of their bases covered, even if they didn't expect to encounter anything quite yet.

After parking the Impala a few blocks down they made their way stealthily through the mostly residential areas until finally reaching the school building with the auditorium. They figured it was the best place to start considering their theories about the school play. The building was pretty impressive too, once they managed to stay out of sight from the one security guard watching the grounds. They expected there to be at least one more inside the buildings, but assumed he only made checks throughout, and wasn't just stationed in one place. That might mean they could get in and get out without incident.

Actually breaching the building automated security was a joke by Dean's standards. It was another type of B&E where it was more important to break in carefully and not set off alarms than it was to just get in. Just as Dean expected though, after he picked the lock to the back of the auditorium's building, the alarm system kicked in silently, allowing him thirty seconds to punch in a security code in the pad beside the door. He typed in 'WTPS', the school's initials, and groaned at human idiocy for that being the correct answer.

"Seriously, could people be more predictable?" he grumbled at Sam and Sasha.

"Come on," Sam said, pointing his flashlight down the hallway that led from the door, "Let's get our readings, keep a look out, and make this quick. If we run into anything, we'll have to deal with it, so let's stick together."

Dean was fine with that plan. They got themselves split up way too often. That was fine in some circumstances, but when they didn't know what they were dealing with it could be downright dangerous.

Sasha whipped out his EMF and started scanning, Dean had his sawed off loaded with rock salt, and Sam led the way with his flashlight, apparently trying to see if he sensed anything now that they were inside the building. Judging by the way his lips were pursed, Dean assumed he didn't.

"So what's this musical about?" Dean whispered to Sasha, since Sam was a little ways ahead of them as they made their way in and out of a few classrooms.

A grin spread across Sasha's face, though he tried to keep his eyes on the EMF readings. "I told you, _The Little Mermaid_," he said, "Only it's this island girl who saves a rich boy, and after he goes back to his family she tries to find him again and prove that their love is worth it even if some people think it's…wrong." Blue eyes left the meter just long enough to flash over Dean's body beside him, shimmering in the dark.

Maybe the story didn't sound so stupid after all. "And it's a musical?"

"_Oh_ yeah."

"So…schools actually put on that stuff?"

Sasha stopped just outside the most recent room they had scanned. "You're kidding. You went to high school. Of course there are musicals and plays. Drama club? Something? Okay, so maybe you weren't ever in any shows, but they had to have existed. Even I had theatre in school."

Now _that_ Dean couldn't possibly leave alone. "Were you in any of 'em?"

"Uhh…" And that was definitely a new shade of pink that flushed to Sasha's cheeks.

"Dean! Sasha!" interrupted Sam's fiercest whisper from down the hall.

Damn it. "We're coming back to that," Dean promised, and then started down the hallway after Sam, "What is it, Samantha? Sense something? See something?"

Sam shook his head, but his eyes were wide as he turned halfway to Dean with his other half still pointing down the hall, like he was listening very carefully. "I think I _hear_ something. Sasha?" Sam prompted, looking after the incubus for confirmation since Sasha did have slightly more attuned hearing than the average human.

They all stood very still to listen. Dean couldn't hear anything, but the look on Sasha's face said that he most definitely did. "The main auditorium is down that way through the double doors. Think it's coming from there?" he asked Sam.

Sam seemed to want to shrug, like he wasn't entirely sure, but he just stood still. "I…I sense…_something_. But I'm not sure what. It's kind of…familiar."

"Well, great, then let's get a move on and take a look," Dean suggested, walking past Sasha and Sam in the direction of those double doors, "Guns at the ready might be a good idea," he said over his shoulder, giving his shotgun a wave in the air. Sam and Sasha both had handguns on them loaded with iron. Wouldn't do much if it was just a ghost, but then that's what Dean was for. Then again, Sasha's EMF hadn't even blipped.

Dean was almost to the double doors when he realized Sasha and Sam were not right on his heels. He turned back to see that both of them were still back where he left them, looking equally distraught. There was a classroom with its door open right beside Dean and the double doors were mere feet beyond the point he now stood. He still couldn't hear anything.

"Guys, seriously, _what_?" he called to his companions, "We doing our job here, remember? Search and destroy. You coming or not?"

"Dean, wait," Sam said firmly, holding up a hand as if he was still trying to get a handle on what he was sensing.

Sasha was still a few feet behind Sam but suddenly the incubus' eyes went unnaturally wide, indicating that whatever there was to sense, he now knew more about its identity than Sam. "Dean!" Sasha yelled, but Dean didn't get the chance to hear him. He was already on his back, having been rammed into the hallway wall by something very strong and moving very fast that had just bolted out of that open classroom door.

Whatever it was continued like a blur straight for the auditorium doors. Dean never got a good look at it, but he was on his feet a second later, ready to chase it down. "Sonuvabitch!" Dean cried, sore from his sudden striking against the wall and equally hard landing on the floor. He was already through those double doors to follow after the creature when he heard Sasha yelling.

"Dean, wait!"

Like _hell_. If this thing wanted to hit and run then Dean would give it one hell of a chase in return. He now knew that 'ghost' was definitely out, but Dean still had a piece tucked into his jeans and that was loaded with iron just like Sam and Sasha's. Iron could kill just about anything.

The auditorium was large and very dark, but a big space like that always had emergency lights and this place was no exception. Dean could see dimply the shape of something moving quickly for the stage. There was no set yet, it being almost two months before the production would open, giving Dean plenty of room and a clear line of sight. He dropped his shotgun to the floor, pulled his handgun, and raced after the large shadowy figure towards the stage.

Dean lost sight of it about the time he reached the ramp that led up onto the stage from the side. The stage itself was filled with shadows that played tricks with Dean's eyes. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of Sam and Sasha joining him in the auditorium and their voices kept calling after him. He wanted to call back to them, but he also wanted to get the jump on this thing if at all possible. He couldn't afford to wait for them or give his position away.

The thing seemed to have a pretty good handle on Dean's position already though. A scurry off to Dean's left, back in one of the far corners, caught Dean's attention. This thing was fast alright but Dean still saw it coming when it swooped down after him. Dean fired on instinct but unfairly missed as the creature—it had to be a creature—plowed into him and knocked him back off the edge of stage.

Dean had hoped the fall would be a quick drop to the floor. But the pit for the orchestra was an open gaping hole where he had gone over the edge, and it had a much deeper drop. Dean hit the ground with a great gasp of breath as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. The creature was still on top of him.

"Get off me, you big _freak_!" Dean growled against the thing's neck as he pushed at its large form, "You're not killing any more kids, and you're sure as hell not killing me!" Dean pushed again and was surprised this time at how easily the creature moved. Then he realized why. It was getting up of its own accord. Suddenly, it grabbed onto the edges of his leather jacket and lifted him effortlessly from the floor to push him back against the wall of the pit. Dean's head was spinning from the fall. He couldn't focus.

"I didn't kill _anyone_," came a gruff, out of breath voice from the creature. It was younger and more human sounding than Dean would have expected, "I was trying to find the thing myself. It wasn't me."

Dean's first instincts were to say 'yeah right, likely story' but then he couldn't deny that this thing was stronger than him and definitely had the upper hand. So why was it defending itself instead of just ripping Dean apart?

"It wasn't me," the thing said again, his grip—for it was most certainly male—loosening on Dean's jacket, "I wouldn't hurt anyone. We don't hurt people."

_We?_ Dean strained to focus his eyes finally and get a better look at this guy. As it turned out, even with Dean pressed back against the wall the creature wasn't any taller than him, but actually stood about eye level. Dean wasn't so concerned with that though. He was much more interested in the horns, fangs, claws, _red_ eyes, and _wings_. This guy's white skin didn't fade to black but to a deep brown. Still, he was definitely an incubus.

Which would explain why Sasha had tried to stop Dean. _Damn it._

"My bad. Jumped the gun. Mind letting me away from the wall here. My head's still spinning from that fall," Dean said, relaxing within the guy's hold now that he knew what he was dealing with.

The incubus seemed thoroughly surprised that he was being believed so easily. "You…know what I am?"

"Uh…yeah," Dean said, as if it should be obvious, "And if you paid a little more attention, pal, you'd probably realize why." Dean shook his head a little and righted his jacket when the incubus released him. This gave Dean the opportunity to really look at the guy, who had fairly short brown hair to go with his deep brown wings, claws, and markings. "Huh, didn't know you guys had different color schemes."

The bronze incubus was staring at Dean hard now, apparently finally seeing that whole 'mark' thing that everyone else picked up on so easily. What Dean wasn't prepared for, however, was the guy's somewhat breathy exclamation of, "Are you…_Dean_?"

Dean gaped. Okay, it couldn't be that widespread that a hunter and an incubus were getting it on, could it? But Dean's slightly open mouth dropped even lower as he stared at the incubus before him. Those brown wings were fading away along with everything else as he transformed back into a recognizably human form.

As a human the guy was a few inches shorter than Dean actually, wore jeans, a T-shirt, and one of those sporty zip-up shirts, and had brown eyes with a tinge of gold to them. Dean instantly remembered those eyes _and_ the incubus they came with, even if this version was about ten years older than the one Dean had seen before.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed, "You're _Cam_."

tbc...

A/N: I certainly hope I never disappoint. My dears?

Crim


	43. Part 3: Cam

Part 3: Cam

--

Dean was still recovering from his shock of this supposed random encounter with one of Sasha's childhood friends when both he and Cam responded to each other with the same exclamation of, "How do you know me?" to which Cam chuckled maybe a little uncertainly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and shrugged.

"Charis gave a fairly accurate description of you," he said, all unassuming suddenly and with a charming smile, "That and…well. Sasha's pretty distinctive." Cam took one of his hands out of his pocket long enough to give a quick gesture up and down Dean's body.

_Distinctive_. Dean's lover was certainly that. "Yeah," Dean managed to laugh lightly in reply. That fall into the pit had hurt like hell, but he was far from being as bad off as he had been the night he met Lindsey. "Gotta love that whole 'this meal is already taken' sign, right?" Dean leaned back against the pit wall to catch his breath.

"And what about you?" Cam pressed, both hands in his pockets again. It was hard to believe this young guy who couldn't have been more than 5'8", and looked so remarkably normal compared to most sex demons Dean had met, had two seconds ago looked like a large as life gargoyle. Cam's horns had curled up from his temples instead of going back and then coiling forwards the way Sasha's did. Ordinary as the brunette appeared to look now though did not make Dean lose sight of how defensive Cam's body posture really was.

"I'll be honest," Dean said, trying _not_ to eye his gun that had been knocked to the floor when they fell into the pit, "The stories I've heard about you didn't come with a detailed physical description. But I've, uhh…sorta seen you before."

Cam was understandably confused to hear that.

"Long story," Dean tried to explain, "Memory thing. More like an echo. During a hunt. The incubus boys at fifteen in full-on 3D," he grinned, "You're grown up now, sure, but," Dean gave a shrug, "I could still recognize you."

"Huh," Cam huffed in acknowledgement, "Fifteen, you said? So were we talking _Buffy_ or sex?"

Dean's grin stretched a little more real. "Both?"

"Sounds about right," Cam nodded. He visibly relaxed as he and Dean spoke but he still looked alert enough that if something went bad he would be ready to make a move. Dean figured that was smarter than most people were around him.

Closer than it had sounded before, Dean picked up on the sounds of Sasha and Sam calling for him, "Dean!" he heard clearly, "Dean, where are you!? _Dean_!"

"We should probably get out of the hole," Dean suggested. His eyes had started to adjust to the dark and he could see the entire pit around them now. "You, uhh…mind if I get my gun?" Dean asked, not wanting to make any moves that would give Cam the wrong idea, "I kinda like that one."

Golden brown eyes followed Dean's directed attention to the gun on the floor. Cam gave a little nod towards it like it was no big deal even though the gun obviously made him nervous and said, "Sure. Just so long as you don't mind me keeping a close eye on you while ya do it. Coz, man, you will _so_ owe me a beer if you try to get a shot off."

That had Dean genuinely laughing and pleasantly surprised by this guy when he finally did reach for the gun. And of course he immediately tucked the weapon back into his jeans where it wouldn't be as daunting. He never aimed a gun at someone who didn't give him a reason first.

He could hardly believe the slight fear he could still pick up on from Cam though, friendly as the guy was feigning. As far as Dean was concerned he—the simple human—was the one at the disadvantage.

"Dude," Dean said with a grin as they headed for the steps out of the pit. Cam fell into step beside him. "Way I see it, you owe _me_ a beer after that fall. Hurt like a sonuvabitch."

"How was I supposed to know it was you?" Cam instantly defended. Dean found it amusing how easily they fell into a teasing argument. "All I heard was hunters talking about killing something. I was too freaked to even feel Sasha at first. I feel him now. But hey, most hunters wouldn't be too picky about what they killed after finding an incubus instead of…well, whatever's really killing people around here. Besides," he said as they came to the top of the steps, elbowing Dean in the side like they were old friends, "At least there weren't any chairs or instruments set up in the pit yet. Now _that_ would have hurt."

"Dean!" came Sasha's slightly angry and irritated voice upon almost running into Dean at the top of the steps, "We were calling for you! Didn't you hear us? What happened? Are you…oh…kay…" Sasha trailed as his fervent eyes traveled passed Dean just enough to make out the figure of Cam standing beside him. Sam was behind Sasha, tall and equally shocked looking standing in the dark. Sam didn't know what Cam looked like, but it seemed that he could sense when another incubus was around now so he knew what Cam was.

"Hey," Cam said to Sasha with a little halfhearted wave and crooked smile, "I swear I only banged your boy up a little."

That caught Sasha's attention and he started looking Dean over like he expected to find some sort of gaping wound. "I'm fine," Dean assured him, even though he knew how ineffective him saying those words was on his worrying companions; they never seemed to believe him, "We fell into the pit here and I realized my mistake." Dean pointed his finger Cam's direction like firing a gun. "Not the bad guy."

"So far as _you_ know," Cam said with a wink, but his joke fell flat. Sasha was staring at him a little too intensely for this not to be awkward.

"Cam…" Sasha said in a very soft and somber whisper, "What…what are you doing here?"

Another shrug. "Apparently meeting your boyfriend," Cam joked, but again it was met with no more than a supportive smile from _Dean_ not Sasha. Cam cleared his throat loudly and kicked at the carpeting of the auditorium floor. "Come on, man…where'd you think Charis got all that info from. Her and Lin haven't been anywhere near this place."

"_You_ told Charis about this hunt?" Sasha gaped, "But you hate this kind of stuff. Even before I said I wanted to be a hunter you used to…"

"Say what a waste of time it was?" Cam finished humbly, "Yeah. Go me for the supportive friend award, right? At least I can't say I'm any worse than the others." Again Cam smiled crookedly, all wisecracks and shuffling feet. Dean could relate. "Look," he tried with a slightly more serious ring to his tone as he walked just enough around Dean to stand face to face with Sasha. Dean could see Cam even more clearly now with the emergency lights shining down. All of Cam's spark of life was there in his eyes, just like Sasha, so bright and willful and amazingly gold the way Sasha's were so perfectly blue. "I was kinda hoping we could do this the way we used to," Cam finished.

Dean had no idea what that might mean but Sasha sure seemed to, because the redhead finally cracked a smile, no longer able to hold it back at seeing his old friend. "You mean it?" Sasha said, much more fittingly the Sasha Dean knew and loved; the one that lit up everything when he smiled for real.

Cam nodded with an equally blinding smile and finally pulled his hands from his pockets. "You know I hate grudges. Holding them or having them held over me. Ready?"

"Same rules as always?" Sasha asked.

"Where'd the fun be in it otherwise?"

_Now_ Dean was curious. He got the distinctive feeling that he was looking in on something very personal between the two old friends, though neither of them seemed too worried about having an audience. In fact Dean was pretty sure Sasha had forgotten all about Sam behind him and maybe about Dean right next to him too.

The words Sasha spoke next surprised Dean though if only for how he was smiling as he said them.

"I'm an idiot," the redheaded incubus said firmly.

"_I'm_ an idiot," Cam repeated, and then went right on with, "I was afraid."

"I was afraid," Sasha nodded, his smile still present but more somber as they continued. Dean thought he understood the 'game' now, if it could even be called that. "I thought you hated me," Sasha added next.

"I thought you hated _me_," Cam clipped right along. Even though what they said was only half the time something they spoke on their own and the other half a repeat of what the other had said first, everything spoken was whole-heartedly meant by both of them. "I missed you so much," Cam continued.

Sasha's eyes were starting to swim. "I missed you so much…but…" Sasha faltered, breaking the pattern. He tried to smile through it but the expression was broken now, "I have no regrets," he said, back in the rhythm they had set, much as part of him seemed pained by those choice of words.

Cam's smile was somber then too but he stretched it false and wide as he said, "Ya got me. That I can't say." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice quaked. "I shouldn't have let you go." He shook his head. "No, I mean, I _know_ you had to go. But not like that. Not with all of us acting like we thought you were gonna stab us in the back the first chance you got just because you wanted to be something we didn't understand. I mean, _Jesus_…that's what we expect outta _them_," he said with a gesture at Dean. Then he seemed to realize what he had just implied and made a face. "Sorry. Not you. Just…you know what I mean."

Dean did and he wasn't offended. "Dude," Dean said, "We've had our fair share of run-ins with crazed psychos hunters, some looking to kill my brother Sammy back there _and_ Sasha, including ambushes, torture, and a shit ton of near-death experiences. You can say it. Most hunters are assholes."

This time Dean's words managed to wrangle a laugh out of Cam, real too, or at least realer than his smile. "So you win, Sash," Cam turned back to Sasha, "I do have regrets, and they're all about you. Figured turning you onto this hunt might be a good start to show I'm not so much an idiot anymore. But back to the point," he said, kind of like Dean in that he seemed very anxious to be done with the sentimentality. He wagged a finger at Sasha. "You said same rules as always. I assume you remember what that means."

Sasha grinned deviously.

"Alrighty then," Cam said with a tilt of his head at Dean, "Think he'll kill me for this?"

Dean had all of two seconds to process what that might mean before Cam suddenly swooped forward into Sasha's body and captured the redhead's lips with a deep, passionate kiss.

The temperature felt like it fell ten whole degrees and Dean's heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach with a lead-weight thud. That was one thing he couldn't have been prepared for. Sasha was smiling happily within the kiss and giving just as much back.

Those hands that were supposed to only embrace Dean took hold of Cam's waist and pulled their bodies tight together. Cam was smaller than Dean which made him look even more enveloped by Sasha's larger frame. As the kiss ended—having lasted far too long to be anything but more than friendly—Sasha leaned back and lifted Cam right off the floor, kissing just a little deeper before actually pulling away.

"Mmm…" Sasha hummed contentedly as they parted lips. His arms remained locked around Cam's waist, keeping him lifted off the ground as if he weighed nothing. "I missed you the most, Scarecrow," he grinned as he held Cam up.

"Ah, shut it," Cam shot back, trying not to grin too wide in reply, but it was just the way his smile was, dimples galore, "At least it's better than you calling me Toto, _Dorothy_."

Sasha laughed. "Oh, I can do better," he promised, finally setting Cam fully down again, "You've always been the one without a brain, _Cammy-baby_."

"Urg," Cam made a face like Sasha had just said the most distasteful thing possible. Dean agreed. "I missed ya, man," Cam went on, "But I so didn't miss that nickname. Catch and _release_, alright? Geez." Cam pushed at Sasha's chest to separate them that last little bit and Dean finally felt his senses start to return to him.

The first thing Dean noticed as he came out of his daze was the feeling of Sam's eyes watching him, gauging him for an overreaction probably. But Dean had every right to overreact. He'd just had to stand there and watch his boyfriend make out with another guy! That so wasn't kosher.

The second thing Dean noticed was how tense his body felt, especially after Cam smacked him on the back. Dean was having trouble focusing; he didn't even _want_ to look at Sasha. "Dude," Cam was saying, "Snap out of it. It's just an incubus thing. I'm not trying to steal him."

Hearing Cam speak knocked a little more sense into Dean and he slowly felt the room rematerialize around him as if he had been somewhere else entirely. He could see Cam's wide grin and Sasha's suddenly stricken expression. "Incubus thing?" Dean repeated blandly, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice so Cam wouldn't know how close he was to going through with the brunette's fears and killing him, "I know it can be an incubus thing to suck face and all, but usually he's sucking _me_." Dean grimaced realizing what that sounded like. "_Mine_. My _lips_. God damn it." Dean shrugged off Cam's hand that had moved up to his shoulder. He was just so damn angry his chest ached.

"Dean," Sasha interjected quickly, "It's not what you think. It wasn't a…_kiss_. I mean, I know it was, but…it's just a spell. A small one. To pass on a whole load of another's emotions in a single go. It's kind of a…_rush_…but it's not what you're thinking. Really."

Yeah, because the look on Sasha's face when he said 'rush' _wasn't_ something close to rapture. "Then what was it?" Dean spat, the cold he had been feeling before was dropping away and leaving behind scorching heat that flushed his face, "A spell to pass on emotions? What the hell does that mean? And you don't even warn me, you just start going at it?"

"Jealous type, huh?" Cam whispered as an aside to Sasha, who then tried very hard not to smile at the comment. He wasn't very successful.

Dean felt his nails digging into his palms as he maintained too tight fists. He couldn't deny the deep desire swelling up within him to reach back for the gun in his jeans. He just wasn't sure which incubus he wanted to use it on more.

"It's a game," Sasha tried to explain, at least looking like he understood how much trouble he was actually in here, "I wasn't thinking. We used to do it all the time. The spell builds from the affirmations, but they have to be true for both of us. When it gets to something that wouldn't be true for one of us, it ends, and the loser…well, we don't have to do anything really, but Cam and I sort of found out on accident that if we…kiss right after we can overload one of us on all of the emotions built up instead of…sharing it like you're supposed to." Sasha made a face; he knew that didn't exactly sound _good_. "It's a little…complicated."

No, actually, it wasn't. Dean understood perfectly. It was supposed to be a friendship thing but they had turned it into something else. Cam was the loser so he had passed on to Sasha all of their combined emotions over their reunion like a drug, which seemed more than enough to give Sasha a 'happy'. _That_ wasn't complicated.

"Dean…"

"Whatever," Dean dismissed, turning his eyes away from Sasha. He probably _was_ overacting, feeling as furious as he did, but he still thought he was justified. Incubus ritual thing or not, you don't just go around kissing other guys when you're supposed to be in a relationship. Dean thought the damn mark on him was supposed to mean something.

"Uh…hi. I'm Sam," came the suddenly strange interruption of Sam's voice after too much quiet. Sam extended a hand towards Cam and they shook amiably. "I'm Dean's brother. The one that gets to put up with both of them. All the time. On a regular basis."

Cam snorted at Sam's halting way of saying that. "My sympathies. Charis had only good things to say about you though. Both of you," he included Dean, "Of course I also got the Lindsey version, which basically paints you guys as those same crazed psycho hunters you were talking about who at any moment might kill Sasha in his sleep. But…whacha gonna do? You left me alone with him for almost ten years, man," Cam complained to Sasha, "Brutal punishment. Which I deserved. But still. Oh, and, uhh…" Cam turned back to Sam, "You don't have any plans to follow in your brother's footsteps, do ya? Coz I don't do guys. If it helps," he said with a wink at Dean.

Wait now, Dean thought, _what was that?_

"Don't think the whole gang didn't try convincing me of the benefits, but, uhh…not all of us are quite so fluid and easygoing about chicks versus dicks like Mr. Kelly here," Cam said with a pat on Sasha's shoulder, "Growing up and trying the real thing didn't change my mind either. To each his own though, right?"

"Cam was always our token straight man," Sasha supplied, since Sam and Dean were both gaping a little, "And I mean that literally. Too picky if ya ask me. Well," he shrugged, "Is it still being picky if you'll sleep with anything with tits?"

"Ha frickin' ha," Cam replied, "I have standards. And those standards are why I'm slumming with you guys tonight instead of getting some. But we'll get to that. An explanation, I mean, not the getting some," he grinned, patting Dean on the back again, "You two can save the getting some for when you're alone. Meanwhile, we should probably split. The security guy is bound to waddle this way soon, and I can tell ya you won't find anything just looking over the place at night. Been trying the same for a week. I was here half an hour before you guys showed up tonight even and nothing. Course I don't have one a those things," he said, pointing at Sasha's EMF that he had pulled back out of his pocket.

"Nothing's blipping anyway," Sasha shrugged, "So no ghosts."

"I thought for sure it would be something like that," Sam said, sounding almost disappointed, "Old theatre and all. Something classic like that, you know, something…_Phantom_-esque can be sort of…" Sam shrugged.

"Romantic?" Dean finished with a taunting eyebrow.

Sam shot his brother a look. "Anyway…I like Cam's suggestion. We should probably go."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, but his arm shot out to grab Cam before anyone could really start moving, "But, uhh…just so we're clear," he said, "You _never_ sleep with guys? Like…ever?"

This reaction from Dean seemed to be expected. Cam smiled, not a grin or smirk this time, but a genuine quirk of his lips that reached up to his eyes and made Dean trust him completely. "No. I like the ladies. I love ol' Sasha here, of course, but…not the way you do. _Man_. They weren't lying when they wrote _'for stern as death is love'_. You've got it bad." Cam turned so he was more side by side with Dean and elbowed him again. "Guess I should take that as a good thing. Means I won't have to kill you. And Lindsey had asked so nicely too." Cam grinned more teasingly again and Dean couldn't help liking the guy.

Overall, Dean was starting to feel a lot better about things as they left the main auditorium to sneak their way out of the building, but he was still a little sore after seeing Sasha kiss someone else like that, especially with how much the redhead had looked to be enjoying himself. A rush of pure emotions had to be a pretty crazy high, kind of like generic feeding from affection only really intense.

Sometimes it unnerved Dean that he understood all of the incubus stuff so well.

Once they were a safe enough distance from the campus and the Impala was almost in sight, Sasha sidled up to Dean and bucked him with his shoulder. "You're not mad anymore, right?" he asked, all puppy eyes and with a pout on those full, enticing lips, "It's just been so long, I didn't even think that it would bother you. I don't want you ever thinking I want someone else, Dean," Sasha assured him, "I don't. I've always wanted this. One person just for me and no one else. Like…like my parents had."

Dean felt a vice of that old tension grip his spine and climb painfully up the back of his neck. "Geez. Can you maybe…back off a little with the declarations of love and forever?" Dean said without thinking. He hated himself for it the second he saw Sasha's hurt expression. Dean was glad that Sam and Cam—_that_ was going to get annoying to say—were a little ahead of them chatting about something. "Knock that off," Dean growled below his breath, "I'm not saying go away. I want you close and with me. Period. Why else would seeing you kiss Cam drive me so crazy? But even if I'm all for you leaving this mark on me, and I know Charis made some good points earlier…it still kinda freaks me out. I know what's going through your head. It's not like you try to hide it. You want forever. An _incubus_ forever. So…what if I can't give that to you?"

It was something Dean had been steeling himself for some time to say out loud. He had been thinking it for a long time and he always knew it would put at least a small wall between him and Sasha. Dean could see that wall pushing them apart already, clear and present in Sasha's shimmering blue eyes. "You don't…_want_ forever?" Sasha asked quietly.

"I don't know what I want," Dean spoke up quickly, "I know I want you. But my mind doesn't go much beyond that. You've never even asked if I want to be an incubus. You just assume that's where things will eventually lead. What if I don't want that? What if I like the way I am just like this—Dean Winchester, human hunter?"

The expression on Sasha's face proved that things were turning out just as Dean had feared. He had wanted to explain this when the whole thing got brought up in the car, but he didn't want to have to crush Sasha any further in front of Sam and Charis. This was something they needed to talk out alone.

"Sasha," Dean sighed, and then grabbed Sasha's wrist and brought them both to a stop. Sam and Cam could walk on a little ways without them. Dean pulled Sasha to face him directly and looked straight and steady into those pained, adoring eyes. "I love you," Dean said without hesitation, "You feel that, right?"

A small smile crept into Sasha's otherwise anguished face and he nodded. "I feel that."

"So believe it," Dean said firmly, "You just…you can't expect so much outta me. I'm not as good of a person as you like to think. I'm selfish. I lie. I'd let a little kid fall to his death if it was a choice between him and saving you or Sammy. I'm no hero. See me off that pedestal for a minute and then tell me if you want forever."

"Dean," Sasha laughed and shook his head, "I don't have you on a pedestal. I told you I didn't want perfect. You're much better than perfect. I don't need a hero. I can take care of myself. I'm not looking for anything more than _you_. But I gotta tell you, Dean, even off that pedestal you're one helluva good guy. You need to stop seeing yourself so low. You're not. Maybe you are selfish and you lie once in a while. But wanting to protect me and Sam over everybody else doesn't make you a bad person. So I can tell you truly, yes, I want forever. You can't convince me otherwise. If you don't know whether you can give me that then…well…then I can wait for you." Sasha smoothed a hand over Dean's cheek and back into his short hair. "You're worth that."

Dean's breath hitched as Sasha brushed back his hair with his fingertips. He couldn't help leaning into the touch. Dean didn't know how Sasha always managed to say the exact, perfect right thing, but he did. Every time.

_I can wait for you._

It was the one thing no one else had ever been able to say to him.

"Yo! You guys having a moment back there or what!" shouted Cam from all the way up where the Impala was parked. Dean could see Sam cringing beside the brunette incubus since they were in a residential area and it was well after midnight.

"Right," Dean said to no one; there always had to be interruptions, "So…we good here? I feel like I keep saying that lately but I…I just need to know that we're on the same page. I can't even…think about life passed the deal right now. I can hope. I'll let myself hope, okay, but that's it. Even afterwards, if we manage to fix things…I don't know…I just don't know what I…"

"Dean," Sasha said in a low but commanding tone, "You don't have to know. The one thing you got right before was that I do expect too much. Loving you…and you loving me…that's enough. For now that's enough."

Dean heard clearly that added _for now_, but he did agree that it was enough. Knowing that Sasha would wait for him was more than enough.

They caught up with Cam and Sam before Cam could start anymore yelling down the street and realized that they weren't exactly sure where they were going or what they planned to do. For a minute they all just stood around the outside of the Impala waiting for someone to make a suggestion.

"Well," Cam finally shrugged, "There's this liquor store open late not far from here. We can head back to your hotel for a bit. Gotta catch each other up on things anyway, right?" Cam was all toothy grins with those dimples, more localized than Sam's like tiny little dips in his cheeks. He was also talking beer and going back to their place for discussing things.

Dean could admit it; Cam was definitely growing on him.

--

"You have a steady?" Sasha gaped, opening his third beer since the first two had come and gone during talks of what each other had been up to. Sam and Dean had interjected several times about their recent trials as well. It was sort of like going through the day with Charis again, only much simpler and frankly more comfortable. Dean would always take bullshitting with a few beers over nice conversation over coffee.

"Don't say it like that," Cam grimaced, sprawled out on one of the beds with his third beer as well, "Are we from the fifties? So I've been having regular sex with this chick. So what? I like her. She's cool. But we're just having a good time. I'm not looking for anything permanent here."

"Does _she_ know that?" Sam had to ask. Of course he was the one person sitting at the table, onto at least beer two but also doing research while they chatted. Dean figured he didn't have to give Sam a hard time as long as the kid was at least halfway relaxing and enjoying himself.

Cam had long since kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the bed to sit cross-legged. Dean was sitting on the other bed next to Sasha. "Dude," Cam said to Sam, "She's the one who insisted. She's all anti-relationship. Never wants to get married. Hates it when guys say 'I love you'. Total turn off for her. She's twenty-four. A year out of college. She doesn't want to get settled." Cam sighed in appreciation. "They just don't make enough chicks like that."

A snort left Dean almost on reflex. "You mean ones who can lie that well?" he snarked. Cam cast him a questioning look and Dean sat up a little straighter on the bed. "I'm just saying. Push comes to shove, she's gonna want you to stay. Never fails."

Rather than get all uppity about that, Cam just chuckled and shook his head. "Let's forget for a second, Dean-O, that I can read her better than the average schmuck, thank you heritage," he said to the ceiling, "And let's just say…you'll have to meet her. And you will. Meet her. She's been really helpful. With the research. Not exactly my thing. She's all into this 'occult' stuff, so she says."

Sam groaned none too subtly from his laptop.

"The not so annoying kind of goth chick, okay," Cam clarified, "Like I said, her brother's a senior at the school. She turned me onto the hunt. I'm not the type to go looking for this stuff. But I'm not about to turn the other cheek if I run into it. The kid's been helpful too. You'll wanna talk to both of them."

"Did he have an encounter?" Sasha asked, "Lose a friend or something?"

Cam made a slightly amused face and bit his lip. "Not exactly," he said, "Just freaked. He's in the musical. Lead guy even. Figures if things don't get solved soon he might be next."

"I think the school website has things wrong," Sam commented. He had been browsing through about five different windows at a time from what Dean could see and was now looking at the school's webpage on the musical. "It says the role of Daniel, the leading male character, is being played by _Evelyn_ Taylor."

"That's him," Cam nodded with a smirk, "Poor kid. Made me think of you, Sash."

Dean expected a good barb to be thrown back at Cam in reply, but Sasha took an easier route and just raised his middle finger in Cam's direction.

Cam laughed. "Everyone calls him Leven. Teachers too. Only one who doesn't is his sister."

"Your girl," Dean surmised.

"Wade," Cam clarified, "Their parents liked the whole gender neutral idea apparently."

Dean couldn't help noticing the past tense Cam used there. "Parents gone?" he had to ask. It could always be relevant somewhere down the line.

"House fire," Cam said, "A few years ago. Wade was at school. Their dad got Leven out but when he went back in for their mom…" Cam trailed and it was obvious he didn't need to actually finish that sentence.

Mention of a house fire that killed off the parents and left the kids—especially if it was a mother who died—always got Dean's gears going. His eyes met Sam's across the room, both thinking the same thing. Dean knew Sam would ask before he had to. "Was it just the two of them? Or…did they have another sister or brother?"

Cam looked at Sam like maybe he had grown another head. "Just them. Woulda mentioned otherwise. Why?"

"No reason," Sam said right away.

They had explained to Cam to some extent Sam's powers, just not all the gory—and they _were_ gory—details. Knowing the whole truth themselves, however, had made both Sam and Dean wonder whether or not that house had a six month old baby inside it when the fire started. They had managed to save one family from falling to their same fate, long ago when they rescued that little baby girl from being the YED's next victim. But that also told them that Yellow Eyes had been over-prepared with other generations of special children waiting in the wings, maybe from long before too.

It often made Dean wonder if they would ever come across someone else with Sam's abilities. They had discussed that once and were fairly certain that the only generation to ever be truly triggered was Sam's. Dean just hoped they weren't wrong.

"So are you going to help out now that we're here?" Sasha asked Cam, scooting to the edge of the bed closer to where Cam was sitting on the other one, "We could always use the help. And you know the area. And the people. And I thought maybe—"

"_Sash_," Cam cut in with a raised hand to silence his friend, "You know I hate this stuff," he said, to which Sasha's expression immediately fell, "_And_…you should also know that there is no way I can stay out of it now. I'm too involved. It would kinda put a damper on things if the girl I'm boinking's brother croaked. Besides, I like the kid. I figure I can help you out a little. Just this once." Cam's deliberate humility was obvious but also much appreciated.

At least it had to be appreciated judging by Sasha's blinding answering grin. Dean almost expected the redhead to tackle Cam back onto the other bed with a crazed hug. "It's addictive," Sasha said like a threat, "You won't want to stop. It feels good to help people."

"Yeah, well, it feels good to help yourself too," Cam shot back, "Don't get your hopes up. Hey, Dean," he called, grabbing another bottle from the floor to toss in Dean's direction, "You're looking a little low." He chucked the bottle the couple feet to the other bed and Dean caught it easily.

"Thanks," Dean said with an appreciative nod. He had already thought he would like Cam back during his mini-encounter in the Animus House. The bronze incubus—more golden tan than Sasha's pale skin—hadn't really changed that much it seemed, other than being older and a little taller. Not much taller though. 5'8" wasn't all that short of course but Cam just seemed overall smaller being compared to the three larger hunters in the room.

Dean couldn't deny enjoying that a little.

"Alright, so level with me," Dean said as he popped open his new beer, "Lindsey really ask you to kill us? Or just to kill me?" Dean smirked around the mouth of his bottle and took a pull.

A brown eyebrow quirked Dean's direction and Cam grinned sideways. "He didn't mean it. All talk that one, believe me."

"You mean Lindsey actually said that?" Sasha was thoroughly affronted.

"Uh, come on. It's not like he said, 'Hey, Cam, wanna knock these two guys off for me?' It was more like 'We'd all be better off if those hunters with Sasha were dead.' Typical Lindsey bullshit. He wouldn't actually go after them, you know that," Cam said to Sasha.

Once again Sasha's face looked suddenly stricken and Dean completely understood why. "But I _don't_ know that," Sasha dissented, "I don't know anything. It's been almost ten years since we were friends, Cam. People change."

That brought on a moment of silence, but eventually Cam assured Sasha with, "Yeah, people change. But not as much as you think." He had an average sounding voice for a guy, but when he spoke gently like that it just sounded _lower_. "We haven't changed that much, Sash. Lindsey would have reacted just like this back in the day. And you _do_ know that. He misses you, man," Cam grinned, "He's just more violent about it than I am."

Dean chuckled darkly. "And yet both of you gave me bruises," he said, rolling his sore shoulders from having fallen into the orchestra pit.

"Hey, I paid for the beer," Cam defended, "And geez. You have any idea how crazy this is for me? Sharing a few beers with _hunters_?" Cam gave a long whistle. "Where we come from," he included Sasha, "That's close enough to suicide." The comment was meant as a joke of course, but it fell a little flat when the only response was silence.

Sam was the one who finally asked the question, looking up over the top of his laptop. "Are you still afraid of us?"

Almost instantly, the comedian in Cam melted from his face, leaving behind a very young looking and unsure expression. Golden brown eyes stared at Sam, at Dean, and finally at Sasha. Dean hoped they all looked as unthreatening as he was trying to present himself. And then suddenly Cam's smile returned and he shrugged before taking another drink. "Maybe. But not tonight."

--

It was late—magic hour late—when Cam finally left. He had a place in town. Small. Cheap. It was the way he liked to live his life, sticking around one place long enough to try out several different part-time jobs for fun, get an apartment, and work his way through as many conquests as possible without having to move every single week. Being in the same place for months though, and feeding from the same girl for that long too, was still rare.

Sam wanted a real look at the police reports the next day in case anything big or important had been covered up. Tomorrow he would hit the police station alone while Sasha and Dean went to the school. The three of them would meet up with Cam when school got out to talk more directly with Cam's girl Wade and her brother Evelyn.

Once they figured out what they were dealing with Cam agreed to help kill or banish whatever it was. Dean could tell the guy was nervous about that like maybe he thought Sam and Dean were going to try and set up some kind of 'accident' for him. As far as Dean knew they didn't have any reason to do that. Dean liked Cam. He hoped the feeling was starting to be mutual.

That kiss before still bothered him though. All that emotion. Dean couldn't help feeling a little unnerved by the whole thing.

Sam was already asleep after staring at his laptop for so long, and Sasha and Dean were finally getting into bed. Dean tried to be nonchalant as they pulled the covers back and he asked, "So that, uhh…spell thing you and Cam did before?"

The knowing look Sasha regarded Dean with proved that he wasn't being quite as nonchalant as he had hoped. "Yes?"

"It's nothing, I just…wondered…" Dean sat on the edge of the bed, glad that he had to whisper so they wouldn't wake up Sam, because it was easier to say this in hushed tones, "Why haven't you ever tried doing that with me?" _Fuck_ that sounded needy, but Dean had to ask. It seemed as intimate a thing as sharing the circuit.

The way Sasha's smile faded and he sank slowly down onto the mattress in likeness of Dean made a tiny ball of iron harden in Dean's gut. "I…can't," Sasha said like he was horribly ashamed of that fact, "It's just that…errr…well…you see it's only a…a…"

"An incubus thing?"

"Yeah," Sasha admitted softly, "If I _could_…"

Dean waved a hand dismissively, peering over his shoulder at Sasha sitting on the other edge. "It doesn't matter. I'm…I'm happy things are working out. I know Lindsey's being a pain but I'm sure they'll get him eventually too. I'm glad you can…be with your real friends again."

Sasha blinked at Dean like he didn't understand. "My _real_ friends?" he repeated with something close to a sneer. He lifted his legs up onto the bed and scooted across the mattress closer to Dean. Arms wrapping around Dean's waist, all it took was a good tug and Sasha had Dean fully up on the bed too, pulled back tight against his chest. "_You and Sam_ are my real friends, Dean. No less real than any old ones," he whispered against Dean's ear, his breath dusting it gently enough to make Dean shiver, "You told me you and Sam could never replace them and that's true. But they can't replace you either. There's a special little Dean-shaped part of my heart and your name's written all over it."

That just sounded so unbelievably ridiculous that Dean started giggling, regardless of Sam being asleep in the other bed. "You are such a fucking _sap_," he teased, "Do you think before you speak that bullshit?"

Sasha chuckled against the side of Dean's face, holding him close, and planted a kiss just beneath Dean's right ear. The lights were all off but Dean could still see when a little of that bright red hair slipped into his vision. "Not with you, Dean," Sasha said, "I don't think at all with you. I just feel." And true to that sentiment, Sasha turned Dean in his arms, letting his fingers graze the skin at Dean's waist, and kissed Dean firmly on the lips when they were facing each other.

Dean shuddered from somewhere deep inside himself. _Damn_ sharing a room. "Still love me, baby?" he asked when they parted, only half serious. His eyes were closed and he hovered close enough to feel Sasha's warm breath on his lips.

"Even if you leave me, Dean."

That answer pulled Dean's eyes open. Sasha was looking at him with those too blue eyes, with all that love they always shone with, but there was sorrow too. That old sorrow that Sasha used to wear when he thought Dean could never share his feelings. Part of Dean hated to hear an answer like that, but another part understood that for Sasha that answer was the most permanent one he could possibly offer Dean, one Dean wouldn't be able to dismiss. Dean would have scoffed in disbelief if Sasha had said 'forever'.

Dean also understood that Sasha meant those words for more than just the possibility of Dean going to Hell in a few months. That stung a little. But then Dean Winchester wasn't usually known for sticking around.

Despite all that, he responded the only way he could. He kissed the incubus again, slow and sweet, and said, "Good. Me too." Now all Dean had to do was make sure 'leaving' never happened.

--

Getting access to the school was so easy Dean felt sorry for the kids that were at the mercy of such stupid school officials. Sure it had a metal detector—which Cam had warned them about so Dean knew to leave even his ankle blade behind, much to his chagrin—but they were only at the main doors. Not very helpful when the average hunter could easily breech schools grounds at twelve A.M. without hassle.

Dean didn't like being unarmed. Sure, he was wicked with hand-to-hand but he liked his guns and his knife and his ankle blade. They couldn't even bring in the EMF meter, not that it had been all that useful the night before, but still. Dean felt completely naked as they walked the halls leaving the principal's office. They had stopped to pick up their guest passes, wholly believed as Private Investigators hired anonymously by parents. Put a little fear into a school board, especially a private one that they might lose students—and more importantly _money_—and they acquiesce to anything.

The plan was to head to the auditorium, this time legitimately, and speak with whoever was available, while also getting a better look around by the light of day. There would be drama club students and faculty in and out all morning and afternoon, and even more so later in the evening when there was practice. Hanging out in a school wasn't Dean's usual idea of fun, but they had complete autonomy for a change. Free reign was nice.

"At least they don't wear uniforms," Dean grumbled. The kids they passed all looked average enough, not like little rich kid brats or anything. Dean and Sasha were also dressed in their normal attire—jeans, T-shirts, and their leather. One of the perks of conning as a P.I. was that you were expected to blend in not look like a cop.

"Wow," Sasha commented as they side-stepped yet another kid with an overstuffed backpack running for class, "This place sure is hectic for having so few students."

"Fifteen hundred is few to you? Your 'graduating class' was _six_."

Sasha laughed and rolled his eyes at Dean. Somehow even that came off as loving. "Let's talk to people as they come and go through the auditorium. When it's slow we can look around. The kids are going to be our best bet, since teachers might help with covering things up. Of course that will also increase our tall tales quotient." They had reached those same double doors from last night. Sasha pushed one of them as they went forward and held it open for Dean behind him.

"_Jesus_." Talk about different world. Whereas the auditorium had been dead and colorless in the dark last night, now it was bustling and filled with energy. The seats were a dark teal and fairly new—the entire building was—and the stage's curtain was a deep red. There was still no set of course, but the stage was full anyway, covered every inch in various shaped, aged, and sized dancers. "They actually set aside time for this stuff during school hours?" Dean said, "It would have been a cold day in Hell before that happened at any of the places I went to school."

They stood just inside the doors and watched for awhile. Dean was impressed—or maybe disturbed—by the large turnout of boys among the dancers. There were a few students milling about in the auditorium chairs, some doing homework, and a few discussing things over clipboards, probably about the up and coming set.

"Well, we might as well grab someone and start in," Dean suggested. The dean of the school had asked if they wanted some sort of formal announcement made so that students would know they had the potential for being questioned. That had been a definite no. Besides knowing it was better to catch people when they hadn't been over-thinking their answers, low profile was always better. Surely, the dean would let the teachers know but they could still catch the students raw. There was no way to know whether or not who or what they were looking for was one of the students themselves.

"Okay," Sasha nodded, "I suppose we could start off with—ouff!" Sasha cut off abruptly as if he had suddenly been jumped. When Dean turned swiftly at the sound of Sasha struggling he realized that his first assumption wasn't entirely wrong. An older dancer that had been practicing in the back had just twirled his way right into Sasha, knocking them both to the ground.

Mr. Dancer was sprawled on top of Sasha once they hit the floor, wearing a T-shirt and sweats. He was also barefoot, but that's not what Dean noticed most. The kid had a shock of turquoise hair.

Dean smirked. He was lucky he hadn't tumbled down with them, having been so close.

"Oh my god!" the teenage boy cried, "I'm so sorry. I didn't even see you." He had a very distinctive sound to his voice, Dean noticed. He wasn't quite sure what it was though. Then the kid said, "Oh…_hey_," smiling down suggestively at Sasha when he finally managed to lift himself up. He was nose to nose with the redhead and mostly on top of him still. "Never mind. You can break my fall any day."

A few things clicked in Dean's head then, mainly that there was something very disturbing about what the kid had just said. Of course Sasha was laughing jovially like nothing was creepy about a teenage dancer boy hitting on him. "I think I _caused_ your fall more than broke it," Sasha said.

"Either way," the kid said dreamily. Actually dreamily. Like with a _dreamy_ quality to it.

"Okay, jailbait," Dean said maybe a little firmer than necessary, "I think it's about time you let the redhead up off the floor." Dean reached a hand down to help the kid up, more to get him off of Sasha than anything. Of course the kid just had to go and give him this shit-eating grin like he had no idea he had been doing anything wrong. At least he took Dean's hand and got up as asked. Sasha crawled to his feet sooner after.

"If either one of you is a new drama teacher or something, I'm even more excited to be in this show," the kid grinned, this time giving Dean the once over. It made Dean more than a little uncomfortable. Dean wasn't one to judge or anything but the kid was pretty well _flaming_ and it made the elder Winchester squeamish. Sasha was all open and forward about his sexuality, yeah, but it was a whole different ballpark. Being blatantly flirted with by a teenager was also unsettling.

"I think we're a little old for you," Sasha stated the obvious, still completely unruffled and smiling.

"I'll be eighteen in a month," the kid said hopefully.

Okay, this was making Dean nauseous. "Hands off the merchandise," he said, pulling Sasha into his side and away from the overeager kid, "We're hear to ask questions about all the accidents happening at the school, not get picked up for statutory rape, okay? Does being this forward _usually_ work for ya?"

Whatever adhesive had been keeping the kid's smile in place it started to fail. He renewed it valiantly, but Dean had still seen the slip. "Like it would make a difference," he tried to say dismissively, "So you're Cam's friends, huh? That explains it," he said with another perusal up and down both their bodies.

Dean was reminded of the Lutin, who hadn't actually been a teenager, nor had he actually ever hit on Dean intentionally, but it still made him feel squicky. "Cam mentioned us, huh?" Dean said. He decided that ignoring those disturbing glances was the best way to go.

The kid shrugged. "Said he was calling in the big guns. Guess that's you." His eyes flicked over Dean again appreciatively. "I see what he meant."

Something closed off in Dean's throat and he felt his whole face flush. He was fully bent on turning that heat into fuel for _anger_ rather than embarrassment when Sasha laughed loudly for distraction and squeezed Dean's arm tight.

The kid wasn't bad looking. He was a dancer, after all, and Dean actually kind of liked the turquoise hair. But he was a _kid_. _Seventeen_ even.

"So I'm guessing that makes you Evelyn," Sasha said, still clutching Dean's arm to hold him back from smacking the kid upside the head, "Or, uhh…Leven, right? That's what you prefer."

"Please," Leven said with an over-exaggerated hand gesture, "Only S.W. can get away with calling me otherwise."

"S.W.?" Sasha questioned.

Leven smirked. "Sister Wade. Behold the irony, coz she may be my sister but she's no nun. And thank _god_ or poor Cam would go to waste. Nice to know that not all the hot ones are straight though," he winked at both of them.

Dean's instincts were to refute that but considering his jealous routine it was probably fair game that he had given himself away. At least in relation to Sasha.

"I'll have to answer your questions later though," Leven said, walking down a row to pick up his bag off one of the chairs, "Sadly, I have regular class. Psych though, so bearable. I'll catch you two later?" He walked up to them again to get to the doors and stopped just beside Dean—a little _too_ close—and whispered, "Leave the stagehands til last. They practically live here. _Me_ you can have any time. Bye!" he finished brightly, and then was out the doors in a flash of blue/green, still barefoot.

After Leven left it took Dean a full minute to come back to himself. Sasha's laughter helped. "Okay, he's pretty awesome," Sasha was saying, "Cute _and_ a class act. There's hope for the human race yet."

Dean's first thought process in response to that was _'huh?'_ "Did we just meet the same kid? Jailbait practically threw himself at us."

"Not us," Sasha grinned, nudging Dean in the side, "He pretty much forgot all about me after getting a look at you. Ruffled your manly feathers a bit, did he?" Sasha accompanied that with a swift rustle of Dean's short hair.

Dean hated when people messed with his hair, but he had the strongest urge not to fuss over it right now. "Shut up. It's creepy," he shuddered, "I'd be just as freaked if he had been a seventeen-year-old chick."

"_Liar_," Sasha laughed, "You'd have been flattered. You're just uncomfortable around the more…outgoing. Is it so wrong to be comfortable in your own skin? It's nice to meet someone who isn't trying to hide anything."

Finally, it was Dean's turn to laugh at Sasha. "Dude, we _didn't_ just meet the same kid if you think that. Were you paying attention? This is high school." Dean added a patronizing pat on Sasha's shoulder and gestured with his free arm to the stage of faltering young dancers. "Everyone's hiding something."

tbc...

A/N: Falling asleep... Any good? Glad to know you're still all out there. :-)

Crim


	44. Part 4: It’s All Coming Back

Part 4: It's All Coming Back

--

"What's the word, Sam-O?" Dean said brightly into his cell phone as he answered his brother's call. He was in a particularly good mood ever since Sasha allowed him to split off and do the physical digging around while the incubus stuck to asking students and faculty questions.

Dean was a good interrogator—probably the best of the three when they weren't relying on Sam to cheat—but high school students weren't exactly Dean's forte. Besides, the whole high school atmosphere made Dean feel on edge. He didn't have much for fond memories of school in general. He never had exceptional grades. Couldn't go out for sports. Had little to no time for friends. The 'nostalgia' was starting to get to him. He needed air.

Therefore, he was currently up on the school roof checking the area for any signs of the paranormal. So far he hadn't found anything too incriminating, other than a few very anatomically correct pieces of graffiti.

"You sound too happy," Sam said, more than likely at least half-serious, "Did you kill a teenager? I know they can be annoying, but killing the people we're trying to save could be seen as counterproductive."

"Hardy-har, Francis," Dean griped, "Just enjoying the unseasonably warm weather is all." It was forty degrees. Not exactly _warm_ but better than what the weather would usually be like at the beginning of March. "So didja get anything knew? How'd you do with having a look at the police reports?"

"Better than usual, actually," Sam said, "They bought the P.I. bit, but would only let me look at the reports, not make a copy. Of course I happened to see over one of the clerk's shoulders when she typed in the code for the copy machine, so…once I was alone…" Dean could hear the small bit of pride Sam was allowing himself over that.

"_Nice_," Dean nodded in approval. He had walked his way closer to the edge on the north side of the building. The view was pretty impressive as long as Dean didn't get close enough to look _down_. "Back at the hotel then, huh? Anything in the reports we didn't already know?" Dean walked along about a foot from the edge as he went, searching for any ominous signs, symbols, or residue. He just hoped he didn't stumble across any ectoplasm. They hadn't swept the _entire_ building for EMF after all.

"Well, it looks like there's even more inconsistency with the different deaths," Sam started in, "None of them happened at the same time of day. Some were morning, others afternoon, some during practice or after hours even. At least we can rule out anything nocturnal or hampered by time constraints. Otherwise, it looks like the school hadn't gotten the chance to cover much up before we found out what we did before. The only extra thing in the reports I found interesting was that there was always more than one person that found the bodies."

"That's kinda odd," Dean agreed. For a moment he had thought he spotted a hex bag in a corner of the roof but it was just a rotting pine cone. He stood back up straight and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "Makes me think it _is_ one of the students and they always make sure to have someone with them when the bodies are found so no one suspects they did it."

"So whoever it is figures they're less likely to be blamed if they're not always going, 'oh, look, I found another body!'" Sam added, "Makes sense. The reports don't say the names of the people who found the bodies each time though. If we knew then we could probably narrow things down. Assuming the killer even does the whole return to the scene of the crime cliché."

Dean shrugged to himself. "Better to go on then nothing. I'm gonna check in with Sasha again in twenty minutes or so. Maybe he knows who found the bodies. We split to cover more ground."

There was a pause on Sam's end of the line and Dean could practically see his brother's grin growing. "Had to get away from the high schoolers, huh? Guess that's better than shooting them."

Dean made a face, knowing that Sam would be able to 'see' it just like he could 'see' that smirk. "Wait till you meet this Leven kid, Sammy. Sasha and I already had the pleasure. Bet you'll shut up then. Besides, even if I wanted to get a shot off, I couldn't bring any weapons in this place, remember? God damn metal detector." Dean had circled back to the door that led up to the roof, having found nothing of interest. He sat on an old crate that had been left up there from who knows what and ignored Sam's light chuckling. "Hey, listen…" he began, "I've been wondering. What's your take on the whole…Cam situation?"

Again there was a pause. When Sam spoke again it seemed that he had been taken completely by surprise by Dean's question. "What do you mean?" Sam asked, suddenly concerned, "I thought you liked him. Do you have a bad feeling about something? Nothing happened, did it?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Dean tried to reassure Sam quickly, "Still not meeting Cam til the bell rings. And I _do_ like the guy, I just…" Dean shifted uncomfortably on his crate, "I keep thinking there's something I don't know, ya know? Like…did they ever have a thing? Did Sasha ever have a thing with any of those old friends? He's never said anything but…"

"Dean," Sam cut in, somewhere between stern and amused sounding now, "Please tell me you're not seriously agonizing over Sasha's past involvements. Not after the amount _you've_ had. Maybe he did have a thing with someone that was more than just a night, but does it really matter _now_?"

Dean hated it when Sam made that much sense so effortlessly. "No. Shouldn't and doesn't," Dean said firmly, "Past is past, you know I always say that. It's just…" Dean didn't know how to explain it. He just felt uneasy even though he wasn't lying when he said he was happy for Sasha finally getting the chance to make up with his old friends.

There was a sigh over the line. "Dean," Sam said patronizingly, "It's pretty obvious why this bothers you so much. Having to be around possible past involvements is completely different than just knowing about them. Imagine what it would be like for Sasha if we ran into Cassie somewhere, no matter how much he may know that's over."

Yikes. _Cassie_. Dean hadn't thought about that.

"Besides, were you paying attention to the 'Cam is straight' conversation," Sam said with humor in his tone again, "I know that's sort of a relative term with an incubus, but I think you're safe. I mean…I suppose it's possible Sasha and his friends all fooled around when they were younger. Think of what they are. Isn't it sort of a given?"

And Dean had started to feel so much better about things. "Thanks, Sammy. You're the best," Dean ground out.

Sam let out a jovial laugh. "Sorry, sorry. It's just funny—_you_ being jealous. I realize that as an incubus Sasha's gotten around quite a bit. But it's not like you're any different. Everything changes when you're not just in it for the sex, Dean. I think you know that. I'm sure Sasha gets just as crazy thinking of you with other people too, past or not."

Huh. That actually made Dean feel a little better again. Still, Dean shook his head to clear it. "Enough with the pep talk," he chided his brother, since he couldn't _admit_ that talks like this were part of what kept him sane day to day, "Get back to work on those files and research. Let us know if you find anything big. We'll see you in the parking lot about quarter to four, okay? Don't go wasting time surfing for porn now. The clock's a tickin'." Dean grinned to himself when Sam responded with an irritated sigh. He was half serious with that warning though. As far as Dean knew the last time Sam had had sex was over a year ago. That just couldn't be healthy.

Dean pocketed his cell phone after Sam said very tersely, "_Goodbye_, Dean," and continued to sit on his crate. He had fifteen more minutes until he had told Sasha he would meet him in the auditorium again. He had managed to sweep his intended areas of the school fairly quickly, but he had no intention of heading back down early. Dean thrived on Sam and Sasha's company—he really did—and often welcomed extra faces when the occasion arrived, like when Bobby helped them out from time to time. But he couldn't remember when he had last had some time alone. It was seldom that he wanted any but it was nice just sitting up on the roof in the not too cold weather by himself. Dean really did like a good view when he wasn't thinking about the heights part. And Pittsburgh had one fine skyline.

The familiar leather jacket about Dean was heavy on his shoulders. Their father's journal was tucked into his inner pocket. It was the closest thing to a weapon Dean could bring into the school, so he had insisted upon it even though Sam was usually the one to cart the thing around. Dean pulled it out of his pocket now and stared at the cover for a moment. It wasn't anything magnificent. No markings or intricate design. Dean liked it that way and assumed his father had too for the same reasons. It was practical. Ironic when one thought about what it held within its pages.

Flipping the journal open to pass the time, Dean found himself drawn to the incubus entry. He and Sam had periodically added things with Sasha's help, but they hadn't really gone back to their father's original entry since having a real live incubus join the team. Dean remembered the part at the beginning where John had written a disclaimer about not hunting an incubus or succubus unless it was certain they were killing, but Dean hadn't really gone over the rest all that much himself. He could see where the handwriting changed but there was nothing that stood out too much for him, nothing he didn't already know.

That is until Dean noticed something hidden in the margins. It was written so small in his father's familiar scrawl that Dean wasn't surprised they had missed it before. It said simply 'hunt' followed by the date '2/24/1984'. Dean was amazed because that would have been about a week and twenty-five years ago. Meaning, it would have been one of his father's first real hunts after meeting up with Missouri and those at the Roadhouse.

Dean couldn't resist the pull to turn to the front of the journal and find that older entry. He flipped back quickly. In the beginning John hadn't organized things as neatly into sections of creature by creature, which was why the incubus information was so far from its actual hunt. Back then John still wrote like writing in a journal, not about his own feelings as he did in the first few months of writing but still with a more personal approach.

Dean swallowed thickly when he found the date again at the top of a page near the front. Ellen had said that an early run-in with an incubus had changed John's perspective about them—hence the 'no hunting' policy. Dean was burning with curiosity to know why. He felt no shame at all when he started reading.

_February, 24__th__ 1984_

_It's 4AM but I couldn't wait to document what happened tonight, afraid I'd miss something or forget. I can't forget. Not those eyes and those tiny little hands, almost as small as Sammy's. It was supposed to be routine. Easy. That's what McCormack said. I should have listened to Ellen's warning. She's young but she knows these hunters better than I do. I should have listened._

_I met up with McCormack at the Roadhouse at 10PM. Early for hunters. I left the boys with Ellen and she tried to warn me again, tried to find out what we were hunting, but I didn't listen and McCormack wouldn't let on what the hunt was for. He had seemed trustworthy enough over the past month, one of the few most willing to share information. When he said he had a lead on some creatures a few towns north, I said sure. Any experience is good experience. Damn it. I didn't know how wrong I was…_

--

"What are we hunting, Mac?" John asked as they drove. Everyone called Harold McCormack 'Mac'. John had picked up on that right away. "No offense, but I don't exactly feel too keen on this being a surprise."

Mac's laugh was low and gruff, like a man who had drank and smoked his whole life—which John knew was mostly true. "Nothing to get too worried over, Winchester. These things are strong. Strong as anything you'll ever hunt, but that's why the lesson is important. You wanna learn this life, gotta learn how to make an opponent's strengths work against them, how to get the supernatural working for _you_ and make any kind of power mean nothing other than power of your own weapons. You wanna know what we're hunting?" he asked, looking at John sideways as John drove. Mac had his own truck but he had said John needed to get used to driving quick getaways if he was ever going to hunt alone.

"Yeah, Mac, I wanna know," John assured him.

"Well then. Ever hear of a succubus?"

Like with most of the things John had heard about since he met Missouri Mosely, his first internal response was a desire to laugh. Some things just couldn't be real. "Demons that kill people with sex?" he supplied, knowing at least that much about the myths, "They're real too?"

"And they don't just kill for the fun of it. It's how they feed. Need sex as much as food, these freaks. Not that some men aren't much the same," Mac leered.

"Right."

John didn't particularly like Harold McCormack. The guy was dirty and rough around the edges, older than John by at least ten years with premature grey along his sideburns. His face was always darkly unshaven and he almost religiously wore this old cowboy hat for luck. John had always been a jeans and T-shirt with a flannel for warmth kind of guy, but he hoped he always managed to wash his clothing more often than these other hunters.

Still, whether he liked Mac or not, John knew that he needed as many allies as he could get if he was ever going to find out what really took his Mary from him. He needed to learn everything. Each new hunt brought him one step closer to solving that mystery and bringing justice to his wife's killer. He believed that with everything in him. He had to.

"So we're hunting a succubus? You gonna fill me in any more than that or just put a loaded gun in my hand when we get there and point."

Mac chuckled gruffly again. "You're a funny one, Winchester. Hope you manage to hang onto that. But no, you ain't gotta worry about being unprepared. Or about guns just yet, for that matter. Tonight you're gonna learn how to draw a Devil's Trap. Good tool for capturing a lot of things, truth me told. Anything with demon blood is susceptible. Now these things are strong, no lie there, but they won't be able to move more'n ten feet once we get them in a trap. And no, we're not talking about hunting just a succubus. There'll be a pair of 'em. An incubus too, the male kind. Trying to play off all _'Ozzie and Harriet'_ over in Battle Creek. Stay on 121 here. Won't be much farther."

Two of them, an incubus and a succubus that apparently had _super-strength,_ and Mac was all calm and collected like they were going for a Sunday drive.

John had shot and killed a shapeshifter not too long ago that had taken the form of a man he thought he could trust. He had shot him in the head. Point blank. Without even being sure he was doing the right thing. But even after that John was nowhere near thinking he could handle anything that was thrown at him.

"Keep it cool, Winchester," Mac said, having picked up on John's unease, "I got plenty more to tell ya. Now they're gonna have a human guise on at first, but what these things really look like," Mac let out something like a whoop, "Lemme tell ya…"

John was gripping the Impala's steering wheel so tight by the time Mac finished his detailed description of these things, the skin was white around his knuckles. Claws? Fangs? _Wings_? The scariest thing John had seen so far—other than his wife going up in flames above Sammy's crib—was a Hellhound. That was scary enough.

The thing John was most interested in was how to kill these things. That he could use. That he understood.

"Iron is your new best friend, Winchester," Mac said, pulling out a bowie knife from somewhere inside his jacket that made John nervous for how sharp it looked, "Handy as rock salt and much more deadly when you're not tracking spooks. Always have an iron weapon on ya. _Always_. Some things it's the only way to kill 'em. These god damn sex demons fall under that category. Gotta get 'em in the heart. Remember that." Mac put his own knife away but reached down to his ankle and unhooked a hidden sheath bearing a much smaller blade. He set it between them. "You put this on when we get there. Call it a gift. It'll come in handy."

John nodded. Gifts from hunters were always purposeful and reminded John just what kind of life he had set out for himself to live. "Got it," John said, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, "Anything else I need to know?" John glanced to the side at Mac, having seen a sign that read _'Battle Lake: 10 miles'_. He saw the older hunter grin wide and ominous like a jack-o-lantern back at him.

"Whatever you do," Mac said, "Keep this in mind. Know what you are. Know what they are. There is no compromise."

--

After reaching the town of Battle Lake, John feared Mac was going to direct him right into a residential area. As it turned out the incubus/succubus couple they were hunting had rented out a cabin just north of town. It wasn't exactly tourist season in February. Not in small town Nebraska. It made John confident that Mac was on the level about this hunt.

They parked the Impala back in the trees and walked the rest of the way. John had his new gun loaded with iron bullets and the gifted ankle blade securely attached. Mac was armed much the same but also carried a spray-can of paint. He had shown John what the Devil's Trap needed to look like and why, explaining the corners and symbols and how the pentagram had been misinterpreted as a sign of the devil for centuries. It was a protective mark that held anything with demon blood captive.

Sneaking quietly through the night they reached the cabin quickly. John was surprised to find the back door unlocked. But then why would monsters fear nosy neighbors or burglars, he thought.

They needed to set up the trap fast, before either demon woke up and came downstairs to investigate. There was an entryway into the main downstairs room directly from the stairs. Mac painted the Devil's Trap on the floor just inside that entryway. Even with John's eyes adjusting to the dark it was still hard to make out the design of the trap.

"Now what?" John whispered impatiently. They hadn't heard any signs of stirring.

Mac was still crouched by the Devil's Trap double checking that there were no gaps in the lines. He turned back to John all smiles but his expression immediately dropped. "John!"

It didn't take Mac calling him 'John' instead of 'Winchester' for John to recognize he was in trouble, even before he felt strong heavy claws on his shoulders. Suddenly, John was eating the wall and he could barely focus on his surroundings anymore. It had happened so fast. He fell straight to the floor after impact, his senses almost too dim after the blow to his head for him to hear the nearby sounds of fighting. He felt like his nose had been smashed up into his head. _Strong,_ in reference to these creatures, was a vast understatement.

But John Winchester was no weakling when it came to fighting, regardless of the harsh blow. He was a Marine. He had trained to be stellar in the face of impossible odds for years.

Pushing up onto his feet, John quickly took stock of the situation. Mac was clearly in worse shape than he was right now, held up against the opposite wall by black taloned fingers wrapped around his throat. John was overcome by a moment of awe as he finally saw the creature fully. All the aspects Mac had prepared him for were there—the height, the horns, the _wings_. White skin fell away to the deepest green on the creature's extremities, looking almost black in the dark.

John shook his head. He couldn't hesitate. He pulled the ankle blade from its sheath and leapt across the room, managing a fierce stab into the creature's side before it even knew he had recovered. It was the male, the incubus, John realized, making it hopefully the stronger of the two and leaving a weaker kill for later. The incubus roared a feral growl when John stabbed it, but John wasn't finished. He twisted the knife before ripping it free again, leaving a gaping wound in his wake.

A moment later John was on the floor but he had been successful. Mac was released from those deadly claws as the incubus clutched at where he was bleeding. Blue veins began to rapidly spread out from the wound, a sign of the iron's poison to these demons.

Two things happened at once after that, trapping John between two very different looking worlds. The first was a woman's scream that preceded the appearance of what John assumed was the succubus. She had stumbled upon the trap, entering through the main doorway as they had hoped for both of them, and now that she was captured she pounded on the invisible barrier at the trap's edge.

John was startled by how human she looked. Her hair was such a pale blonde it seemed white in the dark of the room, her face beautiful, her body so fragile looking in a slim nightgown. She howled for her mate and John flinched when her eyes flashed red.

The second thing that happened was Mac's quick response to having the incubus distracted and wounded. Mac rushed the larger creature, forcing the incubus back towards his mate in the Devil's Trap. The incubus tried to fight but the wound in his side had been too aptly made. In barely an eye blink both creatures were inside the Devil's Trap, leaving Mac and John both panting and sore just out of harm's reach.

John wanted to feel relief, to feel justified hatred for these things playing at being human, but as he got to his feet again something seemed wrong. The incubus was slowly transforming back into that human mask, lying on the floor now. In his human form he was wearing sleep pants identical to a pair of John's that Mary had bought for him last year.

But it wasn't just coincidence or the perfect guises that swayed John to sympathy. The _man_ bleeding in the Devil's Trap had short brown hair and green eyes that were quickly dimming. His _wife_ hovered over him, holding his head in her lap. There were no red eyes now. No claws. No wings. The pair was just a scared couple crumbled there on the floor. Hurt. Invaded. They looked so young…

"Know what you are. Know what they are," Mac said to John firmly, clearly noticing John's uncertainty. The older hunter picked up the ankle blade from where John had dropped it on the floor. "No compromise."

"But Mac…"

"_None_. Not ever." Mac thrust the knife towards John. "Heard it a million times, Winchester. Don't believe what you see. They're just demons. That's all any of 'em are."

"You monster!" screamed the succubus, her voice loud and shrill with hysterics, "You call _us_ demons?! We haven't done anything!"

"Hn," Mac huffed uncaringly, not even bothering to turn back and look at the pair on the floor. They were at Mac's back but John could see them both clearly. Mac continued to hold the ankle blade out towards him. "Tell me," he said without hesitation, "If the thing that killed your _wife_ walked up to you with a smile and acted human, would you show mercy then?"

John felt his expression fall into a snarl. That was unfair. An unfair comparison. This wasn't the same. Mac hadn't actually told John about any deaths or other evils in town as a result of this couple being here. He said as much to Mac now. "How do you know they've hurt anyone?"

Again, Mac looked dismissive and uncaring of the demon couple, though he still wore that wide grin that made John shiver. It wasn't manic. It wasn't wild or crazed. It was unhindered certainty.

John wasn't certain. He doubted. He couldn't help feeling that this had to be wrong.

"You think I want to wait for the body count to _start_?" Mac scoffed, "A good hunter gets 'em early. We kill 'em now, we never have to worry about someone paying the price come the day they get hungry."

"We don't kill people!" the succubus defended, clutching her fading husband to her body tighter. The veins, blue and sickly, almost covered all of him now. He could barely move. Barely speak. "We don't even feed on humans anymore," she sobbed, "Only each other…" Tenderly, she brought her hand to her husband's face and smoothed a thumb over his pale cheek. Her nightgown, once light blue, was stained a deep red from his blood.

"Laurel…" the incubus tried to speak. He looked at her so lovingly but it was clear his eyes couldn't quite focus.

"Mac," John implored, still refusing to take the knife from him, "Maybe you're wrong. How can we be sure? These people…"

"They're not _people_. They're demons. Don't get your wires crossed this early in the game, Winchester. They're the bad guys. We're the good guys. End of story."

"_Please_. Help us," the succubus beseeched of John now, her once red eyes a pale blue that matched what was still unmarred of her nightgown, "You know this is wrong. I can feel it. You're not like this other man. You're confused. You're angry. I understand that. But you're not blinded by it," she spat at Mac.

Immediately, Mac turned, John's ankle blade still in one hand while the other reached fluidly to the back of his jeans to pull his gun. He aimed it square at the succubus' chest. "That's enough outta you. _My_ wires aren't crossed. I know what's what. You don't wanna be apart of this," he said back at John, "Fine. But I came here to do a job." Determined as ever Mac turned his attention back on the succubus and cocked his gun, ready to fire without any thought of mercy.

John could have just stood there. Could have trusted that a more experienced hunter knew better than he did. But if John really thought about it all he was doing was listening to what Mac had told him. _Know what they are. Know what you are. _Mac was right. There was no compromise. John knew the answers. And Mac was the one who was wrong.

It didn't surprise John at all how easily he pulled his own gun and aimed it at Mac's head.

"I can't let you do that," he said evenly, steady as he had ever been in the service or out of it, "I'll take the risk that I'm wrong, but I can't let you kill these people without a reason."

"They're _demons_," Mac insisted, his face filled with disbelieving fury at finding John's gun in his face, "What other reason do you need? You point that at me over them? You saw what they really look like. Some things ain't black or white, I'll give you that, but this is. Now, you came here to learn something. You wanna stay bystander, be my guest. You interfere…we're gonna have a problem." The threat in those words was unmistakable.

So was the threat in John's. "Yes," he said, cocking his own hammer to prove just how serious he was, "We will have a problem. Put the gun down, Mac. This isn't what hunters do."

"And what would _you_ know about what hunters do?"

John had to stop and think about that because the truth was he didn't know anything. He didn't even know which direction he was headed half the time. "You're right. You're absolutely right. But I do know what John Winchester does, and what he _doesn't_ do is point a gun at innocent people. What's that tell you, Mac?" John took a step closer, his gun aimed evenly.

There was that grin again, slowly creeping and only half visible with Mac turned towards where he had his gun pointed at the succubus. John thought about how certain the grin looked, how assured. He still wasn't certain or sure of anything, but he knew killing these people had to be wrong.

The incubus was shaking uncontrollably now, covered head to toe in those veins and wheezing like he couldn't get any air. Apparently getting the heart wasn't as necessary as Mac had made it sound. It just would have been quicker. The wound John inflicted was deep; the incubus only had a few minutes left to live, if that.

"Shoot then," Mac said, brimming with the confidence that showed in his grin. The succubus wasn't paying him any attention anymore, more concerned with soothing her dying husband. "You'll have to shoot me," Mac said again, "Because _I'm_ going to." His gun was aimed just as steadily as John's. He wasn't bluffing.

The succubus looked up finally, her eyes filled with tears, her voice pleading. She still paid no mind to Mac, though her fear of him was obvious. She looked to John. "Please," she begged. She was so young. So young.

As young as Mary had been when she died.

"Mac…"

"Too late, John," Mac said, and even as he spoke his trigger was already pulling back. The sound of the gun firing spurned John's own trigger finger to act, creating a horrible gunshot echo that rang in his ears.

Too late. Too late…

Mac was dead on the floor…and so was the succubus, knocked onto her back with her husband still half in her arms.

John's gun dropped from his hand and he dove for the Devil's Trap. There was nothing he could do; Mac's aim had been too good. He got her right in the heart, killing her instantly. Her eyes lay open and red again as she shifted back into her true form. Other than the mostly white skin, her coloring was different than her husband's—a deep, deep blue. She looked so wrong like that with her blood-stained nightgown still around her.

John crumbled to the floor half inside the Devil's Trap next to her, sure that the incubus was also dead. He buried his face in his hands and choked back a sob. "Oh, God, Mary…I don't know what I'm doing…"

Suddenly, John jumped near out of his skin at the feeling of trembling fingers grabbing to pull his own from his face. John's fight instincts kicked in and he almost lashed out at whoever was touching him, but thankfully he realized almost immediately that he was under no threat. It was the incubus. He was still alive. John was so angry at himself for not noticing right away. The incubus still looked human; of course he was alive.

"Oh god…" John said again, grasping the hand that had groped for his, "Can you…can you hear me? I'm sorry. _God_, I…I'm so sorry. I wasn't fast enough."

The incubus' eyes were filled so much by those veins that they didn't even look green anymore. He stared up at John, unable to see him. His wife's limbs were sprawled about him but he didn't seem to notice that either. It was obvious he was trying to speak.

"I'm sorry…Mac seemed so sure, I…I should have listened to Ellen," John grumbled pitiably to himself. He didn't care that he might have to face an aftermath of Mac's hunter buddies. Everything was wrong. And everything had been wrong since Mary was taken from him. He couldn't recognize who the true monsters were. He didn't know how. Not yet.

"L-Laurel…?" managed the incubus, the _man_ beside John's legs.

John felt tears well up within him. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I couldn't save her." He couldn't save anyone. "Tell me what to do. There has to be something I can do."

The incubus convulsed and shuddered in reply. There was barely any spark of life left in his face. He only managed one final plea before the last of the light in his eyes went out. "My…_son_…" he breathed.

_Oh god_. The impact of those words was far greater than the weight of the bodies beside John on the floor, or of Mac's a few feet away. The green incubus transformed just as his wife had when death finally claimed him, but John's blood was cold for a different reason.

A son. They had a son somewhere in this house. And John had let both of them die.

John bound immediately up the stairs in search for the child, looking in every room he came to. Finally, at the end of the upstairs hallway there was a gently closed door, just slightly ajar. John pushed on it and the door swung open before him revealing the sobering sight of a nursery.

A gasp left John as he entered. There was a nightlight plugged into the wall that was just bright enough for him to see that the child was awake. He was standing himself up in the crib with his hands on the bars to steady him. They were such tiny hands. The child couldn't have been that much older than Sam, not even a year old. He stared at John, at the stranger that had just entered his room, with a curious expression. John didn't dare move, afraid he might frighten the boy. Besides, there was blood on his clothing. How could he go to this child after what he had done?

That thought reminded John that he had already asked that question more than once concerning his own children. And the answer was the same tonight as it had been before.

Because he had to.

As John walked closer to the crib his heart ached at seeing those tiny little hands reaching up for him, completely trusting and wanting to be held. Without the support of his hands on the bars, however, the child's chubby, unsure legs dropped him right onto his diapered bottom in the middle of the crib. A chuckle rose within John that he couldn't release. It seemed too wrong to laugh.

There was a pout on the boy's face when John finally lifted him out of the crib, but it soon vanished when the little boy realized he had gotten his way. He was one of those children that would go to anyone. Sam was like that too, though Dean certainly hadn't been. "Hey, little man," John whispered, forcing a smile and for his wet eyes to dry. The boy looked so normal. Pale hair like his mother's. Chubby cheeks. A onesie on that looked too small for him already.

The boy tilted his head at John and spoke impressively clear. "Mama?" he questioned, probably wondering why this strange man was here instead of her.

John's heart burned in his chest. He thought of his own sons and what this would be like for them one day if he failed. This boy was too young to understand what horrors John had helped bring upon him. "I'm sorry," he said to the plump little thing in his arms. How could it matter that this was a child incubus? How? All these people had been was a family, they weren't monsters. "I don't know what to do with you," John admitted, "Mac said you had…another home. Another place that you come from. _Home_," he said again slowly, "Do you understand home? Do you know how to get home?" John knew it was fruitless, but he had to try something.

Again the boy's head tilted, regarding John curiously. He took one of his tiny little hands and pressed it to John's cheek, rubbing up and down on the stubble. The boy giggled and pulled his hand away, "Home," he said, and before John could recognize that the weight in his arms was suddenly lighter, the boy vanished as if he had never been there.

--

_McCormack told me about these spells, these ways an incubus or succubus had of going back to where they came from instantly. I can only hope the boy made it home. I hope someone found him. That someone understands._

_I burned the place to the ground after I was sure the boy wasn't in another room. What else could I do? I keep thinking there had to have been something. Anything. I retrieved the ankle blade McCormack gave me too, even though I know it will only remind me of what happened._

_When I got back to the Roadhouse all I said was that the hunt had gone bad. No one questioned it. I checked on the boys while they slept, and when Ellen came in I told her everything._

_Never again. Not like that. Not because I saw too late where the greys started and ended. I'll never forget that little boy. His tiny hands. His eyes. The way they looked at me so trusting, with a color so amazingly—_

"Hey there. Anyone ever tell you, you look sexy all alone up on a roof like this?"

"Jesus!" Dean nearly threw the journal up into the air he was so startled. Being ripped from his father's thoughts and after seeing things so clearly through his father's eyes was more than a little jarring. Especially when the culprit for causing Dean's alarm was a seventeen-year-old flirt with bright turquoise hair.

Dean grimaced as he looked up and saw Leven standing inside the doorway that led back off the roof.

"Are you stalking me now?" Dean accused, only half kidding, "Get the jump on me like that again and you might just take a nosedive off the side of the building. See if fairies really _can_ fly," he grumbled. Dean then immediately blanched. He hadn't really just _said_ that. Was he the biggest dick in the world?

Apparently not, since Leven was falling over himself laughing. The kid entered fully onto the roof carrying what looked like lunch. He wasn't barefoot anymore and had obviously changed after his morning dance practice. He had on skinny jeans that showed off his lack of hips, a graphic T, and an unzipped bomber jacket that Dean kind of liked.

"You eating _lunch_ up here?" Dean asked as Leven pulled another crate up next to him, "It's frickin' forty degrees out."

"Says the guy who thought this would be a nice place to read," Leven smirked back. He pulled his feet up cross-legged on the crate and opened his bag lunch. It looked like a sandwich. "Whatcha reading anyway?" Leven asked, trying to peer around at the journal and maybe discern a title.

Dean quickly tucked the journal away. He would have to leave behind what he had read for now, but he definitely wanted to revisit it later, and probably have a nice long talk about it with Sam. "Nothing you need to know about," Dean said, "So you actually going to tell me why you're eating up here alone instead of with friends, or do I gotta coerce it outta you?"

A wider smirk quirked at Leven's lips. "Coerce, huh? Does that involve—"

"_Seriously_ now," Dean jumped in before anything stomach-churning could follow the beginning of that sentence, "Can't be for the sun," Dean added with a nod up at the clouded over sky.

Leven's smirk faded almost immediately, the whole light-hearted persona slipping just as Dean had seen before. Maybe it was because they were alone that Leven didn't try to pull the mask back on right away. "Those friends you mentioned?" he said, picking at his sandwich rather than eating it, "Yeah, I don't…really have any."

That caught Dean's attention. "New to the school?"

The not-quite frown twitched. "Not so much what with the going here since kindergarten thing." Leven picked a little more at his sandwich and then set it down without taking a bite. "It's not so bad up here," he tried to smile, "Least nobody bugs me."

"But you're the lead in the school play, right? Doesn't that sorta go with being popular?" Dean didn't understand this.

"Uh," Leven blinked at Dean like he was absolutely out of his mind, "Did you actually go to high school?"

Well…huh. Dean supposed it was true that he didn't exactly pay attention to school politics back when he went.

"I mean, I guess there's a handful of pretty cool people in the show, but they're all _uber_-young. Mostly freshmen. We have lunch at different times. No classes together. Sorta puts a damper on things."

It hit Dean then what was probably the reason for such alienation towards Leven from his classmates. It made him want to wrap his hands around something very tightly. "Don't tell me it's coz of something stupid like the gay thing?" he asked. It sort of surprised Dean how offhandedly he just said that.

Leven huffed out a laugh. "Easy for you to say. You've already been through this shit."

"Uh…yeah," Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, "Not so much, kid. This is all sorta…new for me."

Leven gaped at him skeptically.

"Okay, so I obviously broadcast it pretty loudly that the redhead is mine," Dean admitted, "And he's not much better. Actually, he's worse. But it's not all normal, cut and dry." Dean tried to think of how best to explain things, but there wasn't any real way to do it other than to just come right out and tell the truth. "I'm not gay, alright?" he said, knowing how weird that sounded given certain details, "At least…I'm not into other guys. Just _him_. And me and him being an us, well, that's only been since December."

There. That wasn't so hard. In fact, that was probably about as coherent as Dean had ever been able to explain his and Sasha's relationship.

Leven was silent, however, and Dean feared for a moment that the kid might be offended for some reason. When Dean looked up, Leven was just staring at him.

"_Shit_," the kid said finally, "You're like…every gay boy's romantic wet dream come true." He eyed Dean up and down again like he wanted to eat _him_ for lunch instead of his sandwich.

Dean felt strangely dirty hearing Leven say that. "_What_?"

Laughter rose up in Leven immediately and spilled freely out of him again. "You're straight," he said, "Crazy hot. Like melt me into a puddle _hot_. And Red gets you to fall in love with him so deeply, you switch teams for him. That's like straight out of a gay romance novel, yaoi Japanese comic book kinda crap. Your man must be hot 'n heavy like nobody's business. And I've seen him so I know that at least half a that's true." Leven winked at Dean as he said that. It was kind of Sasha-like actually, which disturbed Dean to no end.

"Kid, you are beyond creeping me out," Dean said, "But I think there may have been a compliment in there somewhere so I'll just say thanks and leave it. Probably…safer." Dean shifted on his crate.

Again, Leven started laughing. Dean decided it suited the kid. He had a feeling it didn't happen nearly as much as Leven would have people believe.

"So, kids your age treat you like crap for being different. Huh," Dean nodded, "Good to know not much has changed since I went to high school. Stupidity, it ran a-rampant. But don't let 'em get to you," Dean said more seriously, looking over at Leven on his parallel crate, "It's how they win. And those kind of people…they don't deserve to win."

Leven's smile stretched as wide as Dean had yet seen it. "No worries there," he assured Dean, finally picking his sandwich up again and taking a large bite. He spoke around his chewing. "They can all go blow themselves. No ones changing my stripes for me. The one thing that's worse than having people hate you for what you are and what you can't change is letting them get you to hate yourself for it too." Leven nodded to himself as he swallowed. "That's what Wade says. She can be pretty cool when she wants to be."

Dean understood that as little brother speak for _'I love my sister'_. "You talk to the redhead yet?" Dean asked, figuring that switching gears was probably a good idea, "And it's Sasha, if ya wanna know. I'm Dean."

"Introductions at last," Leven beamed. He held out the hand that wasn't currently holding a sandwich and Dean took it with a sideways grin. They shook. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Only-Gay-For-His-Boyfriend. So is the real last name Sexy or Smoldering? Coz you have all of the above working for you in _spades_." Leven waggled an eyebrow.

_God damn it_. Dean pulled his hand back from the kid's lingering hold. "Okay, you need to cut that out right now," Dean warned, using his all-business voice, "Frankly, it gives me the willies, and you know I'm taken. Is that whole 'all gay men want a straight guy' thing true or what?"

The otherwise pleasant expression on Leven's face twisted into a grimace. "Uh, no. I can vouch that I have no intentions on any of the breeders on the football team. But really?" Leven said, looking at Dean in a way that said he really wanted Dean to pay attention, "Gay or straight, I'll take any guy as long as he wants _me_. The details don't matter as much. Ya know?" Leven took another large bite of his sandwich.

"Yeah," Dean said with a more genuine smile again, "I know just what you mean. So you laying off then?" Dean asked. The jailbait flirting was really grating on him.

"I make no promises," Leven grinned as he gave Dean the once over yet again, "You wouldn't happen to have a younger brother, would you?" he added with another wink.

Oh that was just too good. Dean was sorely tempted to find some way to set Sam up over that but then he really didn't want to have to let Leven down in the end. "Actually, I do," Dean admitted, "And he's here with us too. But," he went on before Leven's moon eyes could get any bigger, "He's still too old for you. He's possibly even straighter than me, and not in any mood to change that. And really...he's not nearly as pretty. I'd just be setting you up for disappointment," Dean grinned.

Leven laughed. "Damn. I'd take another _you_ if one existed. But…I'll try to lay off if it makes you queasy. You're cool. I don't want you running for the hills just yet. I'm just impatient, I guess. Kinda don't wanna have to wait for my prince to come, or whatever. I just want him here now. Typical stupid teenager stuff, huh?"

Well, Dean never did like to lie unless he had to. "Pretty much, yeah," he said with a smirk. Their crates were close enough that he managed to buck Leven in the shoulder. "And that ain't so bad. There'll be stupid adult stuff for you to agonize over before ya know it, kid. Ain't life grand?"

Dean's cell phone suddenly started to vibrate in his pocket, meaning he had a new text message. Dean knew to check his watch before looking at his phone, and his assumption was right too. He was way late to meet up with Sasha and had a pretty good idea what the text would say. It made him smirk anyway to read the 'don't make me come looking for you or there will be punishment later' that had come to him from Sasha's phone. Oh, but he so enjoyed that kind of punishment.

"You gonna keep chowing down up here?" Dean asked as he looked up from his phone, and then realized how unnecessary that question was since Leven had somehow managed to finish off the sandwich when he wasn't looking and was now downing the last bite, "Well then," Dean shrugged, "Unless you gotta run off to class, wanna come with me to meet up with Sasha downstairs? We really do want to talk to you about all these accidents."

"I have a free period next," Leven said, crumpling up his now empty brown paper bag and getting up off the crate, "But even if I had the ACTs coming up, I'd still choose an afternoon with two hot guys over class. Can I at least keep referencing to the hot?" Leven said with a wave of his hand at Dean, realizing that what he had said had made Dean grimace again, "It's just pretty well impossible for me not to. Call it a character flaw."

Disturbed as Dean wanted to be, he couldn't help laughing. "Whatever. But you flirt with my incubus and there'll be hell to pay." Dean went for the roof door ahead of Leven and opened it.

"You call him your incubus?" Leven said, swooning as he placed a dramatic hand over his heart, "Oh, that's love all right. The good ones really are all either gay or taken, and just my luck, this time they had to be both."

Dean held the door open for Leven then, mainly because he needed a minute to mentally yell at himself for letting 'incubus' slip out of his mouth so easily like that. That would not have been good in different company. Dean really needed to get his head on straight. No pun intended, he thought wryly.

He had almost forgotten about the hunt he had read about in his father's journal, but it came back to him as he and Leven walked back down the stairs. Something was bothering Dean about it, besides the obvious horrors and unfortunate events that had been what led John Winchester to leave Sasha's kind alone. Dean knew there was something he was missing, something important. He just couldn't quite figure out what.

tbc...

A/N: There is no reason that weekly updates should make me feel like I'm starving you, but I do. I used to post every four days! The thing is folks, the wedding is over. I have more free time. I need to use some of it for my original work. But I swear you will never go more than a week without an update. I couldn't bear it!

Thoughts on the chapter? You guys sort of review in waves, up and down, aside from you very consistent regulars. I just hope it isn't down-swooping for any particular reason, and if it is, I would like to know why.

Deangirl found this awesome part from the ComicCon panel for Supernatural that mentions GossipGirl, which is where Sasha's actor is from. I'll have to post a link on the website. Hilarious and ironic.

I so meant for this chapter to go much further into the story, and then John totally took over. I like writing early John, back when I still liked him. Please do try and read the Origins comic. It's very good, even though for some reason they get a few details wrong, like Jo's age. Stupid. Also, I've just finished reading "Watchmen" which has a movie coming out in March with Daddy Winchester. Oh how I love me some JDM. Mmmm. Anyway, I recommend if you haven't ever read "Watchmen".

Okay, my honey needs loving. More soon! And I promise we'll get to the heart of things a bit more next.

Crim


	45. Part 5: From Bad To Worse

Part 5: From Bad To Worse

--

"So go ahead, kid," Dean said as he, Sasha, and Leven gathered around a few of the expensive looking teal seats in one corner of the auditorium. It humored Dean that they were the exact _wrong_ shade of blue-green to go with Leven's hair. "Cam said you've been pretty helpful. Wanna fill us in on what you know?" Dean had to hand it to the kid; he seemed completely relaxed despite what they were going to be talking about.

"Well…I wasn't at the school for all of the deaths," Leven started in, "But the third one, Kat Loring? I was with Amy when she found her."

So Leven knew at least one other person who had found a body. "Was this Amy there when any of the other bodies were found?" Dean asked. That would certainly narrow things down. They could always be dealing with a witch.

"I'm pretty sure not," Leven said with an awkward, unsure smile, "Seeing as how I'm talking about Amy _Harrington_. She died three days after Kat. Kind of takes her off the wanted list, I'm thinking."

Damn it. So much for Sam and Dean's theory that the killer might be returning to the scene of the crime each time. Dean tried not to show any frustration on his face though. There had to be a lead waiting to be followed somewhere. "Okay, so whatever got the jump on these girls and the others made pretty scarce right after," Dean reiterated towards Sasha, like passing and keeping mental notes to go over later.

Sasha nodded back to him and then turned to Leven. "Did you notice anything peculiar about the scene or the body when you found it?" he asked, "Marks? Symbols? Anything out of the ordinary? You know, the kind of things the police might have snubbed their noses at?" He grinned as he said that and Dean couldn't help sharing the expression. If he had a penny for every time deniability cost lives, well, then he wouldn't be forced to eat those disgusting gas station sandwiches so often.

"The weird thing wasn't the body," Leven began. That made Dean and Sasha both lean in a little closer. Leven then immediately hushed his voice, even though the only other people in the auditorium were on the stage several yards away. "See, I started thinking back on it, and people have been acting really…strange around the show. At first I thought, well, sure, people keep _dying_. But the thing is the people who have been acting the strangest are the ones who keep ending up dead."

_Bingo_. "And when you say 'strange'…?" Sasha pressed.

"Just kinda…off, ya know? And right before they died I noticed that they were all really scared about something, like maybe they knew. Do you think it could be something that feeds on fear? Or maybe a ghost that gives the whole 'Seven days'," Leven said in a deep, meant-to-be-creepy voice, "Like a warning or something. And that's why they were freaked." He searched both Dean and Sasha's faces for confirmation.

Actually, there were several possibilities that sprang to Dean's mind after hearing that. There was at least one creature Dean knew of that fed off fear, and quite a few that liked to 'warn' their victims beforehand. "Well, I can tell ya it's no ghost," Dean said to Leven, "But you might have set us on the right track. Anything else?"

Leven shook his head. "I basically told Cam the same thing, and showed him where all the deaths happened. He was hoping for the ghost idea though. Easier to take care of, he said."

"If you know where to find the bones," Dean shrugged.

Much as this entire conversation had been about not so normal things, Leven's large brown eyes widened and gaped at Dean to hear that. The dark color of those eyes made a pretty cool contrast to his hair, Dean thought. "So this is really for real?" Leven said, like maybe he thought they had been playing some kind of game, "I mean I figured as much, ya know, but…you're really like demon hunters or something and it's not just a homicidal teenager we're dealing with but an honest to god supernatural _thing_?"

Part of Dean wanted to laugh, or maybe plaster on his smug, 'yeah, that's right, I'm awesome' smile, but Leven wasn't just in sci fi geek wonderment here, the kid was also kind of freaked. It was such a perfect blend—the awe and the freaked out—that Dean kind of wanted to show his serious face. Light as he always tried to make of his life, what he did was a serious business when innocent lives got mixed in—which they always did.

Sasha seemed to be thinking the same thing, because even though the incubus was smiling, Dean could hear the no nonsense tone to his voice when he spoke.

"This is all very real, Leven. Normally, we'd try to convince you it was just your imagination, that we're just regular PIs and nothing abnormal is happening. But since you already know the truth and can probably help us out, we'll level with you." Sasha leaned in even closer than they already were which had his and Leven's faces inches apart. Dean saw how Leven blushed at Sasha being so close. "Saying 'supernatural thing' is the nice way of putting it. This could be something really dangerous. But me and Dean and his brother Sam, taking care of this stuff is what we do. Ghost hunters. Demon hunters. Whatever you want to call us. We're _hunters_, and we're gonna figure this out. Does it scare you to know that all that goes bump in the night is really out there somewhere?"

Leven's cheeks flushed a little redder as he stared back into Sasha's bright and brilliant blues. "Nah, I already kind of figured," he said, "And hey, as long as you got the good to go with the bad, I say bring it on. You're the big guns right?" he winked at both Sasha and Dean, "Don't mind me if I'm a little hysterical on occasion what with all the 'people in the musical keep dying from some supernatural _thing_ and I'm the lead in the show so that probably makes me a huge target'. Heh. I'll just stay _really_ close to you two. Okay?" Much as Leven intended for that to be one of his flirts it came off a little more desperate and terrified sounding.

Reaching across both of them to get a hand on Leven, Dean gave the kid's leg a good firm pat. "Yeah, about that," he said, "Would you mind making scarce for a bit. We need to talk some of this stuff over and it's not that we don't trust you but…you'll probably be happier if you don't overhear the details."

A shade of panic overtook Leven's blush when Dean first said for him to go away, but he understood and obviously agreed with Dean since he didn't really protest in the end. "Sure. But I'll be right over in that other corner by the piano. Gotta get ready for practice tonight anyway. I'm totally messing up one of my songs and Lars is gonna kill me if I'm jumping all over the place again."

"Lars?" Dean repeated, saying it with a very harsh sounding 'z' at the end.

"_Lars_," Leven said back, grinning and putting a softer 's' on the end instead, "You know, meaning Mrs. Larson. She's the theatre goddess around here. The music director. I definitely wasn't talking Lars from Metallica. God, full of himself much? I totally have all their albums torrented, thank you. Let me know when I can come over and bug you again, okay?" And then with a flash of white teeth and the blush fading to Leven's usual easygoing charm—if a little forced sometimes, Dean thought—the kid was up and off to the other side of the auditorium.

Dean blinked after Leven for a few moments and then turned back to look at Sasha, who seemed to be expecting something since he was already smirking at him. "Did he just insult my idol?" Dean asked matter-of-factly.

Indeed, the smirk twitched and Sasha let out a small bark of a laugh. "Only a little. The guy _is_ a little possessive, you have to admit that."

Lars Ulrich? Possessive? Dean decided not to comment. "Uh huh. So what the hell's '_torrented'_ mean?"

"Dean," Sasha laughed a little harder, "Quarry at hand, remember? Maybe we should stick to the issue. You said you didn't find anything with the tactile digging around right? Well, I got pretty much swamped down here. Mostly with useless tall tails, like we figured, but we better go over all of it before we settle on anything. Though I'm sure you're thinking the same thing I am at this point."

"Night Hag," Dean nodded, "A fear vampire. Cousin of yours maybe?" he snarked.

"Very funny," Sasha scowled. Then his eyebrows knit together and he looked absolutely indignant. "Well…kind of. But only in the demon sense and needing to feed off something intangible from humans to survive. They are nothing near fae. They're supposed to be even more extinct than vampires."

"Yeah," Dean said with a sarcastic lilt, "And you know how extinct _they_ are. Hags are just better at blending in and keeping off the radar. What else you got? If ya wanna cover all bases."

Sasha released a long exhausted sounding sigh, sat back in his chair, and pulled out a small notebook from his jacket. He flipped it open and turned it to face Dean. The thing was completely covered in writing. "It's a theatre, Dean. The building may be new, compared to most anyway, but it still carries the usual stories. Catwalk's haunted. Dance director's a witch. Cursed props," Sasha read off his notepad, "I mean, it gets pretty ridiculous. Leven's lead is a lot better. That kind of demonic influence and considering Night Hags aren't your typical demon is probably why Sam wouldn't be able to sense them. He's still learning how to hone in on different demonic things, like…well, _me_. That could come in handy, me not being the only one who can sense another incubus or succubus around. Eventually, Sam might be able to sense…pretty much anything not human…" Sasha trailed off as he said that.

"Don't think too hard on it," Dean cut in, "Sammy can't read our minds quite yet, thank god. But he's damn near it. Just so long as he doesn't overstep anymore bounds. The mojo thing is totally unfair." Dean grit his teeth to think about it. He still hadn't really forgiven Sam for the _'Shoot me, Dean' _he had pulled when they were facing Kubrick. That just wasn't something he could let slide. It would take at least a couple years of Sam getting on his good side to counter that.

"Sounds like we have a pretty good lot to cross-reference with Sam then," Sasha said, "And maybe if he knows more specifically what we're hunting he'll have an easier time sensing it. Oh," Sasha laughed as if he had just remembered something and gestured back to his notebook, "You have to read some of this. There was this one kid, convinced the football coach is behind everything because of…" But Dean didn't hear whatever Sasha said next. He was distracted by the sudden eruption of voice from Leven's corner of the auditorium. It was accompanied by choppy piano, but the singing carried over loud and clear.

_We all lead _

_such elaborate lives  
We don't know _

_whose words are true  
An affair of the heart survives  
All the pain_

_this world can do_

Leven didn't need good accompaniment. His voice filled the whole of the auditorium. Dean hadn't even noticed the singing at first but Leven had reached some great climax with that part of the song and it was _awesome_, even if all the kid was doing was warming up.

Sasha had a beautiful voice, perfect for a lot of different styles, especially Frank and that Bublé guy that sang _'Everything'_. But Leven had _pipes_. The musical fan inside Dean—the one that rarely admitted its existence for fear of being shot—fluttered somewhere low at the back of his spine. One thing Dean never denied was that he loved good music, especially when that included a good, talented singer.

"That's not from _'Once on this Island'_. Good song though," Sasha nodded, "Dean?" he said more playfully then, poking Dean in the side. It had the desired effect of making Dean squirm. "Oh, I see that far away, dreaming of Gene Kelly look, you closet show-tunes _freak_," the incubus grinned, "You can't fool me."

"Shut up," Dean shot back after having been so rudely ripped from his reverie, "There's no shame in show-tunes. It takes a real man to sing and dance like that in front of so many people. Insulting Gene Kelly would be like telling Batman he's a sissy for wearing tights. So can the wisecracks. I like any music if it's good. Even country. On occasion. Very. _Rare_. Occasions. So…so just shut up already and _come on_," Dean finally growled, standing and smacking Sasha in the shoulder, "Let's have Leven show us those death sites. See if our theory's right or not."

The incubus didn't know how lucky he was that he understood when Dean was at his limits. Sasha nodded, his laughter fading, and he followed Dean over in the direction of Leven and the piano. There was a girl with Leven now and sadly that strong baritone was no longer sailing.

The girl, who had to be one of those freshmen 'kind of' friends of Leven's, looked rather distraught. Leven seemed to be trying to cheer her up.

"Come on, Andy. Be my Aida," Leven was saying as Dean and Sasha approached, "That part's always better as a duet."

'Andy', which Dean guessed was probably an Andrea, shook her head. She was short but fairly full-figured. Cute, in a too young, too blonde kind of way. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, but it didn't seem to be because of Leven. "Not now, Lev. Okay?" she said, "I'm just trying to find Lars so I can tell her I'm going home. I don't…think I'm gonna be at practice tonight. Sorry." She started backing away like the piano had to be possessed or something, and ended up backing right into Dean. She choked back a screech.

"Careful there," Dean said. He tried to sound soothing and suave when he went to grab her shoulders, but she shrugged away from him and immediately backed off further.

"I…I have to go," she stammered, and then the girl was racing for the double doors, making a wide arc around Sasha and Dean.

Dean shrugged after she had gone and looked to Sasha. "Am I that repulsive? Be honest," he said mock-seriously.

Of course Sasha just laughed and shook his head. Leven was the one who gestured after Andy, looking frustrated and concerned. "Andy's been pretty freaked since Miss Hammil," Leven explained. Dean remembered that Miss Hammil, one of the teachers who helped with costuming, had been the first victim. "More deaths means more freakage. For everyone. Andy even snapped at me the other day and she's usually little miss sunshine. It's really starting to get to everyone."

Which was probably exactly what the creature wanted, whatever it was. It made Dean worry for Andy too. If they were really dealing with a Night Hag then the increase in overall fear had to be tantalizing. Anyone could be a potential victim. And these things were like regular vampires; unless they were feeding, they looked just like everyone else.

Thankfully, Leven was more than willing to show Sasha and Dean to the places where all of the victims had died. Night Hags left a certain residue behind that would be easier to see if they had an EMF meter but that just might be detectable by the naked eye. It was almost as potent as ectoplasm, but looked and felt more like black powder.

There was a brief moment where Dean thought some soot he found up on the catwalk might be some of that residue, but it was definitely just soot. They didn't find any real evidence of a Night Hag anywhere, but then it had been several days since the last death.

After about an hour, Leven had to return to class. He went reluctantly, promising to meet up with them again later when they went to see his sister. Leven only had early practice tonight, so he'd be running home quick after school, and then back for about an hour before he joined them again. The plan was to meet Wade at her place of work as soon as Sam and Cam—Dean really hated that—met up with them in the parking lot after school.

The waiting game filled most of the rest of their day, making it ooze by. Sasha and Dean had talked with everyone involved in the show that was still breathing. Most of their afternoon ended up with them in the library researching on school computers. At least there weren't any blockers. Sasha actually got online with something called 'AIM' and was messaging Sam back and forth to fill him in until they met up. Dean thought it was pointless, since they could just text or call, but it did make it easier to send off website links.

Finally, at 3:40pm on the nose, Dean was roused from near-dozing as the bell—more like an electronic beeping noise—sounded to let the students know they were free for the day. He and Sasha had managed to accomplish quite a bit, including a list of everyone who had stumbled upon bodies and the general state of everyone who died before they were found. Leven had been right—they were all terrified, like marked victims, which still pointed towards a Night Hag as far as Dean was concerned.

They had several different things to go over when they finally found Sam in the parking lot. He had taken public transportation since Dean and Sasha had the Impala. Poor mook, Dean thought.

"Let's go over that list of who found the bodies first," Sam said after he, Sasha and Dean had been talking for awhile out by the car, "Might be some leads there, even if the creature isn't among them. We'll keep looking into Night Hags too. Maybe Cam's girl Wade has something on that. You never know." Sam shrugged, but Dean knew how Sam felt about people who thought they were into the occult. It was the same thing Dean thought and was expressed best with a long, loud groan. Then again maybe this chick wasn't just another amateur. The Winchesters certainly knew real life psychics, soothsayers, and communers with the dead. But more than likely she was just some Hot Topic shopping goth chick with nice tits.

"I'm getting' antsy," Dean admitted, "Something about this one's getting to me. Where's Cam at?" he said, looking at his watch.

It had been almost ten minutes and Sasha had said that Cam was usually pretty punctual. "Maybe he's waiting inside. I can't remember if we specified or not. I'll run check quick," Sasha offered, "You two stay here in case he shows." Sasha ran off towards the buildings again, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

They had the Impala parked way out in the far corner of the lot by the side of one of the buildings. Dean did not want to risk some teeny-bopper dinging his baby. There were only a handful of cars anywhere near them. "So, be honest," Dean grinned at his brother with a good buck in the shoulder. They were both leaning back against the side of the car. "You were bored stiff being on police report duty all alone in that hotel room. Either that or how you kept yourself entertained is so not something I need to hear about."

Sam rolled his eyes and bucked Dean right back. "I did not surf for porn. Or watch any on Pay-per-View," he added quickly since Dean in all honesty had been about to comment on that possibility next, "And it was actually nice getting some alone time away from you two lovebirds constantly making out and trying to feel each other up when I'm asleep in the next bed. Of course if I had to go it alone _everyday_…"

"You'd rather have a spike driven into your head?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Sam smirked, and then very subtly added the endearment of, "Jerk."

Dean just had to grin in reply to that. "Whatever, _Bitch_," he shot right back, "You know you think I'm awesome." Dean dusted his knuckles over the collar of his jacket as overly dramatic as he could make it. "Oh," he said then, just remembering, "And speaking of me being awesome, I found something earlier. There's this entry in Dad's journal I wanted you to—" Dean had been about to reach into his jacket pocket but Sam's hand on his arm stopped him. Dean looked over and saw that Sam seemed to be straining to hear something in the direction of the building nearest them.

"Something's going on," Sam said assuredly, "I hear something. I think someone's being attacked." Grabbing Dean's arm rather harshly, Sam took off for the building, pulling Dean along after him a few steps before racing on ahead.

Dean stumbled a little at the forced movement but tried to keep up as he ran after his brother. "Geez, Sammy," he called, "The psychic stuff is one thing, but these super-senses are just unfair." Dean couldn't hear anything himself, but he figured his brother's bionic ears had more to do with enhanced focus than actually hearing better.

By the time they were almost around the building the sounds of the school parking lot were fading away and Dean could finally hear what Sam had picked up on. Angry voices. Scuffling. Curses. Dean had a pretty good idea what was going on and it had nothing to do with the supernatural.

Prepared as he was to find a gang of bullies and their victim, however, Dean was not prepared to run into _Leven_ again unexpectedly for the third time today.

After turning the corner of the building, the group of teenagers was still several yards in the distance, but Dean easily spotted the turquoise hair among the otherwise boring shades of blonde and brown. There were four boys besides Leven, all clearly the same age as him or close enough. Two of them had his arms while another was slamming a knee up into his stomach. The fourth was standing back, clearly the leader. The others were all barking out the insults and curses Dean could hear, but the leader was the one spewing angry sentences that got Dean's blood boiling.

"Stupid fag," the leader nearly spat, "I bet it's you. I bet they're not accidents at all. You working some pansy-ass goth magic shit, is that it? Want revenge on the school like some Columbine reject coz nobody likes you? Coz no one _wants_ you here? Fucking queer," he sneered, "We'll show you what we do with freaks like you."

Bells clanged furiously in Dean's head as he heard that, but the voice he was hearing was not that of a teenage boy.

"_Now you're gonna find out what we do to your kind. You like it like that, you're gonna get it like that."_

A snarl formed on Dean's lips. That self-deceiving superiority, the sound of it burned in Dean so hot he could barely breathe. Suddenly, he was right back in that hick town in Indiana and there was Pete and that damn pool cue. Pete's buddies. Pete's hands. Pete's fetid breath. Only this was Pennsylvania, Dean wasn't drugged, and he didn't need any backup to handle pathetic, prepubescent _fucks_ like this.

Dean flew so fast across that last bit of ground in front of him, he left Sam behind in the dust, the younger man's longer strides be damned.

The leader's lackeys were smart. They saw Dean coming before it was too late and let Leven go, immediately backing off. But the leader himself wasn't as quick. He was Dean's real target. In the end he was the one stirring up hatred. He was the one without the balls to just stand up to someone by himself. He was the one who needed to be taught a lesson.

Dean had that kid slammed up against the brick wall of the building so fast, he heard the sweet telling crunching sound that meant he had either chipped a tooth or cracked the kid's jaw. _Good_. "You think he's a freak?" Dean growled dangerously, "Well I know a thing or two about _freaks_, lemme tell ya, and I am looking at the worst kind right now, you mother-fucking _shit_."

"Dean!"

But Dean couldn't hear Sam right now. He was so angry he couldn't see straight. It might as well _be_ Pete he had eating the brick right now, with Pete's arm wrenched behind his back. Dean had never gotten to repay the bastard himself, after all.

"Dean, stop!" Sam called again, and this time Dean felt a firm hand grip his shoulder. There was no power to Sam's words but sometimes brother mojo worked even better than the psychic kind. "You're gonna break his arm," Sam explained, like that was the only reason he was getting in Dean's way, not because he thought beating the kid up a little was wrong. There was quite a bit of anger in Sam's voice, Dean could hear it, but leave it to the younger Winchester to manage to keep his head about things. Surely, Sam understood what this situation brought back for Dean, and that was probably why he was trying to stop him.

The fury lessened in Dean somewhat but he only loosened his hold on the kid a little. "I'm guessing you're realizing your mistake about now," Dean ground out. Shaky breathing was all that responded like the kid was too scared to actually speak. "Yeah, I'm thinking you do. So you're not gonna be making that same mistake again, are you? Coz if you even think about going after someone this way again, ganging up like a damn _coward_. I will fucking _kill you_. We clear?" Even if Dean didn't really mean those words in relation to the teenager, it still felt fucking incredible to say them.

Again, there was only shaky, harsh breathing that responded, and Dean had a pretty good suspicion that the kid was trying not to cry, and probably failing. Damn teenagers. Dean pushed the kid into the wall one last time before releasing him and backing away. He glared mercilessly at the kid and the others that were hanging back.

"Get outta here!" Dean yelled, gesturing at all of them with one angry toss of his arm. "You try and report this or some shit, you better believe I'll know how to find you."

The group knew better than to contradict Dean on that. The lackeys took off immediately and the leader stumbled after them without looking back once.

Dean thought almost immediately then about what he and Sam had talked to Sasha about after the incubus flew back to Indiana without them. About how beating up intolerant people didn't really solve anything and that it could more often make things worse. But Dean also had to agree with what Sasha had said to them in reply. Maybe this would keep those little assholes from trying shit like that again. That was a good enough reason for Dean and he didn't feel the least bit guilty or remorseful.

"Are you alright?" Dean heard Sam asking Leven. Dean came back to himself with a jolt when he picked up on Sam's gentler tone. This wasn't his battle he had been fighting, this was someone else's. Which was exactly what Sasha had done to him.

Dean turned around and saw that Sam had Leven carefully leaned back against the building and was checking him over for injuries. It looked like they had stumbled upon the fight before anything too serious could happen, but Dean could still see at least one bruise forming on Leven's chin, and there were probably a few others where Dean couldn't see them underneath Leven's clothes and jacket.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked after Leven nodded with a pretty weak attempt at his usual flash of a smile.

"Yeah…nothing worse than usual," Leven shrugged.

"Usual?" Sam repeated with that same angry tone again.

"Hey, kid," Dean said as he approached them. Dean caught Leven's big brown eyes as soon as they turned to him. "Look, I'm…I'm sorry if I was outta line with all that. We all got our own battles to fight. I just don't like seeing someone messing with the odds is all. I'm sure if it was just the dickhead I made pee in his pants back there, you definitely coulda taken him."

A choked laugh left Leven's lips and he returned Dean's worried look with an expression that was entirely grateful. "Well, I guess I gotta be a little pissed at you what with all the stripping me of my manhood and all, but…" Leven shrugged, "I guess since I don't got any broken ribs or anything…we might be able to call it even." A grin stretched across his face, making the bruise lose all of its harshness. "Thanks," he said, and then nodded his head at Sam, "I'm guessing this is the little brother you mentioned? Little being a relative word, obviously."

Sam looked startled to hear Leven say that since so far neither Dean nor Leven had actually given away that they knew each other already. "Yep," Dean replied, "See? Told ya I was prettier."

Leven barked out a good laugh again, completely real despite how worn he looked otherwise. "Aww, I don't know. Still hot enough for me. What was your name again?" he asked Sam.

The younger Winchester was busy blinking in retained confusion but finally said, "Uh, Sam." Then it seemed to dawn on him why this all should make more sense than it was and he pointed a knowing finger at the kid in front of him. "Leven," he said, shaking his head at himself for being so slow, "Right. Well, glad we were able to get here in time. Those guys bug you often?"

"Well, I don't think they'll be bugging me anymore," Leven smirked, "Shoulda known they'd figure out my trick of sneaking out the choir room door eventually. I was heading for my car. Gotta stop home for a bit before practice." Leven nodded towards the parking lot where Sam and Dean had come from. They started heading that way. Leven moved a little slow, sure, but more from the blow to his stomach and probable nausea than any heavy injuries.

"Whatcha driving?" Dean asked to make conversation. He knew better than to dwell on what had happened.

"Just this old T-bird of my sister's. Nothing special. One of the lights is busted even. I parked kinda close to this awesome old Impala though. First time I've seen something else out this far. Lemme guess," Leven said with a wink back at Dean who was walking just behind him, "She's yours."

Dean had to grin. "Guilty. How'd ya guess?"

"You kidding? Like one of the preppie rich kid's _Spiders_ would be worthy of a guy like you. Totally the only actually cool car in the whole lot."

Sam was rolling his eyes but also smiling when Dean elbowed his way up between the two of them. "You got good taste, kid, I'll give ya that," Dean said, "I don't think you should be too hard on the T-bird though. White's not exactly my color," Dean admitted as they came within view of the very used looking car, "But a few years ago you could fill the tank on one of those things for ten bucks. She'll treat ya right."

"_Anyway_," Sam broke in to hopefully steer the conversation away from older model cars. They stopped a few feet from actually being on the lot. "We're going to be meeting with you later again with your sister, right?" Sam asked.

Leven nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Good. Well—"

Dean's phone started to go off with the familiar tones of his newest ringer—Holy Diver by Dio. "We'll see you later then, kid," Dean said as he pulled out his phone and saw that Sasha was the one calling him. He didn't get the chance to actually see Leven off before he picked up the phone and started talking. "What's up?"

"Dean, you and Sam better get in here," Sasha said over the line, sounding definitely _not_ okay. "I was right. Cam was in here waiting for us. Just in time to find out there's been another death."

--

As soon as they weaseled their way into the crime scene Dean knew he was glad Leven had gone home already, even though the kid was bound to find out eventually. The victim was the same girl who had been acting all freaked out around him earlier. Andy. Well, Andrea Tharoldson. Age fifteen. _Freshman_.

Dean wanted to throttle something. The problem was they still didn't know what, or at least who was the one deserving of the throttling. Dean couldn't' help blaming himself a little though. They knew that all of the victims had shown signs of being really terrified right before their deaths, Leven had told them that much. They had also seen pretty clearly how scared Andy had been and now she was dead too. The correlation was too generic, too easy to miss, Dean told himself. Who wouldn't be scared when people kept turning up dead?

On the plus side a new death meant a fresher trail to follow. It was a morbid, horrible thought, but it was true.

They were there before the actual police arrived, and planned to make scarce before any showed up despite having made previous contact as PIs. Avoiding unnecessary questions and the potential to step on police toes was always best. Therefore the hunters—plus Cam—played everything out as quickly as they could.

Andy had been waiting in the band room when one of the overhead lights broke loose from its cable and crushed her skull. There were several other large lights just like it hanging from a very high, acoustically pleasing ceiling. Andy had died instantly. Another death made to look like an accident.

The thing that kept bugging Dean though was why did this thing have such a bone to pick with people involved in the musical? It was probably tone deaf, Dean figured. Reasoning was usually petty when it came to demonic creatures.

They soon discovered that five different people saw Andy right before her death. The first was Leven, who they couldn't just discount. Anyone could be a potential suspect, no matter how much they might like the kid. After all, Dean and Sasha hadn't heard all of Leven's conversation with Andy, and the band room was right across from the choir room, which Leven had gone through to exit the school. Dean hated to admit that that added some suspicion.

The other four people who had seen Andy were three students who had talked to her in the hallways and one teacher, Mrs. Larson, the musical director. Andy had talked to her before she went into the band room. Since Andy's mother hadn't been able to pick her up after lunch when Andy wanted to go home, she had told Mrs. Larson she wouldn't be at practice and then went to wait out the day in the band room. All band rehearsals were being held in the gymnasium lately in preparation for an upcoming concert, so no one had disturbed Andy until she was found dead. Presumably, anyway.

It was a janitor who heard the light crash to the floor just before the bell rang. He was on their list now too.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any trace of black powder on what was left of Andy's body or on the light. Dean and Sasha still had their minds set on a Night Hag though, and Sam agreed, which meant that the thing was smart and maybe even knew that hunters were tailing it.

As soon as the police arrived, Dean and the others got out. They would have to speak with the people on their list more thoroughly tomorrow, but that shouldn't hurt the case too badly since no new deaths had happened closer than three days from a previous one so far. They had time. A Night Hag needed to build up fear in its next victim before it could feed again.

"Better to catch people here than at home anyway," Sasha said when Sam questioned their decision to fall back and wait to finish talking with people until tomorrow, "Besides, some of these kids we've already talked to, so they know us, even Mrs. Larson. I talked with her while Dean was looking for clues around the building. I think everyone will be more receptive if they're in the same environment when we question them again."

Sam paused at that and eventually nodded his agreement. Dean saw the logic in that decision too, it just made him antsy to have to wait. He hoped that their plan to still talk with Cam's girl Wade wouldn't be a waste of time. Then again they did need to talk with Leven.

Cam swore up and down of course that there was no way the bad guy could be Leven, and deep down Dean agreed. Even if someone wanted to give the whole overly-bullied student goes rouge theory, that wouldn't explain why Leven would kill one of the people he actually liked. And Andy hadn't been the only person Leven liked among those dead. In fact, there hadn't been a single person who died that Leven didn't like.

"You really know your stuff, don't you?" Cam was saying to Sasha as they headed for the parking lot. Cam had brought his car this time and they were going to follow him in the Impala.

"Well, I did do this by myself for a long time," Sasha shrugged, obviously not meaning to sound somber as he said that, "I like it a lot better with company though." Sasha smiled at his old friend, meaning both the company of Sam and Dean as well as the current added company of Cam.

Rather than dissent with words about how he had no intention of making hunting a habit, Cam just grinned back at Sasha and shook his head.

"I suppose the most important thing though," Sasha went on, "Is catching the information as soon as it's in front of you, even if the details don't seem very clear right away. Ignoring something that seems trivial might come back to haunt you later. Like finding out that all of the victims were frightened of something right before their deaths. We could have passed that off as nothing given the circumstances, but we know better. Not that that helped so much this time," Sasha added dejectedly.

Of course Sam just had to go and break in with one of his usual pep talks after that. But instead of Dean's usual reasoning for tuning Sam out, this time Dean was just distracted. Sasha had reminded him of something he nearly forgot what with all of the afternoon's commotion.

The journal entry.

They were stopped in the middle of the parking lot—the Impala was off in its far corner and Cam's car was in the other direction. Cam, Sasha, and Sam were getting caught up in their conversation so Dean decided to it wouldn't be a bad idea to pull the journal out now before he forgot again. He had still had a few paragraphs to go when Leven interrupted him earlier. It took Dean a moment to find where he had left off, of course, but eventually he did, and while the others talked, Dean read.

_Never again. Not like that. Not because I saw too late where the greys started and ended. I'll never forget that little boy. His tiny hands. His eyes. The way they looked at me so trusting, with a color so amazingly_ green _and his hair so _white_ in the dark of the room. He was an incubus. I know that. But he was still a child. Just a baby. And his parents are dead now because of me._

_I immediately thought of Dean when I first saw him. Dean's hair had been so blonde when he was littler. Now he's already five years old and it's grown darker. But those eyes, those green eyes like Dean's, I swear they were almost glowing. _

_Dear God, forgive me for what I have done to that boy._

Suddenly, Sasha's hand was on Dean's shoulder and Dean hadn't even realized that he had been staring at the same spot in his father's journal for the past five minutes. What he hadn't been able to put his finger on before was stabbing its way into recognition now.

Green eyes that seemed to glow. Hair that looked white in the dark. Right. Dean was willing to bet that it would have looked pretty white in direct sunlight too.

"Dean," Sasha said again—Dean only vaguely realized that Sasha had called his name already, "Did you hear me? I'm going to ride with Cam, okay? You and Sam follow us. Cam's car's the red Neon over there." Sasha pointed across the parking lot and Dean managed to blink in that direction.

"Neon. Right," He repeated probably a little too slowly to be normal, "Follow you. Sure." Dean shook his head and closed the journal, not wanting to draw too much attention to it. "Just a little lost in my thoughts. Sorry. We'll see you there." He plastered on a smile and hoped it was believable.

Sasha eyed Dean like he knew something was going on—he probably did—but he simply returned the smile and headed off with Cam, who waved as they walked away.

As soon as Sasha and Cam's backs were to him Dean turned for the Impala. His mind was buzzing. It didn't know how to deal with this new information and that made his steps turn sharp and quick. Sam soon had to half-job to keep up with him.

"Dean!" Sam called, rushing ahead for a moment to be sure Dean noticed him, "What's with you suddenly? You're not actually upset that Sasha's riding with Cam, are you?"

Upset about that? About Sasha being with Cam instead of with him and the journal to inevitably find out what Dean only just realized and was potentially the worst news _ever_? No, that was just fine.

Dean stopped, took a few breaths, made as if he was going to try and explain things to Sam, and then found he couldn't. He continued towards the car.

"Dean!"

"It's…it's not that," Dean explained, trying to slow his steps a little but not really looking at Sam when he spoke to him. Dean just wanted to get to the car. He had to get to the car.

"Then what is it?" Sam demanded. He had never been very good with Dean keeping secrets from him, especially when they were little and everything an older brother did was magnanimous.

Dean didn't respond to his brother's question, however, until they reached the Impala. Even then he got into the car first and shut the door. The journal was still in his hand. When Sam got in next to him, the door slamming to accentuate Sam's frustration, Dean opened the journal to the beginning of that early entry and handed the book to his brother. "Read that," Dean said, his expression too drawn to really give anything away, "Then ask me what's wrong."

Sam stared at Dean in confusion and worry, but knowing Dean as he did, he soon nodded and accepted the book.

Dean felt so supremely stupid as he started to drive, following closely behind Cam's red Neon. The truth should have dawned on him sooner but it had taken the full description for things to click into place. Green eyes. White hair. Parents killed by hunters when he was a baby. It was so obvious to him now.

The car was very quiet as Sam read and Dean drove them through Pittsburgh with Cam as his guide. Dean just didn't have it in him to turn on any music. They were meeting Wade at the place she worked, a club not quite downtown but close enough so that traffic made sure it was after five o'clock before they finally arrived.

Dean had been watching Sam out of the corner of his eye the entire time. The slow widening of hazel eyes was more than enough of a clue that Sam was coming to the same conclusion as Dean had. Sam finally finished reading the entry just as Dean was pulling into a spot. Dean shifted the car into PARK and waited.

Slowly, Sam closed the journal and set it on his lap. He stared forward. "Okay," Sam said, straining to remain calm, "This…could be bad."

Dean couldn't help it; he snorted. "Sammy, Dad helped kill Lindsey's parents," Dean said without fanfare, "As in Lindsey, Sasha's old friend who hates us and _already_ wants us dead, _Lindsey_. Yeah. I'd say it's pretty fucking bad."

tbc...

A/N: Hmm. This chapter seems so short seeing as how long they've been lately. Anyway, there should be new fanart up at the website in a couple days. Woohoo! Notice the shoutout to Deangirl1's wonderful guest chapter. I'm sure a few good friends of mine may have noticed some other things about this chapter too. Heehee. Leven's warm up song was from "Aida" a great show I had the pleasure of seeing in New York in 2002. I'm just not a big fan of the ONE song Daniel sings by himself in "Once on this Island." There will be more musical stuff. And alot of fun in the next chapter.

So, think the hunt is as cut and dry as the boys think? ;-) And yay for almost ALL of you knowing John's hunt had been for Lindsey's parents. That will eventually come back of course, and Sam and Dean need to have a long talk when they get the chance, which will have them discussing Dad a bit too. Thanks for the reviews as always, my wonderful readers! Over 600!

Crim


	46. Part 6: Credit Where Credit Is Due

Part 6: Credit Where Credit Is Due

--

"Maybe we're blowing this way out of proportion," Sam was saying as they waited in a corner booth of the sandwich shop for their order.

They had been handed the task of grabbing food for all of them—and Wade, paid for by Cam of course—before they even entered the club, which was fine by Sam and Dean since they needed the chance to discuss what they had discovered. As soon as they had everyone's sandwiches they would have to head into the club and find where Sasha, Cam, and the yet to be seen Wade Taylor were waiting for them.

"It happened twenty-five years ago, Dean," Sam went on, "The only people alive who even know about it are me, you, and Ellen, according to the journal."

"Sam," Dean said firmly, his fists clenched too tight on the tabletop since he didn't know what else to do with his hands right now, "Dad helped kill Lindsey's parents. What size proportion do you think this is? Coz I'm looking at all-you-can-eat here when you're just seeing appetizers."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's use of food metaphors but didn't say anything. The sandwich shop had a certain hum to it like the white noise of working machinery. Usually that might have been soothing if they weren't currently handling a mini-crisis.

Swallowing thickly, Dean unclenched his fists finally and flexed his fingers out in front of him. He just didn't see any reason in pretending they didn't know the truth. This was bad. More than bad. Not because either of them thought of their dad as a murderer for what had happened the night of that journal entry, but because of how they knew people generally reacted to things like this. John was going to be receiving heavy blame whether he deserved it or not and Sam and Dean would probably be the ones reaping that punishment.

"Let's try and look at this rationally," Sam said slowly, "It might not be as bad as we think. Maybe Lindsey will understand. Dad did save his life."

Surely Sam had lost all common sense in the last thirty seconds; Dean openly gawked at him.

"I'm just saying," Sam went on, "Regardless of what Dad went there intending to do, in the end he didn't mean for Lindsey's parents to die. He tried to help them. He tried to save them. And you can't deny that if Dad hadn't gone with that Mac guy then Lindsey would probably be dead too."

That was almost certainly true, but still, "I doubt Lindsey's going to see it that way, Sammy. 'Oops, it was an accident. At least he didn't kill you too.' Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's still gonna wanna rip us into tiny little pieces. This is an incubus with a grudge against all hunters we're talking about here. And all because of what happened to his parents. Well, _our dad_ was one of the hunters who was there. Jo's little hissy fit over Dad indirectly getting her dad killed is going to seem like a cakewalk compared to this." Not that Dean thought it was dismissible that Jo's father had died because of partner negligence.

"We don't have to tell Sasha," Sam said suddenly.

Dean was sure he hadn't heard that right. It was almost a blow and Dean all but snarled at his brother in reply. "Oh yes we do," he said without losing a beat, "Please tell me at what point keeping something from Sasha has ever been good for me?" Dean slammed his hands down on the tabletop and pushed his lower back against the cushions of the booth.

"Alright. We'll tell him," Sam appeased, "Let's just hope telling Lindsey isn't something Sasha's going to insist on. That won't help anyone. It'll just make things harder on all of us."

Yeah, no shit, Dean thought. As if they needed things to get any harder.

But there were a few details besides the inevitable fallout of this epically bad news that were still bothering Dean about the journal entry. Something just didn't sit quite right with him, and even though he knew there were more pressing matters to attend to, Dean couldn't help thinking about them now.

"Hey," he said to Sam, their conversation having fallen away again to the sounds of that constant unknown source of humming and the light chatter of the few other people in the shop, "You notice anything…_weird_ about how Dad wrote that hunt? You know, anything…kinda outta the ordinary?"

In an instant, Sam had on the most skeptical look, like maybe he thought Dean was trying to be cute about something. "Uh, you mean how he didn't sound like an asshole?" Sam said without sympathy.

As usual, Dean's initial response was to jump to Dad's defense, but Sam's summation of things wasn't exactly wrong. "Well…yeah, pretty much," Dean admitted, "I mean, you read that thing. His tone was completely different. I've never heard—or read or whatever—Dad talking nice about anything not human. This is the guy who taught us to shoot first and ask questions later even if things getting in the way on a hunt _might_ be human. He never bestowed any great wisdom of grey areas. Hell, he…he said I might have to kill you. _You_. Something I know is ridiculous so just shut up before you even get started," Dean spoke firmly, seeing only too easily how Sam's mouth had started to twitch, "It's just…I don't get it. Yeah, he put in that note about not hunting an incubus or a succubus without knowing for sure it's the bad guy, but…"

"Dean," Sam said in his understanding, tender voice that often pissed Dean off purely on principle, "Think for a minute. Why was Dad on that hunt to begin with?"

Dean listened and thought that over. "Coz that Mac guy told him about it."

"Because the other guy said there was something to hunt," Sam clarified, "He had sights on a _creature_ not on circumstances. But how did Dad always hunt after that? He taught us to look for hunts based on what was going on in an area. We'd check out a spot because people were dying from unknown causes, or there was animal mutilation, or disappearances, or whatever else. We didn't hunt something because someone said, hey, I think there might be a Wendigo nearby. If you're looking for something that's already been doing the damage, then you know you're hunting evil. There's no room for second guessing. Dad wasn't being anti-non-human. He was just hunting smart. Then take us, two _kids_ learning from him how to do this, and of course he's not going to say 'oh and be sure to find out first if you're killing something evil.' If we do the hunt right, what we find is always going to be the bad guy. Special appearances by Sasha, Cam, and Molly McNamara not withstanding."

"Who?" Dean said in regards to that final name.

Sam rolled his eyes again and sighed. "Highway 41. Nevada. The angry spirit who wasn't an angry spirit," Sam rattled off.

Oh yeah. "Right. Okay. I guess you got a point there." Sam had more than a point. Dad did always hunt smart like that so there wasn't confusion as to what needed to be killed. But if he taught his sons to do the same thing then adding in lessons about grey areas would have added too much doubt. "That doesn't say much for you though," Dean couldn't help adding, "Chalk one up for Dad being wrong, I guess."

"So far," Sam mumbled under his breath.

Dean felt something hot build up inside of him at hearing that but he didn't get the chance to call Sam on his self-deprecating comment before their number was suddenly called from the pick-up side of the counter. Sam quickly got out of the booth and Dean had no choice but to follow.

They were halfway out the door with Sam in a very hurried lead when Dean caught up to with a firm whack upside Sam's head. "Knock it off," Dean growled, "Or next time I'll do that with the butt of my gun, you lame ass. No one's going evil. No one's dying. We've done that dance too many times."

"Sorry," Sam replied softly, too softly, and too easily in the giving-in department.

Dean peered around to get a good look at his brother's face as they walked. Sam didn't look depressed or anything, just a little too thoughtful, and when Sammy got thinking too hard it was always a bad thing as far as Dean was concerned. "Hey, I know we're sitting here in Pittsburgh handling a case instead of working on the deal, and I know that's gotta be riling you even if it shouldn't. But we're doing all we can here, Sammy, and…damn it if I'm gonna go then that's just it. I'd rather know I was doing my job til the end instead of wasting time on something that's not gonna get us anywhere."

Of course Sam immediately started to open his mouth to dissent or maybe spew out some stupid sappy speech about something, but Dean was not in the mood to listen.

"If I have to say this one more time I swear to god I am killing whichever one of you calls me on it first," Dean snapped. They were just outside the side entrance of the club that had been left propped open for them to use when they got back. "I am not giving up," Dean said evenly, "I'm all for thinking we can beat this, but right now we're coming up dry and I'm just trying to be practical. Let me do my job. You wanna keep worrying? You wanna step up what we've been doing and try something else? Fine. But let's finish this hunt. And don't you dare start up with that darkside shit again either, coz I have even less patience for that. We'll tell Sasha about the journal entry later. If he wants to tell Lindsey then we'll just have to deal with that when it happens. God damn it," Dean ground out, "I'm itching for another vacation already." Kicking at the ground as he went, Dean made for the propped open door, knowing Sam would follow and that more than likely the kid would shut up about things just like Dean wanted. At least for the rest of the night.

"I'm just being practical too. I have no plans to go evil. But you're gonna get spoiled on vacations at this rate," Sam said from behind him as they entered the club. There was definitely sarcasm in that last sentence.

Much better. "Yeah, whatever, Mr. Never-Getting-Laid-Again. At least I know how to _spend_ my vacations."

Sam genuinely giggled. "Shit, Dean. Then you're really getting spoiled, coz I think you've been taking 'vacations' at least once a day."

Okay, that deserved another smack upside the head, no matter how pleased Dean was when Sam actually acted his age once in a while. But just as Dean stopped to glare back at Sam—they didn't really know where they were going beyond this point anyway—small hands suddenly shot out from nowhere and snatched the bag of sandwiches out of Dean's hands.

Dean looked at his now empty arms completely transfixed. The small hands and the person they belonged to had already moved onto Sam and had snatched his bag away too.

"Finally. I'm wasting away over here. You boys take a make-out break or what?" said the owner of those swift hands, which Sam and Dean now saw was a small young woman. Well, _short_ young woman. She had a tiny waist but she had _hips_. Her hair was dark, chin-length but asymmetrical, and she had a streak of bright purple in it. She also had their food.

"Uhh…" Dean was a little lost for words after that 'make-out' comment.

"Oh right, you're the brothers," the girl said, already heading further down the hallway with both bags of food in her arms, "I certainly _hope_ you weren't taking a make-out break then. Can you keep _up_ maybe?" she glanced back, "I'm not coming back for you if you get lost. My shift starts at six, this place will be hopping by seven, and the slow to react have never been a favored type of mine."

"Wade," Dean nodded to himself, like it should have been immediately obvious. The streak of purple certainly allowed for some family resemblance. "Oh no, we were more than happy to pick up your dinner for you," he continued sarcastically, "Please feel free to rip it from our hands before we've even been introduced."

Leading them around a corner of the hallway, Wade glanced back again with a smirk. She was cute alright and suited Cam in Dean's opinion. A little goth maybe with the hair, the ear piercings, the lip ring, the eyebrow piercing, and the tongue ring Dean only noticed because Wade stuck it out at him playfully. But her wardrobe was a nice contrast to that being so, well, _bright_. "Wade Langevin Taylor. My pleasure," she said, clipping right alone until she pushed her way out of a door and into what was obviously the main area of the club. Sam and Dean hadn't even caught the name of the place, but it was pretty well dead right now with only a handful of people, mostly at the bar.

"Langevin?" Sam questioned as they followed after her.

"Don't ask. I have no idea. No gawking now. All the way through," she said, hurrying through the club clear to the other side and to another door. There was _another_ short hallway inside that, _another_ door, and then finally they were inside an employee lounge where Cam and Sasha were laughing about something one of them had just said. Dean didn't hear what.

Wade dumped the bags of food on top of the table the two incubi were sitting at and immediately started rummaging for the sandwich that belonged to her.

"Found these two strays bearing food," she said with a thumb jerk back at Sam and Dean, "Thought maybe we could keep 'em for awhile since they were being so useful."

Oh yeah, this was definitely Leven's sister. "I'm taken," Dean replied, grabbing a seat next to Sasha and snatching the other bag since Wade was still hording the first, "Him, on the other hand," Dean nodded towards Sam as the taller man sat between him and Wade and waited patiently for his turn to find his sandwich, "Obedient. Well behaved. Don't even need to feed him that much."

Sam shot Dean his patented bitch look accompanied by a dash of brotherly annoyance. Deadly. "Do I look like a puppy you could sell on the street?" he dead-panned.

That was just too good. Dean was all ready with his comeback too when Sasha beat him to the punch. "Is that a trick question?" the redhead smirked.

Of course Dean wanted to comment on how Sasha really wasn't one to talk what with his bright blue puppy dogs, but Sam would always be reigning champion in that department.

Sam's scowl easily broke, just as it would have had the tease been Dean's, and he shook his head at Sasha, trying to keep from laughing with everyone else.

"Oh, sorry I suck at introductions," Cam spoke up once everyone had their sandwiches, "But I figured Wade sorta spoke for herself. Wade, this is Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Right," Wade smiled sideways, nodding at both of them. It might have been that her hands were currently wrapped around a large hoagie but Wade didn't really seem like the shaking hands type. "So you and Red are the yahoos who are supposed to be able to keep my little brother kickin' long enough to finish his senior musical. Not exactly the big guns I was expecting, but the eye-candy's appreciated."

That comment got a chuckle out of Dean. This chick was something else. He leaned over Sasha towards Cam. "So you really said 'big guns'?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. He had assumed that term was purely Leven's.

"Yeah," Cam admitted with a bit of mock shame, "Cliché blunder of the century. Couldn't help myself. You can't tell me that big trunk of yours isn't filled to the brim with firepower."

"Oh, my baby's stacked," Dean preened, "But firepower's not gonna help that much with this one. Can't go in guns blazing with all those kids around, even if one of them is a Night Hag." Dean stopped himself with a glance a Wade. "The civilian's been brought up to speed?" he asked Sasha and Cam.

Wade released a condescending huff. "Yeah. Fear vampire. Got it. You rip that one off an Anita Blake novel?"

Dean blinked at her.

"We're not positive of anything," Sam broke in, "But the evidence does point that way. Once we narrow down our suspects there are several ways we can test our theory without hurting anyone. We have a list of five people who are the best candidates."

Those five did not include Leven, however; they were the four other people who talked to Andy before her death and the janitor who found her body. Leven was still on the list officially but they didn't feel that needed mentioning to his obviously protective older sister.

"We were hoping you might have some other insights," Sam went on, admirable really in sounding sincere considering how skeptical Dean knew his brother was of anyone 'into the occult', "We're thankful to have a place to regroup like this but we really did want to talk to you. Leven too after he gets here since there's been another death."

Wade nodded at that and her standoffish demeanor began to very quickly fade. She may be a tough cookie, but she was smart enough to realize who she needed to rely on to help protect her brother. "When the accidents first started…I did a reading," Wade began, slipping a long deck of cards out of her skirt pocket, "I do Tarot on the side. Legitimately. Believe me, I'm dirt cheap, coz I'm only interested in serious clients. I don't have time for people who think it's a game or that I'm scamming them."

Any thought of this being other than genuine completely fell from Dean and the others' minds. They knew a fake when they saw one and Wade was playing serious. She pulled the top three cards off the deck and laid them on the table facing up. Dean had never seen this particular deck before but he'd witnessed enough Tarot to know which card the last one was.

A woman. Blue skin. Beautiful. With no sympathy on her face and a skull in her hand.

Death.

"Don't believe it's as easy as you're thinking," Wade said, looking right at Dean like maybe she was reading his mind.

Sam was finished doubting Wade as well it seemed because he was listening just as intently as Dean was. The difference between a fake and the real thing was always easy to spot for trained hunters, whether they were dealing with Tarot, palm reading, or anything else.

"I did the reading specifically about Evelyn," Wade said. She touched the first card with the tips of her fingers. "The Fool. That's my Evie. Innocence. Naivety. Energy. But more than just him this card represents the beginning of a journey." She touched the second card. It was upside down. "The Hierophant. Reversed it means a distortion of the truth, that something about the journey is misleading. And of course…" Wade looked at the last card but she did not touch it. "On rare occasions this card means just what it says, but usually the Death card represents change. That worries me more. I don't know if this person or thing is a Night Hag fear vampire or what, but this journey ends with my brother and it is not going to go that far. Understand?"

There was cold determination in her voice, and assuredness that Dean could completely relate to. His problem with this discovery though was that it also upped Leven's suspicion as a suspect. If this 'journey' ended with him then maybe it was because the evidence would eventually point to him as the culprit.

Dean didn't want to think that way.

They ate without talking much more about the case, at least not until Wade left for her shift. She said no one ever used the break room so they could stay and discuss things there for as long as they wanted. Just so long as they kept an eye on Leven once he got there. She didn't like the kid wandering around unsupervised in the club.

Before leaving them alone, however, Wade plopped herself completely unabashedly into Cam's lap and kissed him as heatedly as if they were alone and had all night to tangle tongues. This was not a modest woman. Cam was grinning wide when she finally pulled back and just as unceremoniously hopped out of his lap to head for the club.

"You a…waitress then? Bartender?" Dean asked before she could slip out the door. She had on a tight little top and her long skirt sported slits nearly up to her hips.

Wade smirked as she leaned against the open door. "Honey," she said, "I'm the bouncer."

Ha. _Right_. Dean was laughing as Wade left. "She was joking, right?" he asked Cam.

A dark chuckle responded. "She's a vicious little thing, lemme tell ya. You should see her right hook," Cam winked.

Wow. Wonders never ceased. Yet again.

They still had a problem though and none of them knew how to address it. That Tarot reading could have some real weight to it. Sam even said—in all his psychic glory—that he had a bad feeling about this hunt and the Tarot cards were definitely leading them in the right direction. But that still begged the question. Was Leven the most important person they needed to protect? Or the bad guy?

--

"We're gonna set a trap for the kid?" Cam exclaimed, sounding offended and even a little scared, "But you don't even know if he—"

"Calm down, Cam. This isn't going to hurt him," Sasha assured his friend with a gentle pat on the back.

"Unless he really is Mr. Night Hag," Dean supplied. He was busy rummaging through cabinets. They were worried they might have to make a quick smash and grab in the kitchen, but Sam had only just finished unwrapping Leven's sandwich when Dean struck gold. He grabbed the sought after shaker from the shelf and returned to the table. Good thing they had been asked to grab dinner for Leven too.

"What is that?" Cam asked, obviously still wary. They were all gathered around the table with Leven's sandwich as the centerpiece. Dean handed the shaker to Sam and allowed him to do the honors.

"Garlic salt," Sam explained as he liberally dusted Leven's hoagie, "Night Hags are where the myth about vampires being allergic to garlic really comes from. He'll have a definite reaction if he's who we're looking for. He's not allergic to it normally, is he?" Sam asked suddenly. He had already pretty much poisoned the kid if that was the case.

Cam shook his head, looking at least a little calmer now. It often felt like he was trying too hard to be at ease when Sam and Dean were around, but Dean supposed he couldn't really blame him, he just wished it wasn't so apparent. "Nah. Leven's only allergic to metal," Cam said.

"Metal?" Sasha repeated. He took the sandwich from Sam and began to wrap it back up again.

Cam shrugged. "I only know coz he always makes a big deal about not being allergic to anything else. Wade has all kinds of allergies but Leven's clean free of the ragweed and peanuts and all that. Course he can't ever get any piercings. Says he'd kill for a tongue ring. Gotta admit I appreciate Wade's," he grinned wickedly.

Dean believed the wicked smile too—was right there with it even though he had never been a fan of piercings himself. Or tattoos for that matter until a certain someone came along. But once again Dean was picking up vibes that Cam was forcing a false face. That just seemed unnecessary. "Hey," Dean started, having slid out of his chair and snuck up on Cam with a sudden hand on the brunette incubus' shoulder. Dean felt the expected flinch.

Despite everything, Cam was still waiting for Sam and Dean to turn all trigger happy on him.

"When we do find this thing," Dean said, getting especially close, "We're gonna be armed and in pretty much all out hunter mode. You gonna freak on us? Coz as hard as it may be to believe, and as much as I know you're thinking otherwise, we are not here to hunt _you_." Dean patted Cam's shoulder good and firm.

The sandwich was all wrapped up and the evidence put away again, so Sam and Sasha were well aware of the exchange that had just taken place.

"Now, I appreciate that you haven't tried to kill us yet," Dean said as he stood up straight again, "But it might be nice if you gave us a little more credit."

"I…" Cam was at a complete loss for words, his expression finally genuine since it was stricken and somewhat ashamed.

"You still don't trust them?" Sasha asked. He looked pretty stricken too. Dean knew it was hard for an incubus to read his own kind but ignorance really was bliss if Sasha's hadn't picked up on Cam's continued unease being around hunters.

They were still alone in the breakroom. It was well after six o'clock and they could hear the sounds of music and louder voices as the club became busier. Cam looked around anyway, a furtive glance in each direction to be sure there was no one else with them. "Look," he said, "It's not you guys _personally_."

Dean quickly noticed Sasha's growing scowl. Cam's deep sigh proved he wasn't oblivious to it either.

"This isn't—!" Cam started all defensive but cut himself off and started again, "This isn't…the first hunt I've ever been on, okay? The last one almost got me killed when real hunters showed up. Kinda like this time actually," Cam indicated Dean.

"Hey. I maintain that was an accident," Dean affirmed.

Cam smirked in reply but Dean thought it looked a bit too much like a sneer. "Yeah, well, they didn't ask questions first either. You realized what I was and stopped. I'll give you that, okay. It's like I said. I don't go looking for this stuff but if something's there I'm not going to just turn my back on it."

"What was it?" Sam asked, entirely calm and unreadable.

The remains of the sneer fell from Cam's face, leaving him looking purely embarrassed again. "No idea. Didn't get the chance to find out. But it definitely had claws. That didn't bode too well for me when this couple caught sight of me in the woods all incubused-out and just started shooting."

'_Couple'_ ? That wasn't usually the word used when describing hunters that worked together. "Who were these people?" Dean asked.

"We didn't get much time for introductions," Cam snarked, "Guy and a girl. I didn't get a good look at them. They didn't care what I was. Most hunters wouldn't. Maybe I've been sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. So I'm sorry, I'm gonna be a little antsy. _'Hunters are the enemy'_ is still pretty firmly engrained over here. But it doesn't mean I'm not trying." Finally, Cam sat back in his chair.

There was a slightly tense silence that followed all that. Sam could play as stoic as he wanted and Sasha could be pissy all night for all Dean cared, but he wasn't offended by Cam's words. He understood perfectly. "I can still buy you a beer though, right?" he said with a grin, "Can't be poisoned if it comes from behind the bar."

Cam snorted before he could stop himself. "Well...I'm not gonna say no to free booze," he shrugged with a growing smile.

It was probably that, Dean's easy nonchalance, that swayed Sam and Sasha to stop looking so severe, and eventually things eased back to normal even if Sasha remained a little testy. They had more important things to worry about right now.

Leven arrived a little earlier than they were expecting, just when the boys were getting bored enough to start fidgeting. The kid dragged his feet all the way over the threshold and his eyes were downcast. It didn't take a genius to figure out why the usual burst of energy and witty comments was lacking.

"Either you already heard about your friend," Dean said to him, "Or you're just that _happy_ to see us." He didn't have any delusions that his try for humor would work too well, but he still had to try.

Admirably, Leven attempted a smile back but he was too crestfallen to really pull it off. "You think we actually go over lines when we're offstage?" Leven said as he sunk into the chair his sister had previously vacated, "The whole time everyone was talking about how freaked they are. We were missing half the cast people are so scared. I can't believe Lars didn't cancel but she figured it wouldn't help any so why lose the time." Leven sighed and stared at the wrapped up sandwich on the table in front of him. "I don't want the show to stop, ya know, but there's not gonna be much of a show to put up if we keep losing everybody. Andy was one of the decent human being at Win-Thor, ya know? I'm running out of the few friends I got," he said with a weak smile, "Wade is crazed by the way. Thanks for telling her about the newest death count," Leven grumbled then, flicking his sandwich with his finger.

Dean looked at the kid sympathetically, much as the whole sandwich trap was starting to get to him already. "Didja really think we'd keep it a secret? And for the record I didn't say anything. It was them." Dean pointed at Cam and Sasha.

"Hey!" Sasha said indignantly.

Cam just rolled his eyes and chuckled.

Leven laughed a little too, forlorn as he obviously still felt. He was staring at his sandwich again and definitely looked like he wanted to stop sulking and mourning if there was nothing constructive he could do about what had happened. "I wanna help you guys," he said, "I want this over with. Andy, when she talked to me today," he said, not requiring any prompting to get to exactly what they had wanted to ask him, "She was really scared, I could tell, but…I didn't think she'd be next. She just asked if I knew where Jennifer was."

"I thought she was looking for that Lars person," Dean said. There would be a certain poetic schoolboy irony to the case if the villain turned out to be the musical director.

"She was," Leven nodded, "So she could go home. But she asked about Jenn first. I don't know why. They don't even like each other. This mess has everyone acting weird."

Dean, Sam, and Sasha exchanged knowing looks. There was a Jennifer Dougan on their list.

"I don't want to think about it anymore," Leven said, finally reaching for his sandwich, "I'm starved. Thanks for grabbing some food for me too." He began to unwrap the sandwich so he could eat it. The simple actions seemed to go in slow motion since they had all been waiting for this, but the group was all very good about keeping their attentions averted or at least casual. Sasha started showing Sam more of his notes, so that helped, and Dean thought he would try getting Cam to be more relaxed by making conversation.

Dean was halfway through telling Cam that he hadn't seen a flick in a real theatre in so long, he barely remembered what movie popcorn tasted like—which was a damn shame—when Leven finally took that first, anticipated bite. There was a unified blip of silence.

And then Leven was making a pleased face as he chewed and took another bite before he had even swallowed the first. "Heaven," he mumbled around chewing, a bad habit of his, "These things are usually so blah."

Dean smiled in relief. The blip passed by uneventfully and Leven didn't seem to notice the suddenly wider smiles around him at the table. Dean, of course, had never had a doubt.

Sam and Sasha continued surveying notes while Dean and Cam chatted and they let Leven finish his sandwich. But eventually, the four older men began discussing that they could probably get more done if they headed back to the hotel now and used Sasha or Sam's laptop. This decision was partially because they really didn't want Leven overhearing too much of what they would plan for tomorrow.

Naturally, Leven didn't like this idea at all. "You can't go! You're not gonna spend all night working on case stuff. This place is great once things get going. You gotta stay. By seven it's crowded, by nine it's packed toe to toe, and after ten if someone isn't getting laid in the corner then something is wrong with the universe."

What disturbed Dean most about that explanation was how much he could tell Leven wanted to be that 'someone'. "Listen, kid…"

"_Please_," Leven pleaded, more serous than playful now. His shoulders were hunched and his voice was as whiney as, well, a teenager's. "Just an hour or two. Cam's gonna leave with you and…and Wade'll make me go home. Please, I just…really don't wanna be there right now."

'_Alone'_, Dean heard as an addition, even though Leven hadn't said it. The kid was just so pitiably desperate all of a sudden. Dean looked to Sam, the resident mother hen, and shrugged. Sasha was all set to stay, Dean could tell, and Cam looked like he'd be fine either way. Finally, Sam shrugged his agreement as well and Leven let out a victorious whoop.

They really could use a break after all. And a drink, Dean thought. He knew they would all be on the same page about tomorrow anyway, with the exception of Cam probably needing to be filled in at some point. The brunette incubus was going to be with them all day tomorrow.

Dean grabbed the remains of paper and sandwich bags to throw away when everyone started filing out of the room. He fully intended on buying Cam that drink. But before Dean could follow after the others, he realized that Leven had lingered back with him and they were alone. Dean might have been worried if Leven didn't look a little scared.

"What's on your mind, jailbait?" Dean asked affectionately, "Panties in a twist over something?"

A smile broke out on Leven's face, but it was small. Cracked. "I…I was just wondering," he started, stammering a little.

Dean _prayed_ the kid wasn't about to ask for sex advice.

"Today…ya know, when you came charging to my rescue?" Leven continued to Dean's great relief, "I got the feeling it was a little…_personal_."

Crap. Dean spoke too soon about relief this time; he did not want to talk about that.

"Sorry," Leven said right away. He took a step back from Dean as if Dean was wearing one hell of a scary face. Chances are he was. "Not my business," Leven finished before turning quickly for the door.

Crap on a _stick_. "Wait," Dean called after him, to which Leven immediately if a little sheepishly glanced back, "It…_was_ a little personal," he admitted, "Kids aren't the only stupid assholes around, ya know. Adults can rank right up there too. All…six or seven of 'em? Shit, I don't even know how many of them there were in the end."

Leven's eyes widened.

Dean sighed. He took a few steps closer to Leven so that they were only about a foot apart. Running a finger over his eyebrow, he indicated the scar that ran through it. "See this?" he said, "I'm lucky it's the only reminder I got stuck with. Things didn't go as far as they wanted, but that doesn't mean I wasn't beat to shit by the end of it. It gets to me, knowing pricks like that are out there, who'll hate you just for who you care about. Seeing the next generation picking on their first victim didn't make me feel any different about the subject either. So yeah, I may be new to all this," Dean said with a false smile, "But I have been aptly initiated."

That particular phrase brought a grimace to Leven's face. "That's not fair," he said, "It shouldn't have to be like that."

"No," Dean agreed, "That it should not. But there just aren't enough decent people out there most of the time, kid. Sorry to tell you."

Then Leven surprised Dean because suddenly he was smiling again. "There's _you_," he said with a slight blush.

Dean couldn't help it; the smile was infectious after that. He also couldn't help reaching out to yank Leven down into a headlock, messing with the kid's gelled turquoise hair. "Ya think so, huh?" Dean teased, "Well I thought we had an agreement you were gonna knock it off with those _moon_ eyes. Still think I'm decent?" Dean added an extra firm tousling of Leven's hair before letting him go. It reminded Dean of when Sam was younger, before the younger Winchester ran away to college.

Leven laughed through it all and was still laughing when Dean shoved him playfully out the door. Dean considered it a good sign of character that the kid didn't immediately start fussing with what had become of his hair.

Soon after that they were all at the bar with Leven safely between Cam and Sam nursing a Coke. Dean ordered shots for himself and the others and told Cam that whatever he had next was on him too. They could see Wade over by the door, occasionally tossing them glances, more than likely to keep an eye on Leven.

Dean had to admit the place was getting pretty packed now that it was later. Actually, with so many people it wasn't until after his third drink—and last, he decided—that he started to notice something...strange. There were a lot of men and women in the club, mostly younger than thirty, but there didn't seem to be very much intermingling of the sexes. The dance floor was behind Dean. He gave it a cautious glance.

No intermingling there either.

Panic gripped Dean's chest—old and silly panic. He couldn't help it; this just wasn't the type of place he ever thought he'd feel comfortable in. And low and behold, he was anything _but_ comfortable right now. He leaned towards Sasha on his right. "Dude…did you know we were in a _gay bar_?"

The bemused expression Sasha granted Dean in reply to that question was so not helping the situation. "You mean you didn't?"

The bottle in Dean's hand nearly cracked he was gripping it so hard for stability. "No. I didn't. Why would I?"

"Because you have _eyes_," Sasha laughed, looking about the bustling club of mostly same-sex pairs and groupings, "I assumed you could tell. Besides, Cam mentioned Wade worked in a gay bar."

"No, I'm pretty sure he didn't." Dean was trying to stay calm. He knew it was ridiculous to suddenly feel so…exposed.

"Uh…well…actually he did," chimed in Sam from Dean's other side. "It was in the parking lot. When you were…engrossed in Dad's journal." Sam stared at Dean extra hard to be sure his point was clear.

Well shit. No wonder Dean hadn't heard that.

Then without warning, Sasha downed the rest of his beer and pushed what little was left of Dean's beer at Sam.

"Why do you think I didn't protest to staying?" Sasha said, taking both of Dean's hands in his and tugging, "I've been wanting to get you on the dance floor ever since we got out here."

"What!" Dean tried to pull his hands back but Sasha wasn't letting go. "_No way_. Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Dean, it's a gay bar," Sasha said slowly, "No one's going to care. Or notice. How often are we gonna get a chance like this?"

Preferably never again, Dean thought.

"Please, Dean. Think about it. Here we don't have to pretend anything. We can just dance. It's not like I'm asking for a slow dance to Barry White. It's been pretty much rave music all night. Come on, Dean. For me?" Sasha's voice deepened and he grinned at Dean all toothy and sweet.

God damn it. "This is not a new trend," Dean warned him, "You do not get to use that 'look how cute and pretty I am' face for at least a week. And the rest of you," Dean finished, looking at Cam, Sam, and Leven, "You're coming with us."

Of course the kid was all over this invitation, and Cam just shrugged, nonplussed about the whole thing.

Sam, on the other hand, almost tipped over his beer.

"Uh…what?"

"Shake a leg, Jumbo," Dean commanded, grabbing Sam's arm since he knew he wouldn't need to bother with any of the others, "At least if you're out there too maybe I won't look so bad."

"But…"

Dean shoved Sam out onto the dance floor. He could still pull rank when it suited him. "Move," he said. He was the oldest; it was his right.

Amazingly, the song changed to one Dean recognized almost as soon as they were all out on the floor. In fact the song playing had once been Dean's ring tone.

Sasha immediately slithered up behind Dean and grabbed his hips once they started moving. Dean tensed. There were so many people.

Cam and Leven weren't wasting any time though. Being an incubus—even a supposedly straight one—Cam obviously didn't have any qualms about dancing with guys. Leven—bless the kid—was being very friendly with Sam in an attempt to get the taller man dancing and more relaxed. And Sam looked pretty much petrified.

The sight helped calm Dean's nerves.

_Well I'm not paralyzed  
But, I seem to be struck by you  
I want to make you move  
Because you're standing still  
If your body matches  
What your eyes can do  
You'll probably move right through  
Me on my way to you_

There were so many people. And none of them cared that Sasha was molded against Dean's back as they moved to the music. Dean liked to dance. He wouldn't be winning any awards for it, but it was fun. When no one was looking or when he was trying to get on Sam's nerves, anyway. At least there was something easy about the way he and Sasha were moving. Their bodies rocked in synch with each other, Sasha's hands held firm around Dean's waist and Dean's hands were back on Sasha's hips. It was really kind of intimate and yet most of the other people around them were connected the same way.

Dean laughed when he saw the frightened look on Sam's face with how close Leven and Cam were dancing to him as they tried to get him to move in kind. Sam was being much slower to come out of his shell this time than he had been at the Roadhouse. He still managed to toss Dean a knowing smirk, however, when their eyes met across the floor.

The words in the song that came just before the chorus were Dean's favorite. He heard and felt them breathed hotly against his neck as they played over the speakers.

_Well I'm still imagining  
A dark lit place  
Or your place or my place_

_Well…_

Tuning out the rest of the club's din, Dean sank back against Sasha, loving their tight connection and the heat building in both of their groins. It made him tremble as they continued to dance. "You see," Sasha said beside his ear, "Two guys dancing like this and the world still turns. The only eyes on you are mine, Dean. And the ones from all the people checking you out," Sasha added matter-of-factly.

"_What_?"

Dean's eyes snapped open—he hadn't even noticed when he closed them—but the only response he got was Sasha's laughter. Dean couldn't help scanning the other nearby dancers for wandering eyes after that. The only ones he caught, however…were Leven's. They, surprisingly, were not checking him out. They were just watching. Longingly, yes, but for what Sasha and Dean had not who they were.

The thing that surprised and hurt Dean the most though was when he caught the same look in Sam's eyes too. All of Dean's barbs about Sam needing to get laid suddenly settled like lead in Dean's stomach. Sam shouldn't envy him. Sam should never envy _him_.

"Dean?" Sasha questioned, sounding concerned.

Dean hadn't realized he had stopped dancing. He turned around in Sasha's hold, looking up into those questioning eyes, too blue and beautiful. Dean was a lost cause. He was bound for Hell with no way out in sight. He was the most selfish person he knew. He wasn't even sure if he could protect Sam anymore, not from some unknowable future. But looking at Sasha, feeling and knowing that he was blessed enough to be this _loved_…yeah, Dean would envy himself too, all that other stuff be damned.

They had to go back to the hotel. They had to tell Sasha about Lindsey's parents. They had to solve this case. They had to _save Dean_. God damn it, they had to.

Maybe it was from having all of that on his mind, raging to the surface suddenly, that made Dean lean up and kiss Sasha's lips right in the middle of the dance floor.

Warm. Wet. Wonderful. Dean wished the rest of his life could be that simple. But tonight it wasn't. Not for him or any of them.

--

Leven was safely home and Cam had been briefed on their plans for the next day. Dean hated that he kept taking Sasha away from time with Cam—that probably didn't help their case that much in Cam's eyes either—but maybe if he started checking off some of those _'had to's'_ he wouldn't feel so choked.

"Dean, what's going on? Sam?" Sasha pressed. Both brothers had been silent since they returned to the hotel. They were gauging how to do this but they had run out of time.

Sasha was sitting on his and Dean's bed. Dean took a seat on the other one with Sam. He took out the journal. "We wanted to wait until we were alone to tell you. Well, _show you_." Dean looked to Sam for confirmation and Sam nodded. After paging through quickly to find the entry, Dean handed the journal—open—to Sasha.

Much like Sam had been, Sasha looked confused, but seeing the serious looks on both Sam and Dean's faces had him soon listening and beginning to read. The waiting game this time around was much harder for Dean than it had been with Sam. Dean didn't know how Sasha was going to react. Not with hatred, surely, but then…what?

There was no sound for almost fifteen minutes, just Sam and Dean sitting there watching Sasha and waiting for him to finish. The incubus' face was much whiter than usual when he finally closed the book. He looked up at Sam and Dean with nothing but sorrow in his eyes.

"We can't tell Lindsey. He wouldn't understand," Sasha said simply.

All the weight bearing down on Dean instantly lifted, but he felt Sam shift beside him before asking, "And what about you?"

Sasha frowned. "You have to ask?" he said, clearly offended. He indicated the book still in his hands. "Your dad tried to save Lindsey's parents. Just because he couldn't doesn't mean their deaths are his fault. It's just a bad situation."

And then some, Dean thought. But he felt a swell of love for the incubus to hear that reaction. "You," he said adoringly, "Are too wonderful for words, ya know that? And since I've been holding my breath for about three hours now, and we know there's nothing we're gonna do about anything until morning…I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Sasha nodded solemnly, trying to smile back at Dean's compliment and adoring look. He handed the journal to Sam. "I won't tell Lindsey. And you can bet I'll defend you and your father if he ever finds out. But give me the same credit you expect from Cam. I'm not turning on you. I'm not going anywhere. Just a bad situation," he said again, "We've all lost too much from things like that."

Amen. But as much as Dean knew he had lost so much over the years, he couldn't help turning to look at Sam, who he believed had lost so much more than him.

tbc...

A/N: This chapter felt so long when I was writing it. Oh well. There was going to be one more scene but I'm saving it for the beginning of the next chapter as a treat. I'm shooting for ten parts but it might be more than that in the end. Sorry, I'm really tired today. I'll just give a great thanks, especially to those of you who stay anonymous so I can't respond, and tell you to IMMEDIATELY go to the Incubus website to check out the new fanart. HOT.

Crim


	47. Part 7: Christo

Part 7: Christo

--

Just after three AM Dean woke up and could not get back to sleep. He stared at the ceiling for half an hour trying to clear his mind, to think of nothing so he could just _sleep_ because he knew how tired he would be in the morning if he didn't. By three-thirty Dean just thought, _fuck it_, and he was out of bed, slipping on his shoes over sockless feet and putting on his jacket over his T-shirt and sleep pants before a single other restless minute could pass. He had almost stepped outside the hotel room before a much better idea struck him.

"Sasha…" Dean whispered, having pretty much climbed right on top of the incubus to rouse him, "Hey. Wake up, baby, come on." Dean still had his jacket and shoes on but he was straddling Sasha's hips anyway. This gave the drowsy incubus a very different idea of what Dean was after.

Sasha groaned as he came to and suddenly pulled Dean tight on top of him, his eyes barely slits to show that he was only somewhat awake. "Mmm…'kay," Sasha mumbled, "But Sammy'll…kill us if he catches us again." Then Sasha was kissing Dean sloppily and deep with his hands sliding down Dean's buttocks to pull the smaller man down against his own hips firmly.

A tremble traveled from within Dean's belly immediately south and remained there quivering. _That_ was tempting. But not what Dean had in mind. He gasped for air, nearly laughing as he pulled from Sasha's kiss. "Not that, you horn-ball sex freak," Dean chuckled, "Something else." Dean peeled himself away from Sasha's hold. "Come on, get up."

"M'not a…sex freak," Sasha grumbled with a sleepy pout, eyes still barely half open, "I _need_ it. Jerk." Sasha made to roll over then and dug his head into the pillow beneath him.

"I was just teasing," Dean mended, though he was still laughing because the childlike whine to Sasha's tone was just too cute, "Now come on already, you have to get up. Got a surprise for ya," Dean added playfully.

That seemed to do the trick. Sasha turned his head and blinked at Dean several times to wake himself more fully. He took in the sight of Dean's jacket and then the shoes as Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed so he could sit on the edge. "Where are you going?" Sasha asked, more awake now but still groggy. He was frowning.

Dean couldn't have that. "_We_," Dean clarified, "And we are going out. Grab your jacket and shoes if ya want 'em." Sasha was only wearing sweatpants otherwise but he was more resilient to the cold than the average human. Dean grabbed both of Sasha's hands and pulled the redhead up into a sitting position. "So come on, Sleeping Beauty. No arguing allowed."

Not two minutes later they were halfway up the stairs to the roof. It was kept locked but that wasn't any trouble for Dean. Sasha had indeed grabbed both his jacket and shoes, but remained shirtless. Dean thought it was crazy sexy the way Sasha's pale chest looked only half-covered by the dark, _open_ leather jacket.

The incubus was still rubbing at his eyes when Dean got the roof door open and stepped out into the night air, leading Sasha right to the edge to look out over the cityscape of Pittsburgh. It was a clear night, which made it colder, but the chill in the air helped Dean feel wide awake. He looked over at Sasha and saw that the redhead was staring at him with a perplexed but amused expression.

"You know, I half expected there to be one of those cheesy romance movie rooftop dinner things set up," Sasha teased, "What are we doing up here, Dean? You didn't just wake me in the middle of the night to stargaze in our pajamas." All of a sudden Sasha looked worried he might have offended Dean. "You _didn't_, did you?"

Dean cracked a wider smile and shook his head. "No," he assured his friend. Dean looked down over the edge of the building and for a second the long drop made his throat clench. There were taller buildings than this one; their hotel was only six stories. Right now they were standing on the edge to the back of the building that fell away to an alley. It looked the right width to Dean. "This high enough and enough room for your wingspan?" Dean asked with a gesture to the alley below.

Now Sasha looked utterly confused. He gazed down where Dean was indicating. "Uhh…I guess so. Sure."

Dean took a deep breath. He could totally do this. "Good," Dean managed to grin, stepping up onto the ledge and turning around so that his back was facing the long drop down, "Then come and get me."

Without an ounce of fear showing on his face, Dean leaned back as easily as if he was falling into bed and dropped right off the edge of the building. That horrible free-falling feeling that Dean hated and should have remembered he hated had hold of him before he could think what an utterly idiotic idea this was.

Of course Dean hadn't dropped more than a couple stories before Sasha caught him.

"Dean!" Sasha cried out, wholly awake now with his voice sounding that familiar though angry growl, "Are you crazy!? What were you thinking!?" The incubus' unveiled wings caught a current in the wind and lifted them back up to the height of their building, flying high above much of the city as he circled, waiting to land.

The beat of Dean's pulse was erratic and painful beneath his breast but he was grinning. He clung to the now white chest of his lover, feeling warm and completely encased in Sasha's strong arms that held him with gentle talons. Dean didn't really know what he had been thinking; it just seemed like something he needed to do at some point so he figured why not get it over with. "No big deal," Dean dismissed, even though his voice shook a little, "You caught me."

Sasha growled low and warning in reply. "And what if I hadn't? What if I had been too tired to act quick enough or…or I thought I had enough room but I didn't, or…or I don't know what else, Dean, but there could have been a million things that might have gone wrong. Why did you do that?"

"I guess…I just wanted to remind myself you could."

"Could what?" Sasha snapped.

"Save me."

Large gargoyle-like feet touched down on the rooftop and Dean met solid footing soon after. Sasha just held Dean out in front of him for a minute, all perfect stark colors—red, black, and white—with those glinting fangs, curled horns, and dangerous claws that somehow didn't look dangerous at all. "Dean…" Sasha said softly, the growl only in his voice because he really couldn't help it being there a little, "I'll always save you. Of course I will. But that doesn't mean you have to give me extra opportunities to prove it."

"Sorry," Dean said genuinely, "I was really just trying to give us some flying time again. It's been a while, and I know how much you love it."

Sasha raised both red eyebrows in questioning. "Yeah, and you _hate_ it. I mean Jesus, Dean, you just dove off a building. You're supposed to be afraid of flying. And _heights_ a lot of the time. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, I…" Dean shook his head; he didn't want to start a fight but he could feel anger rising to the surface, "Can't I want to spend time with you alone that isn't just us falling into bed those rare occasions we get our own room? We're either in the car with Sam, in our room with Sam, on a case _with Sam_. I love my brother but I deserve a little quality incubus alone time that isn't just about sex. Not that I don't always want quality time to end in sex, I'm just saying." Dean shrugged, feeling a little silly for all this but he figured if he had to be awake at three in morning then he might as well get some use out of the time. He and Sasha never got to just be together. Not just them. Not like that night so long ago now when they shared beer and conversation over _Slither_.

Snippy as Dean's words had been, Sasha did not look at all angered anymore. His fangs glistened into a grin. "You want a…date?" he almost laughed, "I guess you're right that we haven't really had much time alone, and…I know you're thinking we need to use all the time we have since…well, since the deal's end is getting closer, but that shouldn't mean anything because you just proved I can save you and god damn it I am going to save you from that too, Dean." Sasha took a breath. "Sam and I aren't going to let you go. We'll storm our way into Hell ourselves if we have to."

_Oh no you won't_, Dean wanted to say, because that was the very least thing he wanted from either brother or friend, but he really didn't want to get back into fight mode. "Alright, alright," he appeased, "But that doesn't mean this isn't a good idea. You said so yourself once, remember? What if today is all we get—for whatever reason. If it is…then I don't wanna waste it."

It seemed like the right moment to grab the incubus behind his pointy ears and pull him down into a kiss, especially if it ensured Sasha would shut up about all that. Dean only wanted to think about now. Tonight. Anything beyond that made his chest ache and that was just inexcusable.

Dean felt the prick of fangs on his lips as they kissed. Sasha didn't shift back to human, still in all his incubus glory even when they pulled apart. As always Dean was glad that the wings and all that went with them were still out and visible.

"Come on," Dean grinned, pulling from Sasha's hold and darting to the edge of the building again, "Let's find a better roof. Unless you just want me to dive off again."

A brief look of panic passed over the white face and glowing red eyes. "Once was more than enough. So does this mean you're facing your fears with me, Winchester?" Sasha asked evenly.

There was no point in denying it. "Everyday, Kelly. And a lot of ones I never should have been afraid of to begin with. You ready?" Truthfully, Dean did not want to just let himself fall off the edge of the building again. He could do without that awful feeling of imminent doom, however brief. But when Sasha had him in his arms it wasn't so bad.

"What if people see us?" Sasha said sensibly, "You're the one who complained about that in New York. Late as it is, this is still a city."

"True," Dean nodded, "But remember what you said that night? Who'd believe the guy who said he saw a gargoyle carrying someone off to its lair?" Dean stretched his smile into a wider grin and waited for Sasha to cave. He needed this tonight. No fears. No doubts. Just him and his incubus.

Much as Dean knew he would win in the end anyway, he was startled when Sasha suddenly swooped at him, gathering him up in powerful white to black arms that lifted him bride-over-the-threshold style with no effort at all.

Sasha stood poised just on the edge of the roof, his clawed feet crunching into the brick.

"I think I see a good spot," Sasha whispered to Dean like a rumbling purr. He grinned toothily. His fangs always looked so sharp but Dean was never afraid of them. "Hang on," Sasha breathed. And then he kicked off and for a moment Dean was weightless. It almost choked him, just as it had when he simply let himself fall before, but then the wind caught Sasha's wings and they were lifted by the current.

Dean willed himself to look. This wasn't like flying in an airplane. Even if Dean somehow fell, Sasha would just catch him again. The city was bright with all its lights and at least the streets below seemed still. Dean clung to Sasha's neck as he looked and tried to guess their intended destination. It wasn't hard to pick out.

And Sasha had the gall to say Dean was the cheesy romantic for wanting a midnight rendezvous. Sasha was the one flying them towards one of those apartment building rooftop gardens that characters in movies always had but wouldn't be able to afford in real life. The whole thing was encased in a greenhouse given the time of year. Sasha landed them on that roof, a good choice really since it offered them a lot of cover and pretty surroundings.

Sasha set Dean down and immediately transformed back to human, clad once again in sneakers, sweatpants, and his leather jacket. "Bet it's warmer in there," he said about the greenhouse. There was plenty of space for them in there too, but the door to the greenhouse was locked with a deadbolt. Of course it gave easily against the incubus' crazy strength. "Oops," Sasha grinned playfully as he tossed it aside.

Not long after they were lying back on the floor of the greenhouse, surrounded by plant life. The glass ceiling above them revealed the night stars, dimmed by the city but still beautiful. Dean scooted as close to Sasha as he could get so that the whole length of their arms and sides were touching.

Dean could remember doing things like this with Sam when they were younger. He would often try convincing his little brother to sneak out with him back then, something that only ever happened when Dad was gone anyway but it still counted as rebellious in Dean's mind. Sometimes when he and Sam would sneak out Dean would pretend that their mom and dad were waiting up at home like normal parents, worried and ready to punish them. Dean knew what a silly thing that was to daydream about, but he smiled as he remembered it.

It was warm in the greenhouse all right. Stuffy. Dean breathed in the rich smells around him that mingled with that wonderful, constant scent of Sasha.

"I think I would have been a mechanic…like Dad," Dean admitted, thinking of the djinn's dreamworld even though he hadn't told Sasha everything about that. "Would have been nice to take over the garage. It's something I'm good at. And I wouldn't shank people with crazy fees either. I'd be honest. Least I could do for getting to tinker under people's hoods all day."

"You don't think the Impala would get jealous?" Sasha smirked at him.

Dean turned his head to smile back, gazing adoringly into those brilliant blues. "My baby understands. She always comes first." There was a double meaning in there that Dean did not try to hide. "What about you?" he asked, "If you weren't a hunter. You know, besides the life of wanton sex, you had to have thought of being something else at some point."

A touch of sadness clouded Sasha's eyes and he turned back to staring up at the stars. "Not me," he said, a little hollow, Dean thought, but not because it was a lie. It wasn't. "I always knew I was gonna do this. I like to sing, sure. And I love kids. But as conducive to the incubus lifestyle as being a rockstar would be, it's too public. I'd hate it. And I don't think an incubus kindergarten teacher would go over too well." He chuckled, all false and forced the way Dean remembered from months past.

Dean hated that fake sound but he didn't press the issue. He stared up at the stars again too.

"I think…I'd really like to be a dad someday though," Sasha added softly.

_Shit_. That was usually Dean's cue to panic—words like that with that kind of heartfelt feeling behind them said so much more than they seemed to. It wouldn't even be an issue if Dean didn't know that two incubi could have kids.

"So…you know you never answered that question of mine," Sasha went on, his more jovial tone telling Dean that he was leaving more serious talk behind—for now, "Though I guess it was a long time ago so maybe you forgot."

Question? Dean was thankful Sasha understood his limits on certain subjects, but he had no idea what the incubus was talking about. "Err...you're gonna have to be a little more specific."

A more genuine laugh spilled from Sasha's throat. "I'm sure you'll remember when you hear it," he said. He was staring straight up and continued to even after Dean turned to look at him again. "It was late at night. In the Impala. Just me and you trading questions. And I asked, better in the sack," at last Sasha turned to Dean making their noses almost touch, "Flash…or Green Lantern?"

Ha! Dean laughed so hard his sides hurt. He remembered that night and his reaction to Sasha's final question. That was the night they discovered Sasha was an incubus. "You remember that? _Man_. So I guess you're gonna make me answer now, huh? Since I have, uhh…what was it?" Dean snapped his fingers when it came to him. "Oh yeah. Practical experience, right?" Dean laughed again.

Sasha was laughing right along with him too. "Yep. Perfect time as any, I figure. So who would it be?"

"Do I get a choice of which Green Lantern?" Dean asked without losing a beat.

"Sure," Sasha chuckled, "You got a preference?"

"Well I know Hal Jordan wasn't the first, but he is the one most people think of. Still," Dean thought, "Kinda always was more partial to John Stewart."

Seeing as how Dean was actually playing along for a change, Sasha was absolutely loving this. His smile was wide as they stared across the short space between them. "The Marine," Sasha clarified, "Go figure. Okay. So between John and good ol' Wally West, who do you think would be better in the sack?"

Crap. Now Dean actually had to answer. "Am I pitching or catching?" Dean asked seriously, "Coz obviously I'm deciding based on theoretical performance with me."

"Does it matter?" Sasha frowned a little, taking that a little more personal than Dean intended.

"The only person I want being dominant with me is you," Dean explained, effectively banishing Sasha's little pout, "So I'm gonna have to say…Wally. The Flash not the fluffball at the Roadhouse. Kinda guy who needs a good time and never takes it. Good sense a humor. He'd be totally into it. And definitely more willing than GL John to let me bend him over the hood of the Impala." Definitely.

Sasha nearly bust a gut, probably because Dean had sounded so matter-of fact when he said all that. "I love you," he laughed warmly, "You know that?"

The need for sleep was starting to call to Dean but he didn't want to go back to the hotel just yet. He had better ideas in mind. Rolling over on top of Sasha, Dean pressed their chests flush together—Sasha's feeling so unfairly warm despite being bare. "Sure I know. What's not to love?" Dean smirked.

Sasha laughed again and it vibrated up through Dean like a tremor. He shivered in response. Warm as the greenhouse was there was still a chill in the air, or maybe that was just because Sasha was so hot beneath him. "Cold?" the incubus asked, and in a moment's time he was transformed into that familiar creature with red eyes, fangs, claws, horns, and large bat-like wings that shot out wide and then folded gently over Dean's back.

Creature. Monster. Even Incubus. All those words seemed wrong. Sasha was just Sasha. Beautiful and perfect.

Dean laid his head on Sasha's chest and let one hand trail along the redhead's side. Then he let the other follow, allowing both hands to pass over Sasha's hips and down the first few inches of white thighs. Dean knew well where and how the black tattoos curved along Sasha's skin, and one thing he was sure of was that since they were natural markings and not actually tattoos none of them were raised. And yet on both of Sasha's outer thighs Dean felt marks.

"What is that?" Dean pulled up, forcing the wings to unfold and fall away from him. He sat up on Sasha's hips and scooted back so that he could see Sasha's thighs more clearly. There were five almost perfectly parallel scratch marks going up both of Sasha's thighs, raised though no longer angry looking. They were healing but if Dean remembered right he was the one who had scratched Sasha there—two days ago when they had sex the morning before meeting up with Charis. Dean gently traced his fingers along the scratches again. Any marks Sasha got always healed so quickly, save his one scar on his chest.

"Yeah, I know, you really left an impression," Sasha was smiling, looking all wanton beneath Dean and hardly concerned, "No one's ever done that before."

Something trembled inside Dean to hear that. He had a hard time believing it was a good thing but he didn't know why it bothered him so much.

"Mmm…Dean…" Sasha hummed, looking all sleepy and content as he stretched back, his wild, longer hair spread out beautifully around his head, "Can we stay a little longer? It's nice…like this."

Even Sasha's smile was sleepy and Dean feared they would both fall asleep in the greenhouse only to be very unfortunately found the next morning. Still, he couldn't pry himself away. He laid back down on top of Sasha, forgetting the scratches for now. "Gotta stay awake then, baby," Dean said, lulled by the rhythm of Sasha's strong heartbeat as his head lay upon the incubus's chest, "Besides, ya gotta answer the question too."

"Hmm?" Sasha seemed already half-asleep, despite Dean's warning.

"Flash or Green Lantern?" Dean shot right back, grinning and hugging Sasha's chest. He felt the wings fold back over him again.

Sasha chuckled. "GL of course," the redhead said, "Always had a soft spot for the Marine type myself. Ya know…kinda gruff and gritty and takes no shit from anyone. So sexy…" Sasha hummed again, his claws just up underneath where the wings were laying over them so he could gently run circles over Dean's back. The slight sharpness made Dean shiver though he didn't fear Sasha breaking the skin.

Sometimes he wished it could always be like this. "Good answer…"

--

As it turned out Sasha and Dean did fall asleep, for about half an hour. They woke, made a quick getaway back to the hotel, and fell into bed again without Sam ever having caught wise. They were both a little tired the next morning but neither of them complained.

Cam and Leven met the gang just outside the choir room door bright and early, where Leven then snuck them inside so they wouldn't have to worry about the metal detector. This allowed for them to bring in the EMF to better check for Night Hag residue and for all of the hunters to have their usual weapons. Leven had to run off to class after that, but they doubted they would need him for quite awhile.

The first thing the group wanted to do was talk to all of the people on their list, starting with Mrs. Larson, since she would be in soon but thankfully hadn't come quite yet and therefore missed catching them sneaking in through her door. Dean suggested they split up and try to get through the list more quickly, but Sam dissented.

"I'd rather we stuck together, or at least had the people who split off do something else, like scan with the EMF meter somewhere. I want to make sure I'm present for all the people we talk to."

"Don't trust the rest of us to do a good enough job?" Dean half joked.

Sam shot him a look. "Of course not. It's just…well…I've been working on it, and…if I concentrate hard enough I should be able to read all the people who talk to. It might speed things along."

Wait. Read? "I thought last time we checked you _couldn't_ read minds. Holding out on us?"

"No!" Sam said quickly, looking sheepishly at all of them, "It's just…that was last time. I was still unsure before but…now I can."

Well shit. That learning curve really was something else, just like Sam had said. Dean couldn't deny it creeped him out a little. He didn't want his little brother poking around in placed he shouldn't be, even though mind reading was definitely a power that made sense given a lot of the others. "Sammy…" Dean started in warningly.

"I know, Dean, okay? The first time I realized I could was…well it was an accident. With you," Sam admitted, lowering his head and biting his lip a little, "It was nothing…big, or…anything. You were thinking over hunt stuff. I thought at first you were talking to me until I saw that your lips weren't moving. As soon as that happened you can bet I got out of your head right away and I've been making a much bigger effort to only look if I have to. At others! Not…not you. It's a good thing I can shut it on and off or I think I'd go crazy."

That may be, but Dean still didn't like the idea of Sam being able to just go snooping around whenever he wanted. They were all still alone in the choir room, Leven having gone off to his first class, and Dean walked up very close to Sam as he spoke. "You know I trust you, Sammy, but if you ever go into my head again without permission, I swear…"

"I won't!" Sam assured him, and then looked also at Sasha and Cam, "With you either. Or anyone. But if it helps us now then I'm glad I can do it. I don't exactly know what I'll be looking for from a Night Hag. They can blend in with normal humans pretty well. But I'm guessing I'll be able to tell the difference. Somehow."

"Now…just out of curiosity," Cam began, standing away from Sam and Dean close to Sasha, "You haven't said much about these powers, but…you _are_ human, right?" he asked.

Sam didn't look offended, just a little unsure how to explain. "It's…complicated. I was born human. I'm just a little different now. I'm still one of the good guys." _At least so far_, Dean heard as an unfair and unfounded addition. Crazy as everything was most of the time, Dean would rather believe in a not completely human brother than have to live without a normal one.

"Cam and I can help with the EMF then." Sasha volunteered.

Of course Cam liked this suggestion, getting some quality time alone with Sasha and not having to be alone with Sam or Dean, but Sam shook his head. "We _should_ scan with the EMF now that we have it in the building, but it might be more helpful to have one of you here as far as being able to read when people are lying. Someone to read thoughts and someone to read emotions is better than just one of the two. Dean, why don't you and Cam just go and Sasha and I can talk with everyone?" Sam turned to Dean and gave him a look, a 'this is for everyone's own good' kind of look.

Dean didn't mind. He wanted to prove to Cam that they were worth trusting. "Sure," Dean said, catching sight of Cam's slightly stiffer stature before the brunette incubus could hide it, "Easy leg work. Might have to do a little in the dark with all the theatre backways. You'll come in handy." Dean motioned Cam to come with him and headed for the door. He winked at Sasha before he turned and saw his friend smile back at him. Sasha understood this tactic as well and didn't seem to disapprove one bit.

Sam and Sasha would only have to talk with five people. They would probably already know who the bad guy was by the time Dean and Cam returned, and hopefully the EMF would prove for them that they were hunting the right thing.

They didn't have new visitor passes for today but after another death the day before the security guards didn't even glance at them, apparently remembering that they were supposed to be there to figure things out. Dean scoffed at how that really didn't make for good security in a school, but he wasn't going to complain about things being easier on them.

He and Cam made a point to go to the Band Room first since it was just across the hall, still taped off by the police and not entirely cleaned up. At most places that alone would be cause for the school to shut down a day, but not this one. It had too much of a reputation to keep to afford doing that.

Dean wasn't surprised that he didn't get a good reading from there though. The needle almost jumped when he passed the EMF meter over the fallen light but it was too faint to be sure. The police had probably wiped the place pretty well clean when collecting evidence, not that Dean thought the police were going to be very helpful on this one.

"Most of the deaths have been happening closer to the auditorium," Dean said as they walked the hallways, "Let's go there. Might be more of a concentration of residue."

"Sure."

Dean glanced over at Cam and saw how the incubus' twitched when they entered the auditorium and found it empty. Meaning they were alone in a very large space, the same space they had met and where Dean had almost shot Cam on accident. This obviously made Cam even more uncomfortable.

Dean grinned evilly before suddenly jumping at Cam with a loud "Ah!"

Cam immediately leapt back with a look of sheer terror.

Too easy. Laughter spilled from Dean's throat before he could help it. "Dude, really? I mean, the not quite trusting us I get. I do. But I'm pretty sure you could take me. Why so jumpy?"

Cam frowned. He shifted his shoulders as if to shrug off that Dean had just managed to scare him so easily. "You say that but I know of too many cases where one hunter, just _one_ got the better of a good sized group of my kind. Sometimes with weapons, sometimes with nothing but themselves. Just because I know I'm stronger than you doesn't mean you don't have some tricks up your sleeve I don't know about. Sorry," Cam added, and he really did seem sorry that years of being told 'don't trust hunters' was keeping him from relaxing more around Dean.

"I was hoping our good time last night would be enough," Dean sighed, "Guess I'm gonna have to try harder." Dean winked before pulling ahead, looking over the large stage covered now with what would eventually be the set but was still only large pieces of raw wood. Dean took the ramp up the stage like he had the night he was mistakenly hunting Cam and looked up. The catwalk was above them. He had a feeling it would be their best bet for getting any readings since it had the most places police might not have been able to wipe down. Dean wanted to get up there.

"I could…fly up and take a look?" Cam suggested softly from behind Dean, "Save us some trouble. If you keep watch."

Dean liked and disliked that idea. He wanted to be able to see the readings for himself since he understood the EMF meter and its different settings better than Cam. "Now…don't take this as a come-on or anything, but…would you mind flying me up there with ya? Two eyes are better than one." Dean knew that if they took the long way and broke the lock on the door that led to the catwalk, they'd be fine, but the more they touched things up there the more chance they had of messing samples up. If they flew, Dean could check for readings without touching anything.

Cam looked understandable shocked by Dean's suggestion, however.

"Sasha takes me up all the time," Dean dismissed, which wasn't exactly a lie, especially after last night. Besides, putting trust in others was always a good way to get them to trust you in return. Even if Dean really hated the idea of being up in those rafters. "Quick trip. Up. I check for readings. Then back down. Simple. Sound okay?"

There was a pensive look on Cam's face, probably as he weighed in his mind any possible ways this could be a trap on Dean's part. Cam also looked around the auditorium but it was definitely deserted. No one wanted to hang around outside normal practice or work times if they didn't have to. Not anymore. "Well…" Cam was obviously worried, "I…guess that works. But if you try copping a feel or something I am totally dropping your ass," he tried to grin.

Dean returned the look wholly genuine. "If you can lift me at the waist I'll still be able to read the meter. No contaminating the evidence—at least any more than it has been—and it'll be a lot quicker. Just, uh…try _not_ to drop me if you can help it. I got a little thing with heights."

Cam had already stepped forward and grabbed Dean's waist from behind, despite still being human. "You say that now? Maybe this isn't—"

"Just make it quick," Dean assured him.

A snort left Cam. "I hope that isn't your response to Sasha when you're this close."

"Hilarious," Dean grumbled back.

"Alright then, you better not look down." And before Dean could really prepare himself, suddenly he felt that Cam was taller behind him, the incubus' body larger and more encompassing, and Dean's feet were off the stage floor, lifting higher and higher at great speed up towards the catwalk.

Dean braced himself. He could do this. Cam wasn't about to drop him any more than Sasha would, and it would be over as soon as Dean scanned. Dean listened as best he could about not looking down, staring up instead at their destination. They were level with the catwalk before Dean had time to panic or think about being so many feet above the ground. He had the EMF meter in hand and started scanning.

"Anything?" Cam asked after a minute, sounding only slightly strained, probably more from their position than actual fatigue. Cam was the same height as Dean in his incubus form, and Dean could feel warm breath against the back of his hair.

There was definitely something worth scanning when Dean moved the meter more to the right. "Over there," Dean said, gesturing that direction.

Cam moved them closer to the right then, hovering while holding onto Dean tightly. Dean liked the tight part even if it felt a little weird to have Cam so flush against his back. He'd take that though over feeling like he was going to fall. "I think we want to hurry," Cam said all of a sudden.

"Why?" Dean was sure he was picking up something now.

"Because I think I hear someone coming."

That would be bad. Dean immediately looked down to see if this was true, but that was probably the worst idea he could possibly have had. For a second everything went vertigo and Dean jerked unintentionally from Cam's hold. He started to slip.

"Dean!"

"Shit!" Dean tried to maneuver himself better for Cam to regain a good hold, but his turning only slipped him further out of the dark brown claws that were supporting him. Dean had just enough time to catch sight of a lone girl wandering onto the stage before part of his shirt tore and dropped him straight out of Cam's hands.

There it was again, that horrible free-falling feeling, that awful impending doom and the knowledge that he would probably live to only break his legs and maybe land on that poor, unsuspecting girl. Yeah, coz that was such a nice option.

Dean was face-down as he plummeted. He thought of calling out to warn the girl, was actually pretty surprised he hadn't already, but was then glad he never did when there was suddenly a rush of air as Cam swooped down after him and carried him off low to stage left.

They got tangled in one of the curtains thanks to Cam's somewhat clumsy catch and ended up tumbling to the floor about five feet off the ground. Dean's heart was beating so fast he didn't even notice that Cam was human again and lying on top of him until the brunette lifted up and stared down into his face. Cam definitely looked concerned so at least Dean knew the guy didn't hate him.

"That was way too close. Are you okay?" Cam asked.

Dean took a few slow, even breaths. He still had the EMF gripped tightly in his hand but it wouldn't be working for awhile after smacking into the ground like that. "Yeah. Sure. I think…I think so. That was…a very stupid idea on my part."

"No, it was my fault. I should have been able to hang onto you, I was just—"

"Hello? Someone back here?" came the voice of a teenage girl suddenly, and before Cam could finish what he was about to say or maybe roll off of Dean so their position didn't look quite so incriminating, the girl from the stage parted the curtain and found them tangled their on the floor. "Oh…uhhh…sorry?" she said, quickly dropping the part of the curtain she had pulled back. She was younger, probably a sophomore, and had long brunette hair tied back from her face. They could hear her walking quickly away from them.

Great. Just what Dean needed. At least Cam was laughing. You can't be tense when you're laughing. "Shut up," Dean said through a grin, tossing Cam off of him, "But I know I got a reading up there. Has to be residue from the Night Hag. At least there's that."

"Yeah," Cam agreed, both of them just lying there on the floor within the curtain like some strange parody to how Dean and Sasha had laid in the greenhouse the night before, "And I didn't drop you," Cam said firmly, "Falling doesn't count. Long as I catch you."

Dean had to grin at that. He looked over at Cam and sat up. "Looks like I owe you one," he said, extending Cam an offered hand, "And Dean Winchester always pays his debts."

Confident that they had gotten what they went off to find, Dean and Cam helped each other to their feet and headed back for the choir room. The girl on the stage cast them strange looks as they left but Dean just smiled wide at her and went on by without a faltering step. He rarely cared what people thought of him and teenage girls were definitely low on the totem pole.

Sam and Sasha were just finishing talking with a girl in the corner of the choir room when they got back. She had natural red hair, pale skin, and looked about as freaked as anyone they had seen, especially for just chatting with the two best pairs of puppy dog eyes in all the world. They waited until she dashed off before approaching their companions.

"Why are you two all dusty?" Sasha asked, staring at Dean's slightly dirty leather jacket and Cam's now very grey winter coat.

"Uhh…catwalk trouble," Dean decided on saying, and cast Cam a small look of 'please go along with that'.

Cam nodded. "It's crazy dirty up there. But we think we got a reading."

"You did?" Sam asked, "Finally. Night Hag residue?"

"Couldn't be totally sure," Dean admitted, "But I'm guessing. What about you two?"

"We got through everyone but one of the girls," Sasha said, "That last one was Jennifer, the one Leven mentioned last night. Sam?" Sasha turned to Sam for confirmation but he didn't look too accusing.

Sam shook his head. "Not her. Or any of the others so far. Jennifer is definitely scared though, which makes me think she could be a new target, but it's not her. She's hiding something I couldn't quite read but she's no Night Hag. There's just one more kid to see. When we talked with Mrs. Larson," he said, pointing to the now closed office door of the choir room, "She said Tina, the last girl on our list, would be in the auditorium now practicing. She's one of the other leads."

"Sure," Dean said, "There was a girl in there when we left. Let's go."

The four of them headed immediately back the way Cam and Dean had come from. The girl was stretching on the stage when they got back. Surprisingly, Jennifer was there too, hanging back by the door. Dean made to approach her since she still looked so freaked about something but as soon she saw that she was no longer alone she made a quick exit.

"Better keep an eye on that girl," Dean said to the others, "She's got victim written all over her."

The others nodded their agreement but continued for the stage. The brunette turned out to be Tina just as they suspected and talked openly when they asked her questions. Dean didn't get any feeling that she was anything but a normal high school girl, and glances at Cam and Sasha said they weren't picking up anything strange from her either. Sam, on the other hand, was a whole other story.

No one else would have been able to notice, but Dean knew how to read his brother. Sam was tense and very alert as he talked to Tina, gauging her much more scrutinizingly than he had with Jennifer. There was definitely something going on beneath the surface that neither Dean nor the incubi could sense.

Sam very quickly ushered them all out of the auditorium after they were finished speaking with her and said without any hesitation, "It's her. I'm positive."

"What?" Cam looked completely taken aback, "What are you talking about? She wasn't lying about anything. Totally genuine. Sash?"

Sasha was frowning and his eyebrows were tightly furrowed, but it was obvious he trusted Sam's intuition. "I didn't sense anything off either but you seem pretty sure, Sam. How do you know it's her?"

Dean didn't have any doubts if his brother was certain, much as he was the one person in their party who couldn't sense anything supernatural. He was still a little surprised though when Sam answered. "Because," Sam said, "I couldn't read anything from her."

"You couldn't access her thoughts?" Sasha asked.

"No," Sam shook his head, "There weren't any thoughts there for me to read. She was just…blank."

--

Leven was not pleased when they told him that they were sure the person they were after was Tina. She was another younger friend of his that he did not feel like losing. She also played the part of Erzulie, the goddess of love in the story, which was one of the major rolls. Jennifer seemed afraid of her too, something they had surmised from their encounters with the redhead, which led them to believe that the next victims had some sort of link with the Night Hag and on some level knew what they really were. This meant the hunters' time was very limited. They had to set up some kind of test and trap for that very night or risk someone else—probably Jennifer—ending up dead.

There was practice that night and both Jennifer and Tina would be there. Jennifer was the other goddess in the story, Asaka, mother of the earth. Their scenes were often together, which meant they would be offstage together too. Dean and the others needed Leven to keep the people on stage occupied so that they could test to be certain Tina was a Night Hag and keep a watchful eye on Jennifer. This seemed doable enough with so many of them. Leven was on board as long as they made certain they were sure before doing anything to Tina.

Since Night Hags had been often mistaken for regular vampires in legends, there were two surefire old vampire tricks they could use to make sure they were right about Tina. The first was an allergy to garlic. The second was that a Night Hag could not cross running water. Actual vampires had always thought that one was ridiculous in relationship to them, but for Night Hags it had some sense. The first Night Hag had been a wronged soul that was drowned and brought back by demonic forces to feed off others' fears. She could never escape her own fear of water, however, and passed that onto her progeny.

The hard part wasn't getting things set up. The hard part was passing Tina several times throughout the rest of the day, knowing what they knew, and being unable to do anything. At least Night Hags weren't at all psychic; hopefully she wouldn't even know what hit her until they struck.

Before practice started the group made sure the main curtain was drawn. There was plenty of room to practice in front of the curtain since the cast was only doing simple blocking at this point and would assume the set was being worked on backstage.

Sam had set up a sort of mini trough of water made from rubber matting they found that had been used for the school's previous musical "Singing in the Rain". Sasha smirked knowingly at Dean when they discovered that. It was one of his favorite musicals, not that he'd ever admit it. Cam and Sasha set up the garlic trap, a bucket they would let dust down from the catwalk. Dean's job was to lure Tina into all the right places.

"You promise you'll be sure she's this fear vampire thing before you kill her?" Leven asked for probably the hundredth time before practice started.

Dean placed a firm hand on the kid's shoulder and squeezed. "We're professionals. We're not gonna let some sweet high school kid get killed on accident, okay? We'll be sure."

"I just…I can't believe it's her. She's been acting weird like a lot of people but…but she's nice. Really nice. You better be really sure." Leven was clutching his script like it held all the answers to the universe.

Cam came over and patted Leven's other shoulder before giving the kid a good push towards the front of the stage. "Don't worry, Lev. Now go do your part or the whole thing's screwed. Keep the cast out front where they belong and just get Tina to come back here. That's all ya gotta do. If we're wrong and she's home free…well, just hope she is the villain coz otherwise we're pretty much shooting blanks back here and we're gonna have to start from square one." He tried to grin and make Leven feel better but it wasn't working.

The kid was acting so normal and fidgety and quiet that Dean knew Leven had to be even more freaked out than he was letting on. Still, Leven nodded and headed out front. As soon as the scenes started blocking he was going to work a little magic and get Tina to head backstage. Since Sam had already prepared the water, his job now was to keep an eye on Jennifer.

Once they proved Tina was the Night Hag all they needed in order to kill her was a shot to the heart. Any type of bullet or metal for a knife would work. These things weren't picky in that department so it made it easier. Getting the body out of the school without attracting attention, that would require a little stealth, but it's not like they were lacking in that department.

Dean waited near the edge of the curtain for Leven to get Tina backstage. He could hear when practice started, eyeing the others in their various positions—Cam and Sasha up above in the catwalk and Sam around the other side hiding behind unpainted flats to keep an eye on Jennifer. With everything in place, Dean was surprised when his phone vibrated with a text message from Sam before things really got rolling.

'_Jennifer's with Tina. Heading your way'_, said the message.

_That_ was a little different than they had planned, but all the better if Dean was right there.

"Just a few minutes," Dean heard from Tina as the girls neared him, "We really should talk about—"

"Hey there, girls, aren't you s'pposed to be out there?" Dean said as soon as they came into view, looking like he was just casually hanging out backstage to check on things.

Jennifer turned terrified eyes on Dean, more beseeching than Dean had ever seen.

"You remember me," Dean said, taking Tina's arm and pulling her towards him to free Jennifer from the other girl's hold, "One of the detectives working out these strange deaths. Mind if I ask you a few more quick questions while you're not busy? You should probably run back around," Dean said with a wink at Jennifer.

The redhead nodded eagerly and was instantly gone. Tina was good though; she turned to Dean and didn't appear at all put out. "Of course, officer. Or is it just Mr…whatever it was. Sorry, I forget. But you're not really an officer, are you?"

_Not in the least_, Dean thought. "I suppose not. But I'm not really into titles. Just call me Dean. Now…" Dean had a whole crapload of, well, _crap_ that he could spew at her while he got the girl in position. If Cam and Sasha dusted the garlic correctly then Tina shouldn't even notice it until she started reacting. Whether she reacted or not, Dean's next objective was to get her into the water trap, which would hold her as good as any devil's trap if she was a Night Hag.

Dean chatted away as he led Tina to the center of backstage just beneath the catwalk and waited. And waited. And glared up for a brief moment after he had waited for far longer than he felt he should have. It was a good thing he looked up then too because he saw not a sprinkling heading their way but the whole mass of garlic that must have been tipped over in their haste when they realized Dean was in position. Dean had one chance to move Tina out of the way and risk her realizing what they were up to. He sidestepped just in time, pulling Tina along with him towards the tough of water. Dean heard the phoosh sound as all that garlic salt hit the floor at once and quickly raised his voice in hopes that Tina wouldn't. She didn't turn back, so he led her onward.

The water trap was near impossible to see until you were inside it and then it was Sam's job to come out and close the end of it so it was a complete circle. Getting inside was easy, keeping Tina distracted while Sam snuck around and put in place the last bit of tarp was even easier since she was being so attentive. Getting out without alerting her might be a little tougher, but just when Dean was going to start backing away as casually as he could, Tina stepped closer to the wall…and right over that side of the trough without batting an eyelash.

"That's bad," she said, touching a water spot left from when Sam filled the tarp, "Hope it doesn't stain or anything." Tina turned back to Dean then and stepped over the trap again completely unaware.

He was pretty sure he was gapping at her. They were wrong. "Right. Hopefully not," Dean tried to grin, "Well I guess that's all I needed. You should probably get back." Dean had all intentions of turning around and walking right to where Sam was hiding to smack him one, since somehow this had to be his fault as far as Dean was concerned, but he had sort of forgotten about the tarp being closed off now and stepped right into the water.

A second later Dean slipped from the unexpected footing and fell back, which knocked him right into Tina and brought both of them down hard to the floor of the stage.

It would have been awkward, a grown man landing on a young teenage chick who was probably only sixteen, especially since their groins were lined up when Dean turned over to make sure she was okay. It _would_ have been awkward…if that wasn't suddenly their saving grace.

Tina howled, a sound thankfully drowned out by the singing coming from up front, and when Dean looked down between them he saw why. The charm he had been keeping on his belt to ward off demon possession since Bobby gave it to him after their second Meg encounter was burning into the visible skin between Tina's shirt and jeans.

Dean jerked his attention back to the girl's eyes and was not surprised to find them glaring at him in all over black. They were wrong all right. This wasn't a Night Hag. It was a fucking demon!

"Shit!" Dean rolled off of the girl as quick as he could but she was just as fast. Tina rolled right back on top of him and pressed his hands into the floor, pinning him.

"Water trap," she said with a grin, and then sniffed the air, "And garlic. Thought I was a Night Hag, pretty boy? Sorry to disappoint." She lunged down at Dean and Dean braced himself for anything, but thankfully Sam had not gone far after closing off the trap and he was right there to pull the girl back. Sam looked equally shocked when he ripped her off of Dean only to find black eyes and that this was not the creature they were anticipating.

"Demon!" Dean managed to call out as Sam held her, "Banish the bitch!"

But as much as Sam seemed to be concentrating, the girl merely writhed in his hold and eventually broke free with a kick at his shins. She sprinted for the other side of the stage.

Dean was on his feet and reaching down quickly to pull Sam back up onto his too in a heartbeat. "What's wrong with you!?" Dean shouted as they ran to catch up, "I said banish her!"

"I tried!" Sam shouted back, and then hushed his voice because they could hear that the singing had come to end for now and this would not be a good time for the cast to come wandering backstage, "It wouldn't work. She's not a normal demon, Dean. I can't sense her. And if I can't sense her…" Sam didn't finish but Dean understood.

Can't sense. Can't control. Can't banish.

Great.

"Dean looked up and whispered as loudly as he thought he could get away with, "A little help down here!" Tina was almost to the curtain where she could run back around and hide amongst the other students. And Sam and Dean were too far away to catch her.

Just then a great swoop of dark brown wings came down from just beyond stage left. Cam landed in front of where Tina intended to go, blocking her. Before she could think to turn around and run the other direction, Sasha landed just behind her. She was trapped between two sturdy incubi who could hit just as hard as any demon.

But then they had already noted that she couldn't be any normal demon.

Without any seeming effort Tina shot her hands out at Sasha's chest and caused the redhead to fly backwards and land hard and painful on his wings several yards away. Cam looked understandably frightened now but Tina didn't care about him. She headed for the middle of the stage, uncaring that she would be going out right through the middle where more people would be able to see her.

This brought her closer to Sam and Dean again and Dean pushed Sam towards her while he headed back to the storage closet by the water trap. "Keep her back here!" Dean yelled through a whisper again, "Give me thirty seconds!" Dean didn't have time to check if Sam planned to heed him. He ran for the closet and found what he was looking for immediately. A brand new bucket of black paint just waiting for something to color with it. Dean pulled the can out, opened it, and set to work with the first brush he spotted.

This was still a demon. Sam might not be able to do anything for whatever reason, but that charm hurt her and her eyes were still black. Dean was willing to bet a devil's trap would still be enough to hold her.

Making sure he was far enough from the water to avoid it bleeding into the lines of paint, Dean began as meticulous as he could. He didn't have to be perfect, but if he was too sloppy it might not work. As he painted he risked only passing glances up at the fight. Cam was actually proving to be a lot more helpful than Dean expected. He watched as the bronze incubus grabbed Tina's shoulder and raised her into the air, flying high as he could up into the rafters. But Tina—or at least the demon inside her—was vicious. It turned its head to get at one of his legs and bit hard into his shin, causing Cam to immediately drop her with a growl.

Even if the demon would survive hitting the floor below, they couldn't risk the actual Tina breaking any limbs from that fall. Sam's arm shot out and he studied the girl with his TK. He didn't need to use his arm of course, but he had said it made it easier to have a point to focus his energy. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground but as soon as she touched down it was as if she tossed his powers aside, because he was not strong enough to hold her. She dove for him, seeing him as the largest threat and wrapped her hands around his throat.

Sasha was right there to try and pull the possessed girl off of him but her grip was steadfast. Cam had landed back down behind them but he was limping and Dean could see that the bite he had sustained had taken out a good chunk of flesh. Dean felt his own legs twitch to run over there and help, but he was almost done with the trap, and even as he watched he saw Sam bring his hands to Tina's wrists and burn her with the melting power.

The demon threw back her head to scream as her grip loosened, but Sasha brought a claw to her mouth to silence her and pulled her the rest of the way off of Sam's body. Again, Sam pointed an arm at her and this time his TK seemed more capable of holding her still. Sasha still kept a firm hold on her, though, and as he took a moment to calm, he looked across the stage at Dean.

Dean had just finished painting the trap and was satisfied enough to gesture them over. And then Dean saw Sasha's eyes widen. He wasn't looking at Dean, however, he was looking past him. Dean didn't even want to look because he could already imagine what he would find. Leven was standing there with Jennifer, obviously having been trying to keep the girl from wandering backstage again since his hand was tight on her arm. Both of the teenagers' eyes were wide with fear and Dean knew it wasn't just because Tina looked wild with full black eyes. There were two incubi in all their glory back there.

"Dean!" Dean heard Sasha yell and he immediately turned back because that was no whisper or try for being hushed. Somehow the demon had broken free of Sasha's hold and the steadying power of Sam's TK. She was sprinting back across the stage towards him. No, Dean thought, not towards him. He looked again at his new companions. She was going for Jennifer and Leven.

"Hurry!" Dean said, rushing to them and pushing them back towards the front of the stage.

"But…but is that really…" Leven was looking past Dean at Sasha and Cam.

Dean didn't have time to explain. "We'll tell you later. Just trust us. Trust me. And take this." Dean ripped the anti-possessing charm from his belt and pushed into Leven's hand. "Don't let go of it. Now get back out there." Dean pushed at them again, both of them looking so scared and yet still they listened.

There was barely enough time for Dean to turn around before Tina was upon him. Dean could see Sam, Cam, and Sasha all rushing to reach him and offer their aid, but she was faster even than the two of them who had wings. Dean moved to just in front of the devil's trap and braced himself.

Without hesitation the demon plowed right into him, knocking both of them back inside the trap. That would have been great if Dean didn't know he would be inadvertently disconnecting the lines with his body if he crawled across them to get out, and he also had the chance of completely brushing the paint off when he did that too. Being trapped inside the trap with her was not a pleasant third option.

Dean did not have anywhere near the strength of Sasha, Cam, or his brother, but he struggled as best he could to just hold Tina in place. He reached for the holy water he always kept in his flask—well holy water mixed with whiskey since once in a while he wanted a swig for himself—and just managed to get the cap off and flick it towards Tina's neck.

The usual hiss and sizzle came, Tina howling once more in pain and lifting up just enough for Dean to start scrambling away. But as Dean moved out of the trap he watched and was horrified that it was not just the demon sizzling. The girl's skin was burning too, blistering and smoking from the holy water. That wasn't supposed to happen with normal possession.

Only one of his feet was still inside the trap when Tina rounded on him again and caught it. She could still get out. With Dean's foot across the trap it made the marking invalid until he moved it, and she wasn't letting go.

"Such…fighters, you hunters are," the thing inside Tina hissed, her neck an angry, blistered red, "You want this girl so badly? _Have her_. I can still finish this." Then Tina's mouth was open and the usual sight of black smoke poured out of her and sped faster than any feet could catch around the other side of the curtain towards the practicing children and their director.

"No!" Dean easily pulled his foot free from the now limp body of Tina and ran for the curtain. He knew he couldn't just run out there but if he could see who the demon went into it would be enough. By the time Dean had a clear view of the stage, however, he couldn't see anything. It looked as if they were just practicing, as if nothing had been disturbed. The other side of the curtain was dimmed to most of the backstage sound, so no one even seemed alerted.

Damn it. That demon could have gone anywhere. Into anyone. This was much worse than they had first thought.

They had no choice but to disrupt practice after that, bringing the burnt and very weak body of Tina around to the front for someone to call an ambulance. She was alive, ridden pretty hard as hosts usually were, but alive was better than nothing. Leven seemed overjoyed to find her that way but Tina, only partially conscious, flinched away from everyone who came near her. She was hysterical. That didn't surprise Dean at all.

Worst was that there was no real way to check to see who the demon had gone into without letting all of the students and Mrs. Larson know what was really going on. They simply said that they had found the person responsible but that the culprit managed to sneak away before they could get a good look at them. Still, they assured Mrs. Larson that these were not accidents befalling her students.

"What kind of demon possession lets the host get burned by holy water?" Cam was saying as they waited off on the sidelines while the paramedics hauled Tina way, "And Sam…you're supposed to be able to sense demons, right? And…and make them do things. It was like you didn't have any effect on it at all."

"I know," Sam admitted forlornly, "And I think I know why. Dean, do you remember the last time we fought a demon that let the host get burned when we used holy water?"

At first Dean thought Sam was out of his mind, because he couldn't think of any recent demon that had manifested that way. But then the memories started inching up from the back of his mind and he could picture it clearly—the burned chest of a possessed copilot. "That damn plane. The Chaos Demon thing that liked to bring down flights," Dean said in realization. That had been a different kind of demon all right. It needed to be made manifest before it could even be exorcised, like it wasn't really anchored enough on earth but could still possess and do damage.

"Chaos Demon?" Sasha questioned, looking very disturbed by that wording, "Like a phantom? A shadow demon that isn't completely here?"

"You don't think…?" Cam broke in, looking equally troubled.

Sasha nodded solemnly. "Dark fae. Demons before there were demons. They don't come from Hell. They've always been here, but they were banished by the true fae from the other realm and call no place home now. They have no true substance. They need to feed on possessing others to gain strength. No wonder this thing was so wicked strong that even your powers wouldn't work, Sam. It's been feeding off the kids here for weeks."

"So it can just move on to a different kid every so often and get stronger," Dean repeated, "Seems a little easy."

"Oh there's a catch," Sasha explained, "It would have taken a long time to possess the first person for one. And then it would have left that person for another, leaving the first host weak and afraid. Normally, they kill that first host with their second one and continue repeating the process until they're strong enough to claim a final host. One they can keep."

That didn't sound promising.

"It's rare. Almost never happens. Because someone from this realm has to summon one before the process can even begin." Sasha shook his head. "We could be dealing with two villains here. The shadow demon and a master pulling its strings. This is bad."

Fan-fucking-tastic, Dean thought. He was still wishing this had just been a Night Hag. Quick and clean. He was about to say something more after that, but the paramedics had left with Tina and the students were starting to disperse. They needed a plan of action. "That demon, and maybe its master are among these kids. We can't just let them all go," Dean said in an angry whisper.

"And we can't exactly attack," Sam whispered back, "We have to wait until tomorrow. Come up with something new. It's not strong enough yet to claim its final host, right?" he turned to Sasha.

"I don't think so," Sasha shrugged, "Seems it was probably in Jennifer before, leaving her freaked, and that's why it was gonna kill her next. It might come after Jennifer then, or Tina, or maybe someone else. Even if it went straight for the person it wants to keep for a body, it's going to need to kill at least one of them, probably both in order to become completely whole. We'd be able to kill it then, but I'd rather not wait until it's gotten what it wants. If we can find the current host, manifest it solid outside of that person, and then do an exorcism, that will kill it. They can't survive being sent to Hell."

Which is why it seemed pretty obvious to Dean that they needed to find the current host _now_. "Which is exactly why we should—"

"Hey…guys?" interrupted a soft, somewhat frightened sounding voice from outside their tight circle. It sounded so wrong to hear that particular voice so timid.

Dean turned back to see Leven standing behind them. The rest of the room was almost completely cleared out. They had convinced Mrs. Larson not to call the police. That would just make things more complicated. She agreed because she felt they had done such a bang up job so far that she trusted PIs much more to get things done right.

Leven attempted a smile but it was obvious he was scared. Of them. "I…uhh…I got Jenn to say…she won't tell anyone about…what she saw. She's so scared, she…just wants to forget it all anyway. And…and I won't tell anyone either. I won't tell Wade, I promise," he said softly to Cam, "I mean…I know you're…not…you're not the bad guys, right?" He sounded hopeful but still so very frightened.

"Lev," Cam said as calm and steady as Dean had ever heard from the guy, "I'll be straight with you. Sasha and I, yeah we're the good guys with Sam and Dean here, but…we're not human. I'm guessing that was pretty obvious. But there is good in some of the scary things out there. I'd never hurt your sister. Or you. Please know that."

The smile tried so hard to be real. "I-I know. She…she's here to pick me up. I think I'm gonna go home. You guys…you saved Jenn and Tina's lives. I know there's this thing still out there but…I believe you're the good guys, I do. Monsters or not." He managed to grin finally and shrugged a little sheepishly. "Let me know what's going on tomorrow okay?" And with that Leven turned around fairly swiftly and headed for the double doors.

Dean really hated to see the kid so scared, hard as he was trying. It kind of reminded him of Cam a little. "You guys work on our plans for hunting this thing down tomorrow. I'm gonna make sure jailbait's really okay." Dean didn't wait for a go-ahead before he ran after Leven either.

He was about halfway to catching up with the kid when he suddenly stepped on something that made him pause long enough to look down. There was something glittering beneath the overhead lights. Dean bent down to pick it up and saw that it was his charm, the one he had given to Leven. That was something he definitely didn't want the kid losing at this point.

Leven was only just opening the doors to leave when Dean caught up to him, charm in hand. But something had started eating away at Dean as he rushed to catch the kid, something heavy and hot that burned in his gut and brought his mind back to the night before and those tarot cards.

He had so many things he had planned to say to Leven to ease the kid's mind after tonight, but when Dean finally reached out and grabbed for Leven's shoulder, only one word formed on his lips.

"Christo."

The thin, agile body of the young teenager went instantly rigid, and when Leven turned around to face Dean, his eyes pitch black from his whites to his irises, he was grinning wickedly.'

tbc...

A/N: Sorry for the delay this week. I've been a little under the weather. But look at this crazy long chapter in apology. :-) And hey, is that a cliffhanger? Go figure. ;-) Thanks so much as always for your continued support and the wonderful new additions. Head over to the website again for yet ANOTHER new fanart. This one is called 'Your Incubus is Showing...' and is very cute. Need to rest up and get better. All my love, my dears!

Crim


	48. Part 8: All That Resentment

Part 8: All That Resentment

--

Those eyes, black all over and so inhumanly flat, were always jarring for Dean and usually filled him with disgust. That was still true but so much more so when it was times like this and those eyes were looking out of a body Dean cared about. In reality Dean barely knew Leven but he knew he wanted the kid to live to become legal. For Leven's own sake. So he could leave high school things behind as quickly as possible and find whatever it was he really wanted out of life.

And no demon from Hell or otherwise was going to keep him from that.

Dean maintained a firm hold on Leven's shoulder and made to call out to the others. He had barely taken in that single anticipated breath before sudden pain shot throughout his chest as Leven—no, the thing inside of him, the damn _demon_—slammed an open palm into his solar plexus and sent Dean flying back into the auditorium. Dean was winded even before he hit the carpet hard on his back. He gasped for air, numb for a moment, but was then thankful as his senses came back to him that he didn't feel any broken ribs. His body was nothing if not resilient.

"Dean!" came Sam's voice first, then Sasha's, and even Cam's as the three of them rushed over to gather around where he had fallen. All Dean could think of right then was no, not him, don't gather around _him_. They needed to get to Leven! But it was going to be too late anyway, Dean knew, because by the time he could form words and force them from his mouth again the double doors were swinging back and forth and Leven was long gone.

"Le…Leven," Dean gasped past the painful blow and crumble to the floor, staring at the doors before turning to his companions.

The others didn't understand. They hadn't seen Leven; they only saw Dean's spectacular landing. "Leven?" Sam repeated, capable of exploding doors, levitating possessed teenagers, and reading minds for crying out loud, but he couldn't tell that Dean was trying to be urgent for a reason.

Sam was on Dean's left so Dean reached across with his right arm, grabbed Sam by the front of his shirts and yanked Sam down closer to his level. "The damn…shadow demon…went into _Leven_, you dip-shit," Dean managed to growl, "And he's probably…halfway to China by now. Help me up." Pain seared through Dean's chest as he lifted himself to a sitting position and then Cam and Sasha on either side of him hoisted him up by the arms. No broken ribs, but that hit was definitely going to leave a bruise.

"It went into Leven?" Sam was still catching up, the others left gaping and wide-eyed as that information sank in, "But I thought he had your…" Sam trailed as Dean held up the anti-possession charm he had once again picked up from the floor, having managed to hang onto it until his crash landing. "Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_," Dean ground out, "Come on." Dean wasn't wasting any more time. He pushed past the others and hurried for the double doors, ignoring any remaining feelings of soreness or being winded.

Cam caught up to Dean first. "Leven? You're sure?" he asked, sounding somewhere between forlorn and frantic, "But he was just talking to us. He seemed fine."

They picked up the pace, rushing now, running down the hallways for the front of the building where they assumed Leven had gone to meet Wade. "Yeah, and I just threw _myself_ twenty yards through the air. _Backwards_," Dean said with no cap on his sarcasm. He didn't even look at Cam as he and the others broke into a dead run. Leven was not coming into view. "It's Leven. No doubt. I gave him the ol' 'Christo' test run and the black on black eyes makes me think he didn't quite pass as much as we would hope. Shit. _Shit_. He trusted us to protect him, god damn it!"

"But you did," Sam insisted. They were all getting out of breath but they were almost to the front now. It was worth it if they could catch Wade before she drove off with her newly possessed little brother. Who knows if he had plans to just kill her when he got the chance. "You gave him the anti-possession charm, Dean," Sam went on, "I don't know what happened after that, if he dropped it or it got knocked away or what. But you did everything you could."

Dean was so sick of hearing that. He didn't reply to Sam and was infused with an even stronger sense of urgency when they reached the main doors to the building. They were locked now so once they sprinted out into the night they wouldn't be able to get back in. By normal means anyway.

Dean doubted that was going to be a problem, however, considering he nearly slammed the door he was exiting into Wade Taylor's face. She jumped back just in time, her hand still raised as though she had been about to knock on the glass.

"Holy Hell," Wade exclaimed, raising both arms and gaping at the four men that pretty much toppled over onto each other inside the now open doorway, "What the hell are you guys doing? Coz if it was some kind of chivalry thing about who could open the door for me first, I'm not quite that helpless. Not that I believe in that whole chivalry is dead thing because frankly it'd be nice if doors always opened—"

"Wade," Cam broke in, serious as he could manage as he attempted to push past the others and reach his more or less girlfriend. He was the only one outside with her then, the others untangling themselves and being sure to keep the door open. Dean recognized that he was pretty much leaning almost all the way out of the door and he couldn't help scanning the parking lot. "Did Leven come out to you?" Cam asked Wade, "Where is he? Did you see him?"

Cam continued with a few more like strings of questioning but Wade was having none of it and quickly pressed a finger to his lips. "Honey. Breathe," she said, silencing him, "No, I haven't seen Evelyn. Why do you think I'm coming into the school? I was wondering what was keeping him. I thought I passed an ambulance on the way. Was there another death? Oh, god, it wasn't Evie, was it?" Suddenly, she looked stricken, as broken from her serious, take-no-shit exterior as Dean had ever seen.

"No," Sam supplied, "But it might be worse." Leaving that brutally honest truth hanging, Sam put a hand on both Dean and Sasha's arms to grab their attention. "He's still in the building. Has to be. He knows he can't risk going home. We'd find him there. Besides, he has to kill either Tina or Jennifer. And it has to be here." Sam turned on his heels and headed back inside the building.

No more needed to be said to Dean, much as he had questions, and he and Sasha immediately followed. It didn't take long for Cam and Wade to push their way into the building after them. "Tina and Jennifer? Those two sophomore friends of his?" Wade pressed, hot on Sam's trail and getting right up into his face—much as she was over a foot shorter than him, "And what do you mean kill? What's going on?" Wade was understandably frantic.

Sam stopped in the middle of the main school hallway, looking down one end and then the other. He ignored Wade, taking a moment to close his eyes and concentrate. Dean knew what his brother had to be doing—trying to sense Leven or the demon somehow—but how his brother could tune out the incessant questioning and increasingly higher pitched voice of a distressed older sister was truly amazing.

"Answer me!" Wade finally shrieked.

Sam's eyes opened. "Nothing. I can't feel him anywhere. I'm just not on the same wavelength as this thing." Sam turned his head to Wade and said very clearly, "We found what's been killing the kids. It's some kind of demon, supped up and extremely powerful. And right now it's inside your brother. If we don't find it before school starts tomorrow then it's going to kill Tina or Jennifer, whichever it gets to first, and if that happens the demon will be strong enough to claim its final host. _Leven_."

"What?" Sasha and Cam said almost simultaneously. Dean had already assumed that much when he first found the charm on the floor and approached Leven thinking of that tarot reading. If Leven was supposed to be the climax of all this then being totally taken over by a demon certainly was climactic.

"How are we supposed to track it if you can't sense it, Sammy?" Dean started right in. They didn't have time for Wade to play catch-up or for any of them to freak out. They had to save the kid at all costs and they only had twelve hours to do it. If this thing was hiding out in the school until morning then it would be almost impossible to find by normal means.

"It knows it's safe in Leven's body. It knows we won't want to risk hurting him," Sam said, "Using holy water could hurt Leven just as much as the demon, we know that now after seeing what happened to Tina. It might be cocky enough that it will play with us a little instead of just hiding. We could give the school a quick sweep and see if it makes a move."

"And if it doesn't?" This was Sasha now, more inclined to leave panic behind since he was just as much a trained hunter as Sam and Dean. Wade and Cam, on the other hand, looked pale and shaken.

There was silence for a moment while Sam tried to think of some alternative to using his powers or just wandering aimlessly about the school until they got lucky.

Dean had a better idea.

"Hey," he snapped his fingers at Sasha, "You know that summoning spell we used in Danville for Marisol's hex bag? I know summoning demons usually takes a bit more than your average runes and incantations but then…this thing isn't your average demon. Might be worth a try. We summon it, do that whole 'make it manifest' spell quick enough, we could get this thing outta Leven and banish it no problem. Better than having to chase it down through the whole school. We'd have to set up devil's traps at every corner. Already have that one on the stage they're gonna be wondering about." Huh. Dean had almost forgotten about that with everything that had been going on. Maybe Mrs. Larson could incorporate it into the musical somehow.

Sam had regained his right as journal carrier after last night and quickly took it out of his jacket pocket to begin leafing through the pages. "Which summoning spell was that again?"

--

They tried to convince Wade to go home, that it just wasn't safe for a moderately powered psychic once things got into full-blown hunt mode. Dean almost didn't want Cam sticking around either. As handy as that super-strength often was, the demon inside Leven was far stronger, faster, and an all around pain in the ass. Sam, Dean, and Sasha were really going to have to take the lead as experienced hunters, especially since in the end both Cam and Wade remained part of the party.

The problem with the summoning spell was that it only encompassed a downward radius. Basically, they had to pick the most likely building, go to the roof, do the ritual, and hope they had chosen the right one. The largest main building that included the auditorium seemed almost a sure thing, since all of the deaths had happened at least somewhere in the vicinity. They made quick work of getting to the top of that roof—the same one Leven ate lunch on—and were armed with the already opened can of black paint.

With Marisol they had needed all of the people who had seen the ghost within the last twenty-four hours for the summoning to work. They hoped that using the most recent people to have seen Leven would be close enough and were pretty sure that Dean would be enough on his own.

Wade helped Sam with altering the spell, proving to be a lot more useful than just a tarot reader. She was no true Wiccan or witch but she knew her stuff. Dean and Sasha painted the runes, having done so not all that long ago in California. Cam's job was to keep an eye on the staircase in case the demon decided it wasn't going to play by their rules.

Another drawback to this plan was that since they were using runes to summon the demon they couldn't also paint a devil's trap. The demon would have free reign until they did the spell to manifest it out of Leven's body. A circle of salt could potentially keep it captive but there was no guarantee. They considered painting devil's traps around the runes but didn't want to risk Sam, Cam, or Sasha getting stuck in one of them during a fight. They didn't bother explaining all that to Wade, but Dean was fairly certain that she, like her brother, would eventually find out that her boyfriend and friends weren't all human.

Unless they got really lucky and everything worked out exactly as planned. Coz that happened to them _so_ often.

"We have over an hour," Sam explained after he and Wade were satisfied with the changes they had made to the incantation. Dean and Sasha were almost finished painting. "If we wait until 11:11 there's a better chance this will work. Using the synchronicity time might help boost the spell, especially since we're dealing with something of fae and not just demonic origins."

Personally, Dean had never bought into that whole '11:11' thing, but it was a much more common time for spells and mystical happenings than the Hollywood midnight. Dean glanced at his watch. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet. "Great," he said to his brother, "And in the meantime?"

Sam shrugged. "We wait. Go over the plan as much as possible. Make sure there aren't any holes."

Next to Sam, Wade was hugging herself as if she was freezing even though her fur-lined coat looked warm enough. Dean was impressed with how well she was able to look calm and collected when he recognized the ship-at-sea turmoil in her eyes only too easily. "Hey, Wade," Dean called to her, "Why don't you let Cam know the plan? He's been down the stairs awhile now. Be good to check on him." Dean could tell she needed some comfort and Cam knew her better than they did. She seemed the type that never accepted comfort but took it when and how she needed it. Those types usually needed a little nudge.

Wade didn't say anything but nodded amidst her shivering and immediately headed for the roof door. They didn't even know for sure if Leven was still on the school grounds, but it was the most logical thing. Better to keep busy and try and pass the time doing something other than worry, impossible as that was.

The last part of the painted symbols was Sasha's and he finished with a final, smooth stroke of his brush. They were finished.

"Someone should run down and get the rock salt out of the car," Sasha suggested, wiping his brow. He had worked up a small sweat despite the cold. "I'm still not sure a salt line will work on this thing the same as with a normal demon, but it's worth a try."

"Good idea," Sam agreed. He was still pouring over John's journal and the notes he and Wade had made in the back of the newly written incantation.

"I'll go," Sasha volunteered. He walked up to the edge of the roof and peered off. The Impala was visible, alone and rather stark in the now empty parking lot. "Maybe I should move her. Take away a little suspicion. I'd just fly down but I think Wade might wonder how I got down the steps without her seeing me if she beats me back." Sasha grinned, trying to look coy and lighten the mood as he held a hand out towards Dean. "May I have the honor of the keys, oh lord of the stick shift," he said with a waggled eyebrow.

It had the desired effect because Dean couldn't help grinning as he fished for the keys. He didn't like the idea of any of them going somewhere alone, but they would be able to see Sasha from the roof at least.

Sam, however, made a disgruntled face.

"I so didn't need that mental picture," he grumbled.

Dean just laughed and tossed the keys into Sasha's waiting hand. "Be quick, okay, Casanova?" Dean said. He had a bad feeling about pretty much everything right now. He was impatient by nature but not knowing where Leven was or what the demon inside him was planning made it all a lot worse.

Sasha smiled and left through the roof door, leaving Dean and Sam alone. Dean passed an appraising eye over their work so far. As far as he could tell the runes looked identical to the ones they used in Danville. If the salt line worked they might just be able to pull this off.

By the time Dean looked over at his brother the journal had disappeared, presumably replaced back inside Sam's coat, and Sam was staring out off the roof at the Pittsburgh skyline. Dean had done the same thing yesterday and in almost the exact same spot. He wondered if he had looked as still and thoughtful as Sam looked now, but somehow he doubted it.

Suddenly, Dean was brought back to the night before and he could feel Sasha close and tight behind him as he glanced up and found Sam gazing longingly at what he and Sasha had and at what Sam himself had lost. It boiled in Dean's gut like acid because as far back as he could remember Sam had never looked at him like that. Dean knew how much Sam still mourned for Jess and it wasn't fair. It wasn't.

Whether it was the right or wrong time to bring it up, they had over an hour to kill and Dean could not stop the slow tread of his feet towards his brother. He knew the exact moment when Sam became aware of how close they were beside each other. Senses like that between them had never been supernatural.

Nerves blossomed in Dean's chest and shot down into his hands, tingling through his fingertips. He could feel the question rising to his lips. All he needed to do was open his mouth and speak it.

"Dean…do you resent me?"

For a second Dean honestly wondered if he had actually just said that but for whatever reason had forgotten that he and his brother did not share the same name. Realizing how ridiculous that was, Dean turned to Sam a little shocked. "What? What are you talking about?" Did Sam somehow know that Dean had been about to say the same thing? It really wouldn't be all that surprising if he did.

"Do you resent me?" Sam said again, soft but clear and without faltering. Slowly, Sam turned his head to look at Dean directly. "I lied before. That my…accidental peek inside your head was when you were thinking about hunt stuff. You weren't."

Crap. That didn't bode well. Dean tried to remain unmoved as he swallowed back his anxiety and said, "Then…what did you see?" Resentment wasn't what Dean worried about Sam finding, but there were plenty of other horrible things rattling around Dean's brain that were much worse.

Sam didn't turn away when he answered, not like Dean expected. Brown-green eyes stared straight into his. "You're scared, Dean," Sam said simply, "Something you've admitted, which isn't like you at all. But even when you're scared of _me_…you never doubt me. You never doubt that I'm stronger than what's inside of me."

"And…this is a bad thing?" Dean still didn't see how any of that added up to resentment, pleased as he was that Sam hadn't said anything about Dean's nightmares.

"Do you remember that first shapeshifter we fought?" Sam said without answering Dean's question, "The one who made himself look like you?"

How could Dean forget? "With excruciating detail. Why?"

Sam turned to look out over the city again. "He…was able to tap into your head. Into your thoughts. Your memories," Sam admitted, "That's how he tried to trick me, how he almost did, because…he was so completely _you_. And there were…things he said…"

"Sammy," Dean sighed. Back then Dean had expected this conversation at some point, and they had had variations of it from time to time, but Dean had thought it was all behind them now. "That was two years ago, man. We're not the same people—"

"I know," Sam cut in, "We're so far removed from the way we were then sometimes I barely recognize us." Sam didn't mean that as a jab at Dean but he certainly didn't seem to mean it very kindly towards himself. "I didn't see resentment, Dean. I don't…feel it from you now. But I wonder…sometimes…about the things he said to me. With your voice. Your feelings."

"Sam…"

"I got to have four years of a normal life and you didn't."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, "And then you had it all ripped out of your hands when I showed up to ruin everything." Dean said that bitterly, unexpectedly, and immediately regretted revealing it when Sam turned to him with puppy eyes drowning in pain.

"You…you don't think of it like that, do you?" Sam asked, heartbroken as a ten-year-old.

Dean didn't have anything to say in his defense. He just stared down at his hands resting on the high ledge of the roof.

"Dean," Sam called to him in that pitiable tone Dean heard so often it choked him. He could feel Sam's eyes glued to the side of his face. "The thing that happened? _Jess_? That wasn't because of you. It would have happened anyway. Because of me. Because the Yellow-Eyed Demon wanted _me_. You can't blame yourself for everything bad that happens to the people around you."

A part of Dean wanted to say "Why not?" because he couldn't help thinking things were his fault when it was always the people around _him_ who got hurt or killed or worse. He was supposed to protect Sam. And Sasha. And Leven…

"Dean, the only thing that's made it possible for me to keep doing this, to keep living and hunting and trying to help people despite everything that's happened to me…and everything…I am, is having you here with me. Do you think I want to save you from Hell because of guilt or obligation? Coz ya know, every once in a while…your company's not so bad either."

Dean could hear the smile in those final words. He could hear the playfulness that would almost be entirely genuine if it wasn't accompanied by so much sorrow.

The truth was Dean didn't hate chick flick moments because he thought guys who cried and got over-emotional were weak. He hated them because they made him look too much at himself, and as handsome as he knew he was, Dean Winchester had never been fond of his reflection.

"I saw you," Dean breathed, unconsciously turning the silver ring round and round his ring finger, "Last night. When we were…making fools of ourselves dancing, I saw you. You shouldn't ever…look at me like that. Wishing you were me. You shouldn't have to do that."

A sharp intake of breath indicated that Sam had not realized he had been caught until that moment.

"You ask if I resent _you_," Dean went on, finally mustering the courage to glance at Sam with a sideways flit of his eyes, "Maybe I did once. Maybe I wished I could stand up to Dad like you did and live my life instead of the one he wanted for me. But none of that matters anymore. It's you and me, Sammy. You and me. I wouldn't want it any other way. So if I'm not resenting you…then I don't want it going the other way either. I'm going to Hell, dude. It can't be healthy to wish you were me." Dean tried to smile, to find some humor the way Sam had, but he was pretty sure the expression came off as more of a grimace.

Then Sam was suddenly smiling wide enough for both of them, real and not at all pitying. "I don't resent you, Dean," he said, "Not for Sasha. How could I? He's wonderful and perfect for you and I love him. He's probably the only friend I've had outside of you and college since…ever. I can't deny that I…miss Jess," Sam said and Dean thought his brother's lip quivered a little when he said her name that time, "I miss having…what you and Sasha have. But _you're_ not what I resent."

Dean's brow furrowed, confused by what Sam meant, but he knew his brother was going to explain.

"This life," Sam continued, slouched against the side of the ledge but still so tall, so sturdy, "Doing what we do—fighting demons, saving people, being hunters. It took the love of my life away from me. And gave you yours." Sam smiled as he said that but Dean felt the words like the worst kind of blow. "The thing is, I think we're still disgustingly equal, Dean. No short straw for just one of us. I had Jess and lost her. You have Sasha…but with a time limit. So no, Dean, I don't resent you. I resent _that_."

The part of Dean's heart that had sunk into his stomach when he saw Leven with those black eyes was suddenly joined by the rest of it. He looked up fully finally and his eyes became entrapped by Sam's, by all that forlorn love and indignancy. Dean wanted to wipe it all away so that only the love would be left, the way it had been so briefly when Sam was little.

But someone, somewhere decided long ago that neither of them was worthy of that.

"We are a couple of sorry fucks, ya know that?" Dean tried to grin.

It was amazing how Sam's dimples showed even when the smile was fake. "Yep," he laughed falsely, "Must run in the family."

God damn it. Suddenly, Dean just wanted to cry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sam deserved better. _He_ deserved better.

They had to make it better.

"Dean! Sam!"

_Sasha_. Dean was instantly alert. He turned his head towards Sasha's voice by the door and barely had time to register how urgent that voice sounded before the urgent body that went with it came rushing towards them.

"Cam and Wade!" Sasha called as he reached them, the canister of rock salt falling from his hand with a clank on the cement roof, "They're not up here? They're not down the stairs. I didn't see them anywhere. They were there when I went down." Sasha glanced frantically about the roof.

"Just calm down, man," Dean said, holding Sasha steady by the shoulders. At least Sasha had been fast about running to the car, moving it, and grabbing the rock salt. If something had happened then at least they hadn't lost much time. "Maybe they went to check something. Maybe Wade had to pee," Dean tried to joke, "Don't get carried away til we're sure. Try Cam's cell." Dean was thankful that one of the first things they had done was exchange numbers.

Sasha nodded shakily and dug for his phone. It wasn't like him to lose his cool so easily but then he had already lost Cam once. He bounced impatiently as the phone rang. Finally, it must have picked up because Sasha said, "Thank god," with relief rushing to his face, "Where are you guys? I almost had a heart attack."

Dean watched as Sasha listened and the incubus' face went immediately blank with horror. Sam and Dean were at Sasha's side the next second, craning their heads to better hear the other end of the line.

The chill that ran down Dean's spine as he listened reminded him unfairly of Kubrick and when the older hunter had called them on Sasha's phone to taunt them and goad them into falling for his trap. Only this time the voice Dean heard was young and full of life that Dean did not want to see taken.

"Let's play a game," said the demon with Leven's voice, "Let's see if you can find them. Find them. Find _me_. I'll even make it easy for you. I've always wanted to play with hunters." The demon laughed and made the chill running down Dean's spine sharpen. The line went dead.

Sasha's arm dropped with the phone still clenched in his hand. He looked unnaturally pale even for him. "What were we thinking?" he said deploringly, "Assuming he would lie low instead of attacking? We should have been more careful. We shouldn't have split up. I'm supposed to be looking out for Cam not getting him killed."

Great. Like what they needed were more thoughts like that. "Okay, you're gonna knock that off right now," Dean said sharply to the incubus, "Because we don't have time to go kicking ourselves for things we can't change. It made sense that the demon wouldn't risk coming after us because we're not what it wants."

"But now it is…" Sam said softly.

"Yeah," Dean rolled his eyes, "I get that it's coming after us now, but—"

"No," Sam broke in, grabbing Dean's arm a little too tightly, "Now it is. Why? Why is it coming after us now? It must have sensed the runes and figured out the spell we're going to try. It's worried. That's the only logical reason it would take a risk like this."

"So then the spell will probably work," Sasha said hopefully.

Sam nodded. "Someone should stay behind and guard the site, wait for 11:11 and make sure the spell gets done. The others can look for Cam and Wade."

"No," Dean said without hesitation, "This thing kicked the crap out of us when we had Cam with us too. If we're going after Cam and Wade then we all go."

"We have to go after them," Sasha said, as if he thought that 'if' meant Dean wanted to just leave the pair up for dead, "We can't just leave them to this thing."

"I get that," Sam said slowly and then looked to Dean again, "But we also can't just—"

"_Sam_." Dean took some pride in how he was just as good as Sam at sounding like Dad when times got too rough to be nice. "If we split someone is going to get killed. Once we know Cam and Wade are okay then one of can make a break for it back here. Only then. And if you even think of trying to mojo me into changing my mind, I swear to _God_," Dean growled when Sam made to open his mouth, "All of us. Are going. Now." Dean pushed Sam and Sasha for the door and stomped after them.

There was a gun tucked into Dean's jeans like always but it was the last thing he wanted to go for right now. He knew this was a bad situation, that they were getting pulled onto the demon's playing field and on his terms, but Dean Winchester did not leave people behind. And he sure as hell knew by now that splitting up was almost never a good idea.

"And another thing. Cam is not your responsibility," Dean grumbled after Sasha as they rushed down the steps from the roof, "He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

There was an unexpected laugh that tumbled out of Sasha's throat. "Say that into the mirror next time and maybe I'll listen to you," Sasha shot back. Dean didn't get the chance to respond to that before they burst out into the main hallway and Sasha darted maybe three yards one direction and then turned back around. "Where do we even start?" he said, throwing his arms wide.

"He said he'd make it easy…" Sam said, trailing off into thought. His eyes suddenly darted to Sasha's and then Dean's. "The auditorium. That's the heart of everything. The show. Most of the deaths. Where we fought it the first time."

Sam had barely finished saying all that before Sasha turned and sprinted down the hallway. Dean had the sinking feeling that he was going to have to remind Sasha—again—that they were supposed to be a _team_.

"Sasha!" Sam called as he and Dean raced after the incubus, obviously thinking along the same lines. Sam caught Sasha by the wrist and forced him to stop. "A plan might be a good idea." Sam was struggling not to sound pissed.

Thankfully, Sasha allowed himself to be held in place. He looked at Sam, saw the concern and frustration there and then turned to find an eerily similar expression on Dean. Sasha's fierce face instantly crumbled. "I'm sorry. God, I…I'm running off again, I know. But it's just…it's _Cam_, and…and if anything happened to him because of me, because I wasn't there to…" Sasha was clearly having trouble explaining himself, much as he knew he was in the wrong.

Dean understood. Dean knew exactly why Sasha was freaking out. This hunt had brought back memories for Dean of Indiana and now it was bringing some back for Sasha too. Memories of not being able to do anything until it was too late. Memories of not being there when he was needed by someone he loved.

They were the very last things Dean wanted Sasha thinking.

"We do this together," Dean said as tenderly as he could manage with how hot all of their adrenaline was pumping, "And Sammy's right. We need a plan."

--

Dean hated this plan. He really—REALLY—hated this plan. Mainly because said plan involved sneaking in the back way up to the catwalk to hopefully get a bird's eyes view of the situation without getting caught. Dean wouldn't normally mind. He really wouldn't. If he hadn't fallen from that same height once today already.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, Sam, Dean, and lastly Sasha crawled on hands and knees out onto the catwalk. Dean was reminded of one of his favorite—thought maybe not admittedly—80's movies, _Adventures in Babysitting_. He remembered how hot he had thought Elizabeth Shue was. Plus Thor was awesome. Of course the part of the movie where the characters crawled precariously over a dangerous situation hadn't turned out so well for the kids.

"There," Sam whispered once they were a good ways out. Dean really didn't want to look down but he knew he had to. Peering over the edge of the catwalk he could see the whole expanse of the stage. Below them far on stage right Cam and Wade were lying presumably unconscious in the middle of the devil's trap Dean had made earlier. Dean couldn't tell from this high if they were breathing.

"No Leven," Dean whispered to his companions.

"That would spoil the trap," Sasha whispered back.

Sam turned his head to look back at them both. "We can't forget that someone had to have summoned this shadow demon originally. They might be here too. But since all we can do is go with what we know, I say we drop down, free Cam and Wade, Sasha, you carry them as fast and as far as you can, and Dean and I can make a break for the roof."

Yeah, coz that sounded feasible. "What do you mean 'drop down'?" Dean hissed.

The smirk that curled about Sam's lips tried to be sinister, but it was Sammy, purely Sammy, so it just didn't work. Until he spoke. "You got him. Right, Sasha?" Sam said to the redhead behind Dean and then suddenly Sam stood and literally dropped right off the catwalk.

Dean would have called out if he didn't have claws grabbing around his waist all of a sudden. Dean could grow to like flying with Sasha, he honestly believed that, but he needed preparation. Sasha diving off the catwalk after Sam was not preparation!

Sasha's clawed feet crunched down into the stage floor at the exact moment Sam landed uninjured in a far too easy crouch beside them. He then stood up straight again as if he hadn't just jumped a couple stories down. "Cool," Sasha said appraisingly, quickly changing back to human in case Wade woke up.

Sam had the nerve to just smile and give an offhanded shrug.

No matter what Sam was capable of he would always be first and foremost Dean Winchester's little brother. Something Dean hoped he drove home by walking up to Sam and smacking him upside the head.

"You are so making a new list when we get back to the hotel," Dean commanded. He wanted to keep up to date on what his freaky brother could do. All this spontaneous 'look what I can do' was getting irritating.

There was still no sign of Leven, which they knew better than to think was a good thing, but they still went straight for the devil's trap. Dean could tell easily now that both Cam and Wade were breathing and alive. Of course it was up to him to break the seal so they could get Cam out and actually help them.

But they were too slow, because Dean hadn't even gotten the chance to kick his foot through the newly dried paint before he felt sudden stinging pain strike his calf. Dean cried out and fell surprised to his knees, instantly putting Sam and Sasha on higher alert. It felt like two tiny little bullets had just imbedded into Dean's skin. Reaching back Dean was able to grasp and painfully pull out the industrial sized staple he had just been shot with.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean ground out, "Kid's armed himself with a fucking staple gun!"

A giggle rose up from somewhere amongst the rows of seats. Sam and Sasha both instinctively reached for their guns.

"No!" Dean cried out, getting back up to his feet and chucking the staple angrily to the stage floor, "If we shoot the thing it'll do shit other than kill Leven." Even as Dean said that another staple shot into his left arm. "God damn it!" he cursed as he ripped the new one out again. What did this thing have against him anyway?"

"He's there!" Sasha shouted and just as quickly morphed into an incubus again and leapt from the stage into the seats.

"Wait!" Dean called after him.

"Dean," Sam said, grabbing Dean's arm yet again tonight, "Get Cam and Wade out of here and get back to the roof." Sam took the journal from his coat and pushed it into Dean's hands. Then he too turned and leapt off the stage.

Dean yelled after them both again but he knew it was useless with those two martyrs. They never listened to him. He could see them both darting through the many seats, trying to get another visual on Leven, but the kid was fast now. Faster than both of them.

When Dean turned back to the devil's trap, journal safely tucked into his own jacket again, he almost immediately felt a staple strike him in the back of the neck. It burned like bursting a blood vessel or a nerve and Dean almost swayed. Damn pressure points. He ripped the thing out and tossed this one to the floor as well.

A groan alerted Dean back to the devil's trap. Cam was waking up. Dean dropped to his knees just outside of it. "Dude, you alright?" he said, taking out his ankle blade so he could scratch a line through the outer circle and break the seal of the trap.

Cam blinked up at Dean, confused as he came to. Then he spotted Wade next to him. "Wade!" he called, sitting up and shaking the girl. She wouldn't rise. "Oh god, Leven," Cam went on, "All of it. Dean, we have to—" Cam's eyes shot wide when he turned to Dean again, "Dean!"

That was more than enough warning for a Winchester. Dean immediately rolled to the side, the devil's trap left still in tact, and managed to miss having the staple gun come down hard on his head. Instead it struck the floor.

Leven huffed in annoyance and left the staple gun where it was, approaching Dean with sure, steady steps. His expression was pure driven confidence.

Dean risked a glance out at the seats and was relieved to see that Sam and Sasha were still conscious and trying to reach him. He looked back to Leven then and scrambled to his feet. He had his ankle blade in his hand but he didn't want to use it. "So…thought you'd take a better model for a ride this time, huh? I don't think he suits you," Dean stalled for time. Sam and Sasha might be able to hold him if they got their hands on him at the same time.

"Mm? I think it's a perfect fit," the demon grinned. Leven's voice sounded wrong like that, Dean thought. He didn't know what was different with it really or why it bothered him, but it was just wrong. "You might be fun to keep around," the demon said, "Maybe I won't kill you. The others made him weak, but you…" black eyes flicked over Dean's body and the demon licked its lips, "I can see why he likes _you_."

Okay, Dean had had way too much evil underage flirting directed at him for it to be kosher. "Sorry, but I only fuck demons who own their own body," Dean snarked. Though he was curious about something else. "You said others?" he said, "You mean the others you killed? What do you mean they made Leven weak?" Dean and the demon were circling each other now. Even the movements of the kid's body were different with that thing in control.

It grinned wider, uncaring when Sam and Sasha joined Dean on the stage again. "Who gets killed on the way to the final conquest doesn't really matter," he said, "It could have been anyone as long as the pattern stayed the same." The demon raised its head as if looking down its nose at them all. "Leven didn't need those frivolous friends and well-wishers. He only needed me."

"You mean…the master who summoned you didn't tell you who to kill?" Sam questioned.

Another loud, eerie laugh left the demon. It looked equally amused and disappointed in all of them. "Not too bright…are you?" And then it charged straight for them. Then right before reaching them he leapt into the air above their heads, flipping acrobatically to land behind them. That dancer body had to be of some help there.

By the time Dean turned Sasha had already been struck, a good swift kick that knocked the incubus off the edge of the stage into the pit. Dean used that moment of distraction to fire his own kick into Leven's hip, knocking him close enough to Sam for him to give the kid a good crack of a punch across the jaw and the demon went down. Leven was going to be sore tomorrow but if they did this right then at least he would still be alive.

The 'doing this right' was the hard part though. Suddenly, Dean found himself flat on his ass after Leven gave a good kick at his shins. The demon managed the same with Sam only aimed lower so that the giant of a Winchester fell forward right on top of him. This seemed to be what the demon wanted. He wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and squeezed the larger man's ribs so tight that Dean heard Sam gasp. With Sam winded Leven was able to extract the gun from the back of Sam's jeans and effortlessly lift Sam off of him and throw him into the pit at Sasha who had just then started to fly back out of it.

This was going all kinds of wrong. Leven was up and the gun was cocked and pointed at Dean before Dean had even managed to get up onto his hands and knees. "Leven…" Dean said even though he knew he was dealing with something else entirely.

The demon seemed to like Dean calling him that. "Not yet," he said, "But soon…I will be. With the kind of power in this group maybe killing all of you would be enough to skip taking one of those little girls as my finale. Should we find out?" The tone was cruelly playful as Leven aimed the gun at Dean and then slowly arched his arm to re-aim steadily on Cam. Wade was still unconscious beside him and Cam looked so frozen inside the trap he couldn't leave. So helpless. Never before had the incubus looked quite as normal and human.

"Lev—"

"Doesn't live here anymore," the demon finished. He pulled the trigger back.

Dean couldn't remember if Sam had iron rounds on him or not, but he couldn't take the risk of guessing wrong. He was close enough and, after all, his life was forfeit anyway. Dean jumped to his feet and dove.

The bullet hit Dean's left shoulder with a crack as it struck bone and Dean's whole arm went numb. At least it wasn't the other shoulder again, Dean thought wryly, fighting through the shock of impact. It was a shoulder shot. He'd live.

"Dean!" Cam was calling and suddenly there were hands pressing into his wound. Dean must have fallen into the devil's trap.

Regardless, Dean swatted Cam away from him. There wasn't time. "Told ya I…owed you," he said, and looked up just in time to see that Sasha had flown both him and Sam out of the pit and they were descending upon Leven. They wouldn't be able to hold him for long though.

Forcing himself back to alertness, Dean grabbed Cam with his good hand and pushed the incubus out of the devil's trap while his body was still breaking the circle by lying over it. He did the same with the still unconscious Wade, though more gently, so that Cam would be able to tend to her. She had a pretty nasty looking bump on her head and probably had a concussion.

None of that mattered now. Dean got to his feet. "Take care of her," he said to Cam, and then he bolted, straight to the left for the ramp that led off the stage and aiming for those double doors and the empty hallway beyond that led all the way to the roof. It was about the time Dean reached those double doors that he heard Leven's voice scream after him.

Dean's shoulder burned now where the bullet had struck but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop for anything. It wasn't even close to 11:11 but the damn incantation had to work.

About halfway to the stairs up to the roof Dean began to hear rushing footsteps following him. He was willing to bet that it wasn't a friendly follower either. There was no looking back. Dean raced the rest of the way down the hallway, up the stairs to the roof, threw open the door…and remembered that they had never actually made the fucking circle of salt! Shit!

Dean couldn't possibly make the circle of salt around the runes and summon Leven into it before the real thing came bursting through the door behind him. He needed to think.

But he wasn't given the luxury. Suddenly, the door to the roof flew open behind Dean with enough force that it burst from its hinges and landed on top of Dean, crushing him down into the cement. Air pushed out of Dean's lungs and his shoulder throbbed. All was made worse too when the demon walking in Leven's skin purposely stepped out onto the roof by walking on top of the door. He crouched right at the end so that he could bring his lips—Leven's lips—close to Dean's ear.

"Silly man," the demon whispered, "You are not prepared to face me."

Fury burned in Dean's chest at the smugness of this damn thing. Sure it was fast, fast enough that it had easily overtaken being chased by Sasha or Sam, but Dean wouldn't give up just because he was down. He pushed up with his back and was able to at least unbalance Leven off to the side and slide out from underneath the door. The demon allowed this but only so it could better grab Dean by the throat once he was free. He lifted Dean up into the air.

It was strange and horrible to be held like a ragdoll by someone with the appearance of seventeen, so thin and willowy looking. Dean hated it. He hated that it was Leven's body doing these things. Although he hated how the demon walked assuredly to the edge of the roof significantly more.

"Let's see if you can fly like your friends...shall we?" the demon grinned.

Déjà vu, Dean thought to stay his panic, because once again in so short a time frame Dean was weightless as he took to open air, thrown from the roof by Leven's small hands and falling to the ground several stories below. At this angle Dean would land half on his head. He doubted even he could survive that.

Dean closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not already. There was so much more he needed to—

With a jolt Dean's thoughts came to a halt and for a moment he thought it was the awfulness of impact and that soon he would be waking up to chains and blood and gore. But then Dean realized he was still weightless, his legs dangling now below him. He could feel strain pulling on his arms. On both of them. Strain caused by clinging claws. _Claws_ had hold of his arms on either side and had just saved him once again from hitting bottom.

It was Sasha and Cam.

Dean opened his eyes with a great rush of relief, amazed that Sasha and Cam had been able to reach him in time, that they even knew the need to rescue him and had managed to get past Leven in order to do it. He glanced quickly to the left and right to see those saving claws for himself and maybe that was why. Maybe it was because he had looked so quickly that he didn't at first realize that neither clawed hand was the right color.

One of them was a more burnt orange than brown and the other was not black but a deep, dark green. Just as quickly as Dean had felt relief all the panic in him returned, even after he felt the sweet presence of ground beneath his feet as these strangers set him down. They released his arms and Dean back-peddled. There was a green incubus to his right with brilliantly bright white hair and a burnt orange succubus to his left with hair the color of copper. It took hearing the succubus' voice for Dean to recognize them.

"Dean!" she called, "Are you alright? Thank goodness we saw you."

And the panic flew right out again. "Charis!" Dean realized like an epiphany, returning to her side and grabbing her shoulders like he wanted to hug her. He fairly well would have if the incubus with her didn't immediately push Dean away again.

"Don't touch her," he growled, low and familiar.

Right, Dean thought. "Lindsey. Figures the happily married couple would come together." Dean held up his hands when Lindsey growled at him again, the white hair and white face so amazingly stark against all that dark green for wings, claws, and markings. "Okay. Hands to myself. You guys don't know how perfect your timing is. Well, I guess you do. You just saved my life from a psycho demon possessing the gay teenage lead in the school musical."

Lindsey and Charis blinked at him.

"Never mind. How did you know to come here anyway?"

"Cam called us," Charis shrugged, morphing back to the form Dean recognized, pale and pretty with freckles and silvery eyes, "About twenty minutes ago. He said the hunt was going bad and you might need back up."

"He coulda mentioned that," Dean thought out loud. Twenty minutes ago would have been while Cam was alone down the staircase. Sneaky bastard. "Guess he still doesn't trust us. Funny you guys happened to be close enough to get here," Dean said leadingly. He was no fool. This was obviously part of some overall plan or at least a backup one. "It's okay. I get it," he said when Lindsey looked away with a scowl and Charis bit her lip sheepishly, "Going off what little you actually know of us, I wouldn't trust me either. But look, we can't waste anymore time. Leven—I mean—the demon possessing this kid probably went straight back for the others in the auditorium. This thing is way too much for us. I need to get back on the roof and you need to go in there and help."

Lindsey reared on Dean with another snarl. He hadn't bothered to change out of his glorified gargoyle state. Dean noticed that Lindsey's horns were probably the most impressive he had seen, going straight up and just slightly out about a foot and a half. Dean had only seen the guy's red eyes the last time they met. "You don't give us orders," Lindsey said, "We're hear to help Cam."

"Which we can _do_," Charis broke right in with that more dangerous voice Dean had come to know, "By following Dean's advice. We'll drop you on the roof before going to help the others," she turned to Dean.

"No," Dean shook his head, "Just one of you. The other needs to go now."

"You think we'd fall for—" Lindsey started, but Charis cut him off this time completely.

"Fine," she said tersely, obviously finished appeasing Lindsey on this issue now that she knew better for herself that Sam and Dean weren't all that bad, "Then Lindsey, you get Dean back on the roof. I'll find the others." She didn't even pause to make sure Lindsey was going to agree to that, she just looked at him sternly before whipping around and taking off with impressive speed for the doors to the school.

It was actually kind of funny to see a full blown incubus gaping in disbelief. Dean regretted his grin when Lindsey turned back to him, however. This was still the guy who was supposed to fly him back up several stories into the air.

Dean tried not to let his nervousness show.

"So, uh…you know Sasha and the others would be able to tell if you dropped me on purpose, right?" Dean tried to joke. Well, he didn't really mean it as a joke.

Lindsey huffed, looking Dean up and down. "If you want to think that," he replied cryptically.

Another time maybe Dean would be up for this, but tonight was not that time. "Look, this is literally life or death here, Billy-boy, okay? Our only hope for maybe getting this demon under control and out of the kid it's possessing, a good kid that Cam really cares for by the way, is up on that roof and I'm the one who can get it done. You want to keep up the grudge match, do it on your own time. This is about other people. It's kinda what hunters do. Ya know, _save people_."

A snarl grew on Lindsey's face again and he looked about ready to say something else sharp and biting, but instead he simply lunged for Dean with frightening speed and suddenly they were air-born. This was the first time Dean had been lifted by an incubus front to front, carried under the arms like a child. It unnerved him, especially since Lindsey was scowling and trying so hard not to look at him. At least the trip up to the roof was quick.

Dean couldn't help breathing relief when Lindsey set him down. He was also pleased to see that Leven had indeed gone back down, though Dean wondered if the demon would be able to sense when the spell started casting. He needed to be quick.

"Go inside and help your wife," Dean said, grabbing the canister of salt and quickly pouring out the line around the runes, "I got this."

For a minute Lindsey just stared, watching him.

"Seriously, go," Dean said again, "He can take all of us. This isn't a normal demon."

"And you're performing a summoning for him, yes?" Lindsey said somewhat haughtily, "Then you're going to need someone to watch your back if it manages to escape the salt line. You won't be much use reading an incantation if he throws you off the roof again."

Really, Dean felt perfectly justified to fire out some nasty comeback, and it just sucked that Lindsey had such a good point. "Okay. But watching my back has to actually include not wanting to claw it to pieces, so—ah!" Dean clutched at his bleeding shoulder, having forgotten about it what with the plummeting to his death and all, but he remembered it quite easily now after setting the canister of salt back down using the wrong arm.

"Are you…shot?" Lindsey said, a little more disgusted sounding, Dean thought, than concerned.

Dean really didn't have time for this. The salt line was drawn, it was past ten-thirty, and Dad's journal was in his coat. He took it out and paged immediately to the back where Wade and Sam had rewritten the incantations, thinking only for a moment that one more reason for Lindsey to hate him was safely hidden amongst those same pages.

"Hey," Lindsey pressed when Dean didn't answer.

Dean prepared himself to read. "It was either my shoulder or Cam's _head_," he said without looking back at the incubus, "Now get ready." Dean took a breath and began chanting, fast but accurate as he could. They had bookmarked the passage for the other spell, the one that would make the demon manifest outside of Leven so they could banish it. The exorcism spell to do the banishing was also marked, and Dean was glad, because unlike Sam he hadn't gotten around to memorizing that yet.

Just as Dean remembered with Marisol, the wind began to pick up as he read the spell. It wasn't as strong though, maybe because Marisol had been so glued to that apartment building and Leven's demon wasn't really bound by the school, he just needed to kill his final victim there.

As Dean neared the end he felt his throat growing hot. This was only one step of a larger whole. The last of the spell poured out of him and there was a sudden burst of dark purple light, enough that both Dean and Lindsey raised their arms to shield themselves. When Dean looked again, Leven was snarling from within the runes and line of salt. He charged straight for Dean but met the barrier Dean had been hoping for much like being caught in a devil's trap.

A gasp left Lindsey and Dean had to wonder if the high and mighty incubus had ever seen a demon before. The black eyes were definitely different than glowing cat-eyed red.

Dean immediately turned to the spell to manifest the demon. That was the most important bit because at least then it would be out of Leven. Dean chanted just as steadily. This part was longer but only by a little. Dean remembered when they had used it before up in that plane and the whole thing had almost gone down. Dean felt a similar panic now because he could see already that the salt line wasn't going to be enough for long. He could see the demon raising Leven's arms, his eyes closed, as he called upon dark power to aid him

The building trembled beneath Dean's feet but he read on. He knew Lindsey wouldn't be enough to protect him on his own if Leven broke free. And just then, like an answered prayer, the rest of the crew—even Wade who was wide awake and seemed at least for now uncaring that she was in the company of several revealed demons—appeared inside the empty doorway and scrambled out onto the roof. Dean didn't stop. There was still quite a bit left to read, and the demon was not going to win.

Of course it had other plans, however.

Black eyes sprang open again and Leven's arm shot out from his body, exploding away the rock salt as if a giant breath had risen up and blown them away. With the salt line gone, the demon went immediately for Dean.

Dean couldn't help his surprise when Lindsey was indeed right there at his aid, stepping in front of Dean and grabbing Leven by the arms to hold him back. Brute strength alone wasn't enough though and Lindsey was easily tossed aside to the edge of the roof. By then the others had rushed forward and Cam and Sasha had either of Leven's arms the next moment. Another burst of power exploded from him and the other incubi went flying just as Lindsey had.

Charis was trying to hold Wade back near the door but it wasn't taking. This was her brother after all. She pushed the succubus away and ran not for Leven but towards Dean.

Sam was the only one still trying to hold Leven back. When Leven gave another burst of power it was not enough to dislodge the tall hunter but it was enough to knock Dean onto his ass and nearly drop the book right out of his hands. He lost his place and frantically tried to find it again in order to finish.

It was then that Wade finally reached Dean and helping him with the book she pointed to where he had left off and they continued the spell together.

Again and again the demon burst outward with that awful power, enough that Lindsey, Sasha, Cam, and even Charis had been knocked clean from the roof and where all hovering in the air as close as they could manage. Only Sam seemed capable of hanging on, and Dean and Wade as they huddled on the floor of the roof and read, but the battle was almost lost. Sam couldn't hold him. If Leven reached the book it would all be over.

They were so close to the end and yet Dean knew they were going to fail. He saw the moment Leven finally freed himself from Sam but even then Dean wouldn't pause. There was too much left, too many words. Sam knew it too, he had to, because his hand shot out after Leven and touched his back with the flat of his palm. In a second the boy's body fell dead and wide-eyed at Dean and Wade's feet.

Everything went deathly still. Sam hadn't just done that. He hadn't stopped Leven's heart. Not like Gordon. Not like that.

"Keep reading!" Sam yelled, too loud now that there was no wind, no other sound. He gathered the boy into his lap and held him, the body limp and so obviously dead. "Dean!"

Dean didn't know what else to do so he listened. And even though Wade had gasped and obviously didn't understand, she read with him. In another moment they had finished it.

Black smoke poured from Leven's throat, trying to escape now that it was manifest and free, but the rules were different now. Sam had no trouble catching the demon with his powers and holding it still. "So you can't survive being sent to Hell?" Sam said coldly, "Let's find out. _Go as far as you can to finding the contract holder. If you survive the trip, be sure and say hello from us._" Then Sam's fingers became curled, gnarled as he struggled to force the thing to do his will. It stood no chance, however. Just before it vanished into nothing Dean saw his brother's hazel eyes flash mottled yellow with power. No. The demon didn't stand a chance at all.

"What did you do!" Wade nearly screamed, rushing to her brother's side in Sam's arms as she realized finally that Leven was not breathing but lying limp.

Dean didn't want to look. He still couldn't believe his brother had done that. Charis and the incubi had returned to the roof and stood around them, none knowing what to say or do either.

And yet Sam remained strangely calm.

"If I can stop it," he said, lifting a hand that crackled with electricity the way Sam had told Dean it felt when he used the melting power. He looked down at Leven's wide open eyes and brought his charged hand down to the boy's chest with a shock, "Then I can start it again."

The first shock did not start Leven's heart, or the second, but the third ended in a great gasp of air that left the boy and his eyes blinked wildly as he was brought back to consciousness. Brought back to life.

Sam brought Leven back to _life_.

As it usually happened, the whole thing became a bit of a blur for Dean after that. Leven and Wade both crying, clutching at each other as Leven tried to say how he remembered everything and he was so sorry. Cam going to them, morphing human again and how neither of them flinched away when he went down there with them and cried too. Charis and Lindsey and Sasha talking, tensely maybe, but _talking_. And Sam looking sort of stricken now that it was all over.

When Dean finally got up it wasn't to offer condolences or to tell Leven not to worry about what the demon had done with his body, and it wasn't to go to his lover who was hopefully mending at least a few old fences with friends. Dean got up and went to his brother, rustled Sam's hair and smiled.

"Good job, Sammy," he said, as if the kid were five years old again.

And when Sam looked at him and tears streamed down his face despite the returned smile, Dean wasn't surprised at all.

tbc...

A/N: OMG, that took alot out of me. Phew! And no, I have not forgotten that they still do not know who summoned the demon to begin with. You will learn that shortly. The next chapter, i warn you, will leave you with a cliffy like no other, save perhaps chapter 21. Be prepared.

Crim


	49. Part 9: Careful What You Wish For

Part 9: Careful What You Wish For

--

Dean was so used to being shot by now. He hardly saw the need to go to the hospital for a measly shoulder shot. But after mentioning the crack he heard on impact and the numbness he still felt varyingly throughout his arm, Sam and Sasha had been insistent that amateur bullet removal would not be satisfactory this time. Dean ended up staying the night, it being so late anyway, and with Wade turning out to have that concussion after all, and Cam and Leven being pretty adamant about staying with her, the whole crew spent the night in the hospital. Dean could only assume that Charis and Lindsey were the exceptions and he wondered if they would even show up the next day.

One thing Dean was grateful for besides their miraculous recovery of the hunt and all included was that all Sam had needed to do was flash his badge at the on-call doctor and the guy hadn't bothered to report anything to the police. No mojo required. It was a constant inconvenience for most hunters that all bullet wounds were supposed to be reported. In small towns they could usually avoid that but it was harder in big cities like Pittsburgh.

Therefore, with everything settled and pain medication pumping through his system, Dean really should have had a peaceful night's rest, but Sam's restlessness woke him up sometime before six. As much as Dean loved his brother that was just not okay.

Dean had a fairly nice private room, so there was a little sofa and some chairs as well as a bathroom. Sam, from what Dean could see when he blinked past heavy eyelids, was pacing back and forth in front of the window. Sasha was asleep on the sofa, curled up impossibly small and turned in towards the back of the cushions. The incubus slumbered on, apparently not bothered by the 6'4" behemoth who was shuffling back and forth nearby. Dean was another matter.

"Christ, Sammy," he whispered wearily across the room, "Would it kill ya to sleep in for a change? Used to have to drag your ass outta bed most times. What gives? That was one helluva night for all of us. Figured you'd be comatose."

Of course Sam had paused in his pacing as soon as Dean's words filtered over to him, but he didn't say anything at first. He attempted a weak smile eventually and just shrugged. His face looked drawn and tired like he hadn't slept at all. "Too restless to sleep. Took inventory for you," he said with a gesture at the table by the sofa where there was a small notepad. Dean assumed 'inventory' meant Sam's current list of superpowers. "But I…I couldn't get back to sleep. In my defense I never was as good as you at sleeping sitting up," he shrugged again towards the chairs.

Over the years Sam had gotten fairly good at changing subjects with something of a joke attached, a weak impersonation of his older brother. Dean never fell for it though. He decided not to beat around the bush. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Sammy. It pretty much freaked me to shit when you stopped Leven's heart like that," Dean admitted, "Your other powers, they're…they're wicked but they're not…instant death charms. So I get the staying up, over-analyzing thing that you being you couldn't resist. But Sammy, you also brought him back. Gordon and Kubrick? They only saw the lethal side. What you did up on that roof was something good. I mean I know you said before that the melting power was more like electricity, but you could have gone all force lightning with it and instead you became a human heart zapper. You saved all of us."

It annoyed Dean to no end that Sam had a small, patient smile on his face through all that and he expected at any moment to be contradicted. But then Sam said, "You're completely right, Dean. I _know_ you're right," surprising Dean completely. To better keep his voice hushed Sam walked over to Dean's bed finally and sat on the edge leaning forward on his knees. "I'm not angsting over my powers, Dean. Not the way you think. I just…" Sam sighed, running a hand over his eyes and then down the length of his face, "I can do so much. And I'm…actually kind of enjoying some of it. But despite everything I can do, the best I can come up with to save you is throwing demons at the contract holder until he gets so irritated he shows up to tell me to knock it off." Sam laughed humorlessly and scrubbed his face again. He looked so tired.

Really, what more could Dean do but smack his brother upside the head like always. So he did. "You know, for a super powered genius you sure are stupid a lot of the time," he said, watching Sam rub the spot he had just smacked, "We have a few months yet to try things and you're getting new powers all the time. Maybe instead of beating yourself up over what the ones you have can't do, you should work on figuring out the ones you don't know at all. Coz I'm thinking…" Dean trailed because Sam was laughing softly to himself and this time it wasn't false.

"Dean," Sam chuckled, "I gotta say…I never thought _you_ would be encouraging me to be more of a freak. Haha. We sure have changed."

This time Dean rather liked the use of 'we'. "And yet fully human or not you're still enough the same Sammy that you need a good night's sleep. You look like shit, man. Will ya lay down already? And don't open your eyes again for at least an hour or two."

"Uhh…" Sam looked around skeptically, finding Sasha in the one place laying down was even remotely possible and wrinkling his nose at the chairs and floor.

"Just lay down," Dean said again, scrunching himself over to one side of the small hospital bed as far as he could go, "It's mainly my fault we're sleeping here tonight anyway."

Sam just blinked at Dean, apparently sure is brother was joking. "It's morning. And I don't know what drugs they have you on but you do realize you're inviting the wrong part of this trio to snuggle, right?"

Smart ass. "They'll be no snuggling. And no kicking," Dean commanded with an outstretched finger, "But with limited options here I'll make the sacrifice. I'm not gonna get back to sleep with you pacing around anyway, so lie down and shut your cakehole. There's room." There was. Not much. But it was more than most hospital beds offered. Dean doubted he'd fall back asleep either way but he'd feel better knowing Sam was taken care of.

"Dean, really…" Sam tried, but Dean was too tired and worn to listen.

"_Sammy_," he said with authority—firm, practiced authority. He didn't have to say anything else. No need.

Reluctantly, Sam sighed, that small smile back in place again, and carefully he situated himself next to Dean on top of the covers. He lay on his side facing away from Dean but of course their bodies still sank in towards each other with the extra weight on the mattress. Dean had grown so used to having another body next to him in bed that he didn't mind the heat and weight along his good side, the one with the shoulder that hadn't been shot.

Another sigh left Sam and Dean recognized that one as exhausted relief. Jumbo would be asleep in five minutes. "Stubborn ass," Dean grumbled contentedly as he allowed his heavy eyes to close again. Maybe he would be able to fall back asleep after all.

"Pot," Sam grumbled back.

It took Dean a moment to get the joke. He chuckled lightly and really couldn't resist the exhalation of "Bitch" that followed.

Sam barely managed his responding "Jerk" but it was there.

Dean smiled as he drifted off. At least for a little while all was right with the world.

--

When Dean woke up the second time it was to the smell of coffee. It was a couple hours later and Sasha had just returned from the machine juggling three Styrofoam cups. The incubus grinned at Dean and the still sleeping form of Sam next to him. At some point Sam had rolled onto his other side and now had his head resting on Dean's good shoulder. At least it was less snuggling than Dean had woken up to with Sam before.

"Say _one_ word," Dean warned as Sasha handed him a cup.

The redhead leaned down to kiss Dean's forehead and then set Sam's coffee on the table. "Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled.

A few minutes later Sam had joined them in the land of the living again and while he went out to see about Dean's release, Sasha and Dean gathered what of their things they needed to pack up. Of course both of them wanted to check on Wade and the others as soon as possible. Leven had been pretty beat up even if it wasn't enough to warrant medical attention, and all of them were understandably wrecked.

Dean was surprised that when they were just about set, his shoulder sore but taken care of with medication and one of his softer T-shirts on, that it wasn't Sam who came back in but Charis.

She peeked her head around the door, her thick straight hair tied into a messy bun and her silver eyes shimmering merrily as she said, "Morning! Everyone still breathing?"

Sasha's face lit up immediately and Dean had to admit that he was growing rather fond of Charis too. The surly dispositioned Lindsey that followed in after her, however, was less of a pleasant surprise. A quick glance at Sasha proved that the redheaded incubus was taking these slightly tense meetings in stride though. At least he and his old friends were speaking again.

"We checked with Cam first," Charis said, "I think they'll be a bit yet. Leven's really worried about you, Dean," she added, "But I think he's too ashamed to come see you himself, poor thing. He's a mess. Have you come up with any ideas on who might have summoned the demon?"

They had brought Charis and Lindsey up to speed on the way to the hospital last night. Dean remembered that Lindsey hadn't said two words after the conversations on the roof. "Not yet," Sasha answered Charis, "But that's our first order of business once we're out of here."

Actually, Dean had a pretty good idea who it was after thinking things over last night but he didn't want to say anything until he was certain.

"Are you guys going to…stick around a bit?" Sasha asked hopefully. His eyes were forever straying to Lindsey but he always spoke to Charis.

Which may have been why Sasha jumped a little when Lindsey answered him. "We can't," he said shortly. Dean saw Charis' elbow jab none too gently into Lindsey's side. "I mean, we…_would_," Lindsey amended, softening his tone somewhat, "But we have to get back. Family business at home. Charis' older sister finally found someone foolish enough to promise himself to her."

"Lindsey!" Charis exclaimed, more mock-affronted than the real thing since she seemed to be hiding a grin.

Sasha laughed openly. "Chastity? I don't believe it. _She's_ getting hitched? What kind of dark magic she tap into to pull that one off?" he laughed again.

It seemed impossible, but Dean could see the corner's of Lindsey's mouth twitching. "I'm still betting she's a harpy in disguise," he said so flat it was obviously a tease, "But I'm pretty sure she'd eat me alive before I could prove it." He chuckled lightly and Sasha joined him with another genuine laugh.

"All right you two," Charis jumped in chidingly, as if she was used to breaking up similar exchanges. She was smiling brightly. "Chastity is really much better," Charis said to Sasha, but Lindsey raised his white eyebrows with an exaggerated skeptical look and Sasha burst out laughing again.

Simple as it all was, the interaction spread warmth throughout Dean's chest for Sasha's sake. Still, he really had to comment. "Just so I know I'm not crazy," Dean said once the laughter had faded again, "_Chastity_? That's gotta be the most ridiculous name for a succubus _ever_. Am I wrong?"

This time it was Charis who laughed. "I told you my parents liked to be ironic," she giggled.

Yeah, the other redhead was definitely growing on Dean. "Anyway," Dean smiled back at her, "Why don't you all go back to Cam and keep those guys company? I can finish up here. Sam'll be back soon anyway." Dean knew that Sasha was aching for more time with his friends and the case just hadn't allowed for it.

"Yeah," Sasha smiled wide, shooting Dean a look of absolute devotion and gratitude, "I really want to check on them myself. We kind of got scattered to the winds last night after everything was over." Sasha eyed Lindsey optimistically, knowing that Charis wouldn't need convincing, and walked closer to the door to join them.

"I'll catch up," Lindsey said, his face so much softer now that the ice had been, well, more melted than broken. Softer didn't mean the white-haired incubus was smiling though, and his dissention brought instant disappointment into Sasha's face. It pleased Dean though that Lindsey immediately spoke up to banish that. "I _will_. Really. You go. Help Cam. He really has his hands full with that family. I'll stay and…help Dean," he finished a little awkwardly, casting Dean a gauging look that indicated helping Dean pack wasn't actually what he had in mind.

Sasha looked a little startled by this but Charis was smiling. Eventually, Sasha nodded, looking to Dean to make sure this was okay, and since Dean wanted to believe Lindsey wasn't secretly plotting his death anymore he nodded too. A minute later Dean was alone with Lindsey and of course couldn't help thinking of that damn journal entry almost right away. He had no intention of bringing it up.

Awkward would have been a nice way to put how that first minute, and frankly the few that followed it, felt. Neither of them said anything or really moved but just kept trying not to make eye contact. Dean was about ready to burst and knew he had to say something when Lindsey finally spoke up first.

"Cam…confirmed what you said…before," Lindsey started a little haltingly, looking more at Dean's T-shirt than at Dean, "That bullet in your shoulder was meant for him. And aimed a little more lethally too."

Figures it would take a complete act of self-sacrifice to sway this guy, Dean thought with a mental smirk. "Yeah, well…turns out the bullet was lead after all. Could have saved myself some trouble if I'd known that," he grinned.

"But you took the risk anyway," Lindsey countered, "If it had been your brother or…or even Sasha I might have dismissed it. You don't even know Cam."

That was never an issue. Dean shrugged. "I know enough to know he's a pretty cool guy whose brains look better inside his head than splattered on the floor. Wouldn't have mattered though. Could have been you, who I'm not nearly as fond of," he teased, "Or even someone I'd never met before, and I would have done the same. Part of the job description."

There was a small huff from Lindsey as the incubus rolled his eyes, though not at all with the same distaste as he had once before. "The job description for _hunters_," he said, not really as a question.

"Well, actually, Sam and Sasha would probably say it's more an older brother thing," Dean admitted, his smile going a little crooked as he said that, "They know me best so…we can go with that. If it makes it easier for you." Dean smiled big, hoping he came off as joking friendly-like and not mocking.

Lindsey didn't return the smile but he didn't scowl either. Definitely an improvement. "You know why I hate hunters?" Lindsey asked, "I assume Sasha told you."

Lying certainly wouldn't improve this relationship. "Yeah, he uhh…he told me."

"Then you understand why I might not ever be able to trust you," Lindsey continued impassively, "Not completely anyway. Sasha…I'd like to trust him again. I would. He's wrong if he thinks I've hated him just because he wanted to be like his father."

That was surprising to Dean because he had assumed it _was_ that simple.

"It's hard to believe I can trust him either with him a hunter, but he's still one of us. What made me so angry back then…was that he never said anything to me. Best friends our whole lives and he doesn't bother to tell me he wants to be a hunter until we're ready to head out into the world? I figured…if he didn't trust me then why should I trust him? And I know how _stupid_ that is," Lindsey said in frustration, walking past Dean suddenly towards the window. From behind his white hair fairly glowed in the sunlight. "We were just dumb kids and we lost so much because of it. Maybe it's all simpler than I want to believe. Maybe it isn't a trick. Maybe you really do love him as much as I feel from you…and there really are hunters out there who only want to help." Lindsey turned back to Dean, surprising the hunter with how wet his too green eyes had become. "But I won't put the people I care about at risk. I will always have one eye on you."

Dean didn't bother saying that a second ago Lindsey had had both eyes out the window. "Fair enough," he said, "Just as long as you give Sasha more of a benefit of the doubt then you give us. He really misses you."

Again, impossible as it once seemed, Dean saw the corners of Lindsey's mouth twitch. "Will you…give him something for me?"

Dean frowned. "Why don't you just give him whatever it is yourself?"

Another deep sigh fell from Lindsey lips, but his harshness had vanished and Dean thought he was finally getting a look at who Lindsey really was. "Because I want _you_ to do it," he said, almost childishly indignant, "After we leave. He'll make a big deal over it and…I'm not ready for all that…" Lindsey made a weak gesture at the air like he was trying to stir up the rest of his sentence.

"All that crying and hugging and girly crap," Dean supplied.

This time Dean was certain a corner of Lindsey's mouth curved. "Exactly. It's nothing big," he said, and as he did he reached into his back pocket for his wallet that he opened and started looking through, "I was supposed to give it to him…a long time ago. Never got the chance." Lindsey pulled out what looked like a small bit of paper and handed it to Dean.

A grin broke out on Dean's face as soon as his eyes fell on it. "Okay, you definitely made the right decision if you want to avoid the mushy crap. I'll give it to him."

"Good," Lindsey nodded. Then with some difficulty he added a low "Thank you" while redirecting his gaze. "I assume I don't have to tell you that if you ever hurt him…" Lindsey trailed pointedly.

Dean nodded. "Wrath and carnage. Got it. But, uhh…you'll still let me buy you a beer some time, right? Cam did. And you know your wife thinks I'm adorable," Dean smirked.

Again with the eye roll, though an almost humored one this time. Lindsey's eyes were just so _green _too, just like his dad had noted. Dean figured the white eyebrows only intensified that. "Maybe next time," Lindsey conceded.

_Next time_. "Good. Now you think you can be useful and actually help me out with some of this stuff, Billy-boy? I'm all hurt and broken after saving _your_ friend after all." Dean moved towards the bags they had brought in so they would actually have clean clothes and their toothbrushes.

Lindsey, as asked, moved to help him. "Why do you call me that?" the incubus said as he hoisted a bag over his shoulder, genuinely curious.

"Eheh…" Dean almost bit his tongue, "At risk of ruining this blossoming friendship…I think I better keep that to myself."

--

On their way back from loading the Impala Dean and Lindsey ran into Sam. Everything was set for Dean to leave. Of course the doctor had wanted to see Dean again to go over a few things—it being so unprecedented to check out right after a gunshot wound—but Sam had taken care of that.

"This is not the Dean Winchester you are looking for," Dean joked with an Obi-Wan-esque wave of his hand.

The bitch-face made a prominent appearance. "Anything to keep from hearing someone tell _us_ how to treat a recovering bullet wound. I think we have that covered," Sam grumbled.

And then some.

They met up with the others in Wade's room and it looked like she was in the process of being released as well. The nurse was just giving her a final once over. Wade was already dressed.

Dean noticed Leven's pained stare almost immediately. He hadn't gotten the chance to really talk with the kid and it seemed that since Dean had been the one to get shot, Leven was beating himself up over it even more. Not to mention how the kid must be dealing with what had happened to everyone else, including his own sister. Dean needed to get Leven alone.

"Hey, Wade," Dean called into the room while the nurse was writing something down. She was being very accommodating allowing so many people to mull about, but Dean supposed that was because Wade would be leaving soon. Dean caught Wade's eye when she glanced at him. She looked as tired as Sam had at six AM. "Anyone bring you coffee yet? I'll make a run," Dean volunteered. He got a couple more grateful orders and then grabbed Leven firmly by the arm. "Lend a guy a hand, will ya?" he said and promptly dragged Leven out without giving the kid so much as a breath or chance to argue.

Dean let Leven go once they were in the hallway, but he didn't lead them to the coffee machine. His room should still be empty for awhile so he led them there instead. Leven didn't seem to notice. He hardly looked up as they walked and didn't say anything.

Poor kid looked awful. The barely visible bruise that had been on his chin the other day was large and purple now after Sam's sure punch. Leven walked slow and stiff like he hurt all over but couldn't bring himself to lie down. Dean knew the feeling. He hated that what he was about to do would make everything worse, but it had to be done. Leven seemed to expect it too because when the kid finally looked up and saw that they were in an empty room, he just went and sat on the bed while staring at his hands in his lap.

"You know what's coming?" Dean asked, standing as sturdy in front of Leven as he could. His pain meds were starting to wear off and they hadn't stopped at the pharmacy yet to get his prescription.

"I…" Leven's voice immediately choked off. He glanced up at Dean and then back down again quickly, but it was enough that Dean saw how much his eyes were filling with tears. "I didn't…" Leven tried again, "I didn't mean for…any of that to happen."

"I'm sure you didn't," Dean replied severely but still as kind as he could manage, "What I don't understand…is why you didn't just tell us right away that you were the one who summoned that demon."

If Dean had had any doubts about his summation, the way Leven's eyes overflowed with those tears finally banished the last of them.

On principle Dean hated being around people who were crying. It was awkward and uncomfortable for all involved. But throughout his life Dean had been there for many people while they cried. Even his father. "I may be a hunter but I'm not about to go hunting humans. Especially not for some kid who got in over his head and didn't know what he was doing. What _were_ you trying to do anyway? You couldn't have really wanted that thing to take you over."

Leven was sniffling and sobbing pretty good now. He didn't look just shy of eighteen like that, all hunched, broken and bruised. He really was just a kid. "It…it was just a…stupid spell," Leven managed, still staring down rather than at Dean. His turquoise hair was limp and disarrayed—as wilted as he was. "Wade…has all these books and…and there was this really old one…and…and I…" Leven shook his head, "I just thought…it would make things better."

"Better?" Dean repeated, understanding completely now and sick with the discovery, "Please tell me you didn't do this because the kids in your grade are idiots? Because of those _bullies_? What did you think was gonna happen?"

"I don't know!" Leven cried, and when his eyes looked up into Dean's again finally they were already red and puffy with the tears that kept falling, "The book…didn't make it sound like it was…what it was. I thought…if it made me stronger, if _I_ had the power for a change then…maybe…"

Dean must have had on one hell of a disapproving look because Leven curled in on himself again suddenly and dropped his eyes back to his hands.

"I didn't…know it would hurt anyone," he sobbed, "I didn't even think it had worked. Nothing happened. After the spell…there was nothing. When people started dying I didn't think it had anything to do with what I'd done. Even…even when it kept being…people I knew…and liked. But when…when I saw Tina…with those eyes…I knew it was all my fault. It was all my fault. I deserved for that thing to take me…"

One detail Dean had still been sketchy about suddenly became clear. "You dropped the charm on purpose…" he breathed, that sickened feeling only worsening.

Leven's eyes darted up again, drying but anguished. He didn't try to defend himself.

"Christ, kid," Dean exclaimed, rubbing a hand over his face and up into his hair, "That thing was gonna gut you out of yourself and wear your body around like a suit, owning it and causing the same kind of mayhem other places. And all because you wanted to be different, or not be different, or whatever. I thought you said no one was gonna change your stripes for you? Did you mean that or were you just blowing smoke?"

For a moment Leven looked defensive, even fierce, but then his eyes filled with fresh tears and he stared imploringly at Dean. "I didn't…want…to not be different," he said, finally with a little conviction, "I just wanted…for it to not matter anymore."

With new sobs pouring out of the kid and those eyes just _on_ Dean now it became too much for the hunter. Big brother mode took over and Dean was on the bed, pulling Leven against him in a halfway hug that rested Leven's head on Dean's shoulder just as Sam had been that morning. "What am I gonna do with you, kiddo?" Dean said gently, "For starters…I gotta know you're never gonna think up something this stupid again."

"No! I don't even want to look at Wade's books or…or touch…any of it," Leven promised, "Because of me…Andy and…and _everyone_…"

"Speaking of everyone," Dean tried to say offhandedly, pulling away enough to get a better look at Leven, "I can't see how it would benefit anyone to let the others know about this. Guess you're gonna be off the hook."

Leven looked up at Dean sharply. "But…but what are you gonna tell them? They know someone had to have summoned that thing."

"They're figuring small fry anyway, not anything with real power. I'll think of something."

Simply looking at Leven was enough to know that the kid was punishing himself enough for all included. Dean just couldn't see any merit to beating him while he was down. Hell, Dean had been the beaten one enough in those situations to sympathize. Leven was a good kid. He hadn't done any of it to hurt others.

Sometimes it just turned out that way.

"You _are_ one of the decent ones…even if you don't believe it," Leven said, quiet and breathy as his tears began to still again. Instead of remaining leaning against Dean, a shaky arm slipped around Dean's waist and clung. "So…there's gotta be at least…a few good people out there…right?" Leven and Dean were both staring forward, side by side on the bed.

Dean squeezed Leven's shoulder, his good arm wrapped around the kid tightly. "I hope so," he said.

They didn't have much more time to wallow; the others would be wondering what had become of their coffee. So once Dean was certain those pesky tears were done for good—well, for _now_—he playfully rustled Leven's somewhat sad blue hair and led them back out of the room.

Goodbyes were being passed around when they finally returned to Wade's room, both for Charis and Lindsey who had to be on their way, and for Wade who turned panicked and then relieved eyes on Leven at his return and wanted more than anything else to just go home with her brother.

Dean couldn't help noticing that Sasha was talking with Lindsey and Charis in a way that seemed fairly congenial about their wedding—or promising, swearing thingy—and about the one they would be going to for Charis' sister. There was no hug from Lindsey when the couple finally left, no stiff handshake either, just a promising nod to Sasha that 'next time' was more than just a figure of speech.

"You guys leaving too?" Leven asked, still small of voice and unlike the boy they had first met. It was not going to be an easy or fast recovery for him, Dean knew.

"'Fraid so, kid," Dean said, "More people to save from big bads and all that. Sorta what we do."

Leven smiled weakly. "Yeah. But…but you'll come back for the show, right?"

"You're still going to do the show?" Sasha asked with that same hopeful smile.

"_Duh_," Leven answered, much more like his normal self, at least for a moment, "It's what I love doing. And…and I know everyone would want that. I'm not letting _anything_ take away what makes me, _me_. Nothing's worth that." He glanced at Dean with gratefulness glowing in his brown eyes. Brown. The color they were supposed to be.

"When is the show?" Sam asked, "It's only the first couple weeks of practice, right?"

"We take our shows pretty seriously," Leven nodded, "Lots of practice time. We don't open until the end of April. You could make that, right? Please. You have to come back. There wouldn't be a show at all if not for you guys."

Dean felt a sudden fluttering in his stomach as he thought of that date. He wouldn't have been able to miss the pained looks on Sam and Sasha's faces either. The end of April would be cutting it close, only a couple weeks before the deal was up. It made Dean's answer easy. "Wouldn't miss it," he smiled, ignoring that Sam and Sasha looked a little startled when he said that, "Keep us posted, huh? Let us know if any other…spooky things pop up."

"What about the person who summoned that thing?" Wade pressed, rightly shaken and not really her normal self either.

It was inevitable that Sam or Sasha would speak up about how they planned to take care of that before they left town, so Dean spoke up first. "You don't have to worry. Already taken care of," he said, and again he happily ignored the looks he got from Sam and Sasha, and now Cam as well. He'd deal with that later.

"I don't understand everything that happened," Wade went on, shuddering a little as she remembered, "Psychic fortune telling on the side is not the same as field work with demons. But crazy as it all was, whether…human," she said to Dean and then looked at Sam and Sasha, "Or…whatever else, you saved my brother. And me. Thank you."

The experienced hunters always felt a little awkward when people were that forthcoming with their thanks, but they offered humble smiles and nods in reply. They didn't always get praise for what they did as hunting was more often a thankless job.

When Wade turned to Cam the gratitude in her eyes was greater for him than it had been for any of them, but so was the sorrow. Dean didn't understand it at first. Then suddenly, Wade was embracing the bronze incubus and a much damper sounding "Thank you" left her. She pulled away only for Leven to step up and take Cam's hand.

"Take care of yourself now. I'll be checking up on ya," Cam grinned at the teenager.

"Promise?" Leven grinned back.

Leven must have bypassed Sam and Sasha after that because Dean would swear he barely saw the turquoise blue blur coming before Leven was suddenly attached to him. The kid didn't say anything until he pulled away, grinning all kinds of strange sadness mixed with thanks and admiration and even a little mischief.

"Ya know," Leven said to him, "I was gonna go for a kiss."

That got Dean to blanch a little. "Don't even think about it," he warned. He didn't bother chiding the kid about how much that impromptu hug had hurt his injured shoulder. He was used to things like that happening by now.

When the Taylors finally headed off Dean stepped up to Cam and nudged the incubus' arm to get his attention. Dean understood Wade's look now, he just didn't understand its reason for being there.

"Why did that seem as much like a long goodbye for you as it was for us?" Dean asked, "Coz there's technically an open spot in the Impala but I figured two near death experiences on a hunt would be enough for you."

The others had clearly come to the same conclusion that Cam's goodbye was final and they all looked to him for an explanation. Dean noted that there was something of the same look on Cam's face as he had seen on Wade. "It looked like a long goodbye…because it was one," Cam said, "'Bout time I was moving on anyway. Might have left sooner if not for this mess. Maybe I'll head for a coast to wait out the rest of the cold. I can decide which one after I'm on the road."

"But…" Sasha sputtered, using his hands more than usual which Dean had come to realize was how he tried to find the words that weren't coming to him, "I thought…you and Wade seemed so…I don't know, just—"

"_Sash_," Cam held up a hand, his prior expression replaced with practiced skepticism, "Only you would want to be tied down after less than a century of living. And our resident Ozzie and Harriet," Cam added with a thumb jerk at the door to indicate Lindsey and Charis, "Maybe some day, but no time soon for me, okay?"

Sasha still looked troubled. "It…wasn't because of…" Sasha didn't gesture at all this time but what he meant was clear.

"No," Cam smiled a little sadly, "She was actually pretty cool about the incubus thing. Just a little too much to handle all at once, I think." Cam looked as though he wanted to say more but then suddenly he turned to Dean and was changing the subject, "So what did you mean about the case being all wrapped up? You guys do some moonlighting without me?"

A part of Dean almost grinned; he wasn't about to budge on the promise he had made. Maybe one day Leven would tell his sister the truth, but that was up to him. "Something like that," Dean said before Sam or Sasha could answer, "I had a hunch and went with it. Turned out to be right. Won't be any more problems." With that said, Dean turned to leave. He was always ready to get gone from whatever hospital they were at.

"What hunch?" Sasha called after him, "Who was it, Dean? Is that why you took so long getting—"

"It's taken care of," Dean said without turning, just a quick stop and sharp words before he continued walking. He could hear that the others remained still a moment before following, but his tone had apparently been stern enough to not warrant any further questions. "Now," Dean said when the others caught up to him, "I don't know about you guys but me and my sore shoulder aren't looking to leave this town til tomorrow. Any objections?" Dean waited less than half a second before saying, "_Good_."

--

Convincing the others to stay one more night was not difficult. And as Cam very vehemently stressed he had not yet gotten the chance to properly grovel at Dean's feet for saving his life. Of course Dean said the same thing he had told Lindsey, that the bullet had turned out to be lead and it wasn't really a valiant rescue, but Cam seemed to have the same mentality on the issue as his white-haired counterpart.

It was the thought that counted.

Cam also insisted on paying for their rooms for the night and at a nicer place. Considering the usual décor and cleanliness they dealt with none of the hunters had it in them to refuse. It was a staying in kind of night, much like their first night together, so after picking up the rest of their things from the other hotel and a few 'supplies' they retired to the hotel of Cam's choice. He'd be sleeping at his apartment another night before taking care of things in the morning for his departure. Assuming he was sober enough to make it to his apartment by then, Dean thought.

They ended up at a downtown local place, probably one of those B&Bs though Dean didn't ask. The room had a very individual feel to it anyway, classy, but not the 'don't touch anything' kind of classy. Cam got them a two-bedroom suite—meaning they had a small living room with two separate little bedrooms and a bathroom. Cam was clearly looking out for his old friend's best interest, not just getting them a good party space. Seeing as how this would probably never happen to them again, Dean decided to enjoy every minute of it and therefore ordered room service. Since Cam was covering the room it was the least they could do to pay for the food.

By the time they were completely settled in it was already afternoon. Dean kicked back on the sofa in the living room to rest his shoulder, chatting with Cam while the Hardy boys looked for any nearby demon activity they could move onto once they left—only until dinner, they promised.

Eventually, Dean was winning Reeses peanut butter cups off of Cam in poker and trying to teach the amateur a few tricks he knew as a hustler. Sasha caved first and eventually joined them, followed soon after by Sam.

Dean could play cards and shoot the shit all night, especially when there wasn't any real money involved. Even Sasha—who claimed to hate cards—was enjoying himself with Dean giving him tips. Though that was probably because Dean would crowd him each time so that at least some part of their bodies touched.

"What was that movie, Sash, I can't remember?" Cam said and then took a swig of his drink after folding—again. Dean had actually been the one to bring up the incubus boys sneaking to the human plain to see flicks on the big screen. Movie theatres were one of the few things they didn't have. Apparently bouncing TV signals was entirely different.

"Dude, that was our last run," Sasha said nostalgically, "Early '97, so…" the light clicked on and Sasha grinned, "_The Fifth Element_. Classic. Totally in my top five movies of all time."

"Totally," Cam nodded agreement, "Milla Jovovich in nothing but bandage wraps? _Hell_ yeah."

That pure and genuine laugh Dean loved so much from Sasha flooded out of him. "I was thinking more of the awesome story and action, but…Lelu was pretty hot. God, I can't believe that was that long ago."

"How'd you sneak over anyway?" Sam asked. He was still working on his first drink. It was a concoction of Cam's that the brunette had insisted upon making them that included Kool-Aid, sprite, and a ton of vodka. The rest of them were onto their second drink and Dean was getting close to asking for a third. It was damn tasty and dangerous as hell. Just the way he liked it. He knew Sam would be cutting him off though due to the meds he was on.

"Lindsey always worked the magic for that," Cam said, "Remember, Sash? We wanted to do the old round robin routine, saying we were all at each other's houses, but he said instead we should all legitimately go over to his and wait til his grandfather started working on elder stuff, and we could sneak out without a hitch. We did too. It was the sneaking back in that got us in trouble," he laughed.

"But how did you actually get here?" Sam went on, "At fifteen you already knew how to…bamf?"

Dean snickered to himself at Sam hesitancy in using that term. Sasha seemed to enjoy it too because he choked a little on his newest swallow before answering. "There are portals, to make it easier for groups and families. But they have guards to make sure kids don't go…well, wandering off to see Bruce Willis movies, so we had to be pretty quick on our feet. _That_ genius was all mine, thank you."

"The king of misdirection!" Cam said like an announcement to the ceiling and then burst out laughing again, "It was great," he said to Sam and Dean, "Sash here starts chatting up the guard, this hot blonde who had to be at least a couple centuries, so it's not like she was gonna fall for any old tricks. But he goes over and starts talking, distracting her so Lindsey and I can slip through. We get to the other side and figure we gotta keep going without him, coz there is no way he can sneak in after us without her following. Then not two minutes late, poof, out pops a redhead."

Dean had to admit he was enjoying this, especially seeing Cam and Sasha so natural and easy in each other's company more so then Dean had yet seen. "How'd you get past her?" Dean asked Sasha, since Cam was laughing again and hadn't yet moved on to finish the story.

A sly smile grew slow on Sasha's face. He shrugged coyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased. That same terrible tease that sent jolts right to Dean's groin when it was accompanied with that _look_.

"Ha!" Cam barked, slapping his thigh, "He still pulls that one, huh? To this day I don't know how he managed to get by her, but damn was the movie worth every bit of punishment we got when Lindsey's grandfather caught us sneaking back in. I think I was grounded til the change after that."

Sasha's smile was so wide Dean could count teeth. "God, Shi was so mad," he chuckled.

All in all it might have been the kind of exchange that would darken Sam and Dean's spirits since it was the kind of memory neither of them had—horsing around with friends. They really only ever had each other. That was fine by them most of them time, and much as they might have thought to mourn the loss of other friends, Dean caught Sam's eyes across the coffee table and smirked. After all, they had snuck out to movies together too. Hell, a few times Dad even went with them. It was a Winchester past-time to laugh at horror movies.

Dean finished winning yet another hand and Sam started whining for them to do something else, a movie, anything. Dean left it to his brother and the others then to pick a flick as he grabbed what empty glasses he could to hit the little kitchenette for refills. It had the usual sized mini fridge but also had a partition that almost made it seem like another room.

Half a second later, Cam came over behind Dean carrying the other glasses. Dean had been anticipating yet another heart-to-heart, but he had already suffered through three of those today and that was just plain unfair. He really didn't feel like going through the motions of another one. He didn't need Cam to thank him for taking that bullet or hear the guy apologize for not trusting them right away. He knew all he needed to.

So Dean was kind of shocked—maybe even pleasantly so—when Cam came up and said close and low beside his ear, "If you ever hurt Sasha in any way…you better believe I'll kill you long before Lindsey does."

The unexpected threat made the hairs on Dean's neck stand on end, which kind of hurt since he was still a little sore from the staple that had hit him back there. He turned his head slowly and the expression he saw was not the Cam he was used to. For one those golden brown eyes didn't look at all brown anymore. They glowed.

"I believe I was wrong. I believe you're the good guys. I believe you jumped in front of that bullet for me not knowing where it would hit you, and I'm thankful it was only your shoulder. But I meant what I said. If it turns out that I'm wrong and you can't be trusted…_you're_ the one who's gonna pay for it. Not Sasha."

Definitely not the heart-to-heart Dean had been expecting. Really, he couldn't help smiling. "You make a mean drink, pal. Care to pour us some more," he said, sliding his and Sasha's glasses towards where Cam had set his and Sam's.

And just as quickly the darkness was gone, leaving a very normal looking and friendly brunette incubus. "Couple more of these and I'll be helping Sasha put you to bed. Things might get interesting," he winked.

Dean laughed at that because he knew Cam was the last person who would ever say that to him and mean it. "Careful what you wish for," he winked right back.

Sober or not, Cam did end up heading home—well, for as long as his apartment would remain home—but the goodbyes were quick. Much like Dean, Cam wasn't one for long, drawn-out goodbyes, so he just hugged Sasha fast and firm, shook both Sam and Dean's hands, and wished them luck with heading out in the morning. He didn't have any plans to go looking for more hunts, but if he stumbled across anything he'd let them know. He also promised to give Sasha a call as regularly as he could manage. Everything seemed comfortable and right by the time he was gone.

It wasn't terribly late, but after several drinks, another dose of meds, and the harsh last couple of days, Dean was ready to hit the hay.

"I think I might stay up awhile and do a little more research," Sam said. He had never finished his second drink so he was still fairly lucid and alert.

Dean didn't know how Sam could be so awake after getting barely no sleep the night before, but he knew better than to argue. "Your call, man," Dean said with a wave of his hand as he followed Sasha into the larger of the two bedrooms, "We leaving early? We don't really have a destination."

"Whenever we get up," Sam shrugged, settling himself on the couch with his laptop propped up on his lap, "Hopefully I'll have a destination for you in the morning. Might be something in Virginia I'm following up on. You guys go ahead."

Dean nodded. "Night, Sammy."

"Night, Sam," Sasha called behind him.

"Night."

They closed the door once they got inside and Sasha immediately started stripping down to his boxers. This of course distracted Dean so that he wasn't really being as careful as he should have been when he tried to lift his T-shirt over his head. "Ah! God damn it," he hissed, "Why do I always have to be the one to get shot?" More carefully this time, Dean pulled the shirt the rest of the way off since he had it basically half off anyway. He hissed again and looked at his bandages. At least they weren't bled through.

Sasha, perfectly free of injury, actually had the nerve to chuckle. "Well maybe if you stopped throwing yourself in harm's way," he grinned as he kicked off his jeans. He was wearing the all black boxer briefs. The ones that were almost too small.

Dean shook his head. "Fine then. If you want me to go back in time and _not_ save Cam's life…"

"Dean. The bullets were lead."

"Well maybe they would have been iron if I hadn't jumped in front of him."

"That…doesn't make any sense," Sasha said, making a face.

"Sure it does. It's all probability," Dean shot back, taking off his own jeans to leave only his common navy shorts, "It's, ya know, how you'll look one place for something you've lost but it will be in those other place. But next time if you look in the second place first it will be in the first place."

Sasha was blinking at Dean when he looked over, hands on his slim, tattooed hips. "What?"

The perplexed face was really too adorable. "Forget about it," Dean half-laughed, crumbling on top of the bed but being careful this time not to jostle his shoulder. He lay on top of the covers and just stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of lying down. Sasha climbed on top of the bed next to him and did the same. The light was still on but they weren't really ready for sleep really.

So much had happened in so short a time if Dean really thought about it. He had only known Sasha for half a year and look where they were now. In bed. In love. _Engaged_, Dean thought with a mental laugh. God, that was ridiculous. But Dean allowed all of it. Day after day he kept letting Sasha in. He didn't want to turn the incubus away. He didn't want to have to leave him either.

And then there were all of the cases they had been through together. Sometimes Dean thought the hunts were getting harder as time moved on, each a little more difficult with more at stake, like some awful, morbid video game for real life. Sometimes it amazed him how many people they saved. But other times he kicked himself for the ones they failed. There was never any in between. Not for Dean Winchester.

"It was Leven, wasn't it," Sasha said suddenly, soft but certain.

Dean had expected one of them would figure that out eventually. He wondered if Sam already knew too. Dean turned his head to look at Sasha and there was no reprimand there, just that sort of blank slate Sasha managed so well. "I promised the kid," Dean said, not apologizing just saying, "He'll be beating himself up for years as it is."

The blank slate vanished, leaving a warm, tender smile. "Do you have any idea how sweet you are?" Sasha said.

"Depends. You have any idea what a freakin' sap you're being right now?"

Sasha punched him in the arm—the good one at least.

Then Dean remembered. "Shit, almost forgot. Speaking of sap…" Where had he put it? Dean sat up and surveyed his pile of discarded clothing. He was pretty sure he had put it in his wallet, so he got up and retrieved his jeans. He found the wallet easy enough and just as he had hoped, Lindsey's gift was in there. Dean smiled at Sasha's puzzled expression, still lying on the bed but propped up now. "From Lindsey," Dean said, handing Sasha the belated present, "He wanted _me_ to give it to you to avoid the slobbering hug you would have put him through."

A laugh choked out of Sasha as he looked at what Dean had given him and a hand went up unconsciously to cover his mouth. His eyes were sparkling. "Oh my god…look at us," he said, gesturing Dean to come back to the bed. Of course Dean had already looked at the picture, but it was a different experience now that Sasha could look at it too. Dean climbed back onto the bed and they sat up next to each other as Sasha traced the figures in the photograph with his finger ghosting just above the gloss.

Sasha, Lindsey, and Cam had to have been fifteen still in the picture, or just sixteen maybe, looking much the way Dean remembered from the Animus house when he spied on Sasha's memory. It was hard to tell where they were since their faces took up most of the space, but it looked as though they were piled on top of each other, Sasha on the bottom with Lindsey and Cam sprawled over him and all their heads smushed together to fit in the shot. Their smiles were so big they were blinding. Dean wouldn't have believed Lindsey's mouth had that much give considering what he had seen so far.

"This was…god, it was…the night before they closed us off for the change," Sasha said, his hand still hovering by his mouth, "He was going to give us all copies…after…" Sasha smiled sadly. He didn't need to explain further than that.

"Maybe you can tape it to the inside of your journal or something?" Dean suggested. Sasha often referred to his father's old notes, but he had a journal of his own to keep a record of things.

"Yeah…" Sasha said absently. He was a million miles away. Or at least ten years. Dean waited patiently for Sasha to find his way back and when the incubus finally did it was with a huge smile thrown at Dean and wet blue eyes that shimmered. "Thanks. It's still kind of awkward with Lin, ya know, but…but at least I know he still remembers. It's a start." Carefully, Sasha set the picture on the nightstand nearest him.

Dean lay down again and tugged on Sasha's arm to bring the incubus down too. "Course he remembers. No one would wanna forget you. You're a looker and ya got brains. Not many of us around these days," Dean smirked.

A definite giggle left Sasha that time. "You know…you were really amazing yesterday," Sasha said, "I mean it. No sap. Just truth. You'll be a hero in Leven's eyes for the rest of his life for what you did. For today too. You gave him someone who could…relate better than just a sister. Some kids never find someone to be that for them."

Much as Dean liked the warm fuzzies Sasha was trying to smother him with, they tended to get in the way of other things. He wasn't looking to be a hero. Dean reached over and smoothed a few red strands from Sasha's forehead. "Team effort, baby," he said, "That's the way I like it. Way better than being a hero all by your lonesome."

"Definitely better," Sasha agreed, leaning closer so that their noses bumped and he giggled again, "That's why we gotta keep the team together…" Then he leaned that last bit further and their lips brushed, fleeting at first and then renewed, firm, seeking, until tongues met at last and tangled.

It always made Dan shudder when they kissed for the first time. It had been almost twenty-four hours since their last lip-lock. That just didn't seem right.

Dean hummed into the kiss as it lengthened. He was so tired, so worn and beaten down with sore spots all over his body, but kissing Sasha banished most of that into a dull, sleepy ache. He rolled towards Sasha onto his good side—he had to make sure he kept track of that and let his bad shoulder heal—and pulled Sasha's face closer with a hand on the redhead's cheek. Sasha's skin was so smooth, never having stubble. Dean figured it would look pretty funny if the incubus ever did have stubble considering it would be bright red. Then again he never really noticed the hairs on Sasha's arms and legs. He ran the hand on Sasha's face down his neck and shoulder and along his arm so that he could feel those hairs.

The bed was big enough so Dean kept rolling, pushing Sasha onto his back and climbing right up on top of his lover as he continued the deep, long, slow kisses. Oh yes, he was tired, but he never wanted to rush with Sasha. Quick and dirty had its merits but right now Dean wanted to savor. "You're beautiful," he whispered when he pulled back, his breath dusting the lips he had dampened.

Blue eyes sparkled up at Dean. "Right back at ya."

Dean grinned. He wanted something he hadn't been able to ask for. Tonight he felt like he finally could. Letting all of his weight press him down into Sasha's body, he brought his mouth to Sasha's ear and said, "Would you do something for me?"

"Of course," Sasha said just as softly back, "You even have to ask?"

Yes, Dean did have to ask with this. "I want…" Dean began, just enjoying the feeling of Sasha beneath him, warm and solid, "I want you to change for me."

Sasha jerked away enough that Dean realized he hadn't worded that quite right.

"Not _change_," he said quickly, pulling his head back up again and looking down at those confused blues. "I don't want you to change a thing. I mean change…into how you really are. All of you this time, not just the wings."

What Dean was really asking for dawned on Sasha slowly, and that realization revealed itself to Dean with a similarly slow grin. "You really are getting a fetish," Sasha teased.

Dean laughed to himself even though he knew his adoration had gone far beyond fetish. "I want to do things to your body that no one has ever had the privilege of. 'Cept for maybe the other five," he said distastefully, "And I really don't want to know which of them did what to you during the change, whatever little you remember. I just…I want you to know what you do to me…no matter which version I'm looking at."

The light in Sasha's eyes grew almost too bright as he stared up at Dean, his smile wholly loving now. Then suddenly the light was no longer bright and blue but that vibrant and glowing red. It always amazed Dean how Sasha could change like that so effortlessly, his body melting into its true form like lifting a veil to reveal the truth.

Dean sat up on Sasha's hips and just looked for a minute. Sasha's wings were spread out on the bed beneath him, large and glorious. Dean could see the jagged scar on Sasha's chest, faint but still visible from Gordon's attempt to kill the incubus. He couldn't help tracing it with his fingertips, the soft lines of it that others, maybe even Sasha himself, might think marred the otherwise perfect form, but for Dean it just made the picture complete. He realized suddenly that he was sitting on cloth not skin, and when he looked down he saw that the boxers hadn't faded into the glamour like usual.

"I want you to be able to take them off," Sasha chuckled, understanding Dean's look.

That got another laugh to bubble out of Dean as well. "I'll get there," he promised, already knowing where he wanted his attentions to focus first. The irony was not lost on him that he had a real obsession with Sasha's wings even though he generally hated flying. They were just so impressive, so truly supernatural and amazing, and Dean had the privilege of touching them.

Carefully, Dean attempted to shift Sasha more to the center of the bed and the incubus helped once he realized what Dean wanted. The bed was large, but still not so big that the wings didn't spill over the sides. Dean could touch almost all of them though right from where he was. He started at the inside of the wings right next to Sasha's chest. They were laid out beneath him they way they would be if they were spread out and open. Dean was pretty sure the inside of the wings was where they were most sensitive anyway, so he was glad they laid that way naturally.

His caress was gentle at first but he wanted to feel, really feel so he massaged deep into the tougher skin, eliciting an almost instant moan from Sasha. Dean spread his hand out over the entirely of Sasha's right wing—well, as much as he could reach without leaning too far off of Sasha's hips. The top of the wing was where the back curled up a bit, just a little tougher than the inside skin, surrounding the tendon-like stretch that gave the wings shape. Dean pressed his fingers there as well.

He repeated the whole process with the other wing, and it wasn't long before he noticed that something was pressing up into him from beneath Sasha's shorts. Dean scooted back to give the growing erection a little relief and Sasha sighed deeply.

Dean wanted to investigate the claws more, but he knew this was more dangerous territory. Sasha's claws were sharp talons. He couldn't quite suck on one of them the way he would a finger. But that didn't mean he couldn't come close.

Lifting one of Sasha's hands by the wrist, Dean marveled at how much larger they were like this. It was just after Sasha's elbow that the white skin began to fade black. The fade was quick, because at his wrist they were already pitch. Dean lifted the hand closer to his mouth and kissed Sasha on the wrist at his pulse point. He darted out his tongue and licked his way to Sasha's palm, then down the length of one long black talon, careful where it was especially sharp. Sasha shuddered beneath him.

Grinning at the effect he was having on his incubus, Dean leaned down fully on top of Sasha again so he could kiss Sasha deep as he had before and feel those fangs. They pricked his lips but never drew blood. He wondered how Sasha always managed that. Much as the incubus lost himself a lot of the time amidst Dean's caresses and teases, Dean knew that Sasha had far more self-control than he ever would.

"I wanna run my tongue…over every…bit…of your markings," Dean breathed against Sasha's lips. He knew his own eyes were hazy but Sasha's were fierce with lust.

The shorts had to go.

Dean hated that he had to roll off of Sasha to pull off his own shorts, but he knew it would be better to remove them at the same time as Sasha's or he'd end up ripping them apart when the time came. He tossed his shorts to the floor, not surprised to see that he was fairly hard too, and crawled between Sasha's legs to better slide the incubus' black shorts down his legs. Luckily, the fabric was stretchy, so although Dean had to really pull them around the clawed feet it wasn't enough to rip either side.

Sometimes Dean forgot the intricacies of Sasha's tattoos and all the places they coiled. The first tendrils started in the dip of his hip bones and then drew beautiful patterns down and around his skin to the inside of his thighs. The patter was the finest and smallest between Sasha's legs but that was the part Dean loved the most. He wanted to work his way there just as he had promised. Slowly.

Dean stayed right where he was between Sasha's legs. He pushed Sasha's legs up so that they were bent, leaving him more room, and then he tucked himself between them and leaned down so that he could start a wet trail at one side of Sasha's markings. He surprised Sasha by sucking in the skin and biting gently right where the left side's markings began, low on his hips. Sasha hissed in pleasure. Dean continued just like that, trailing with his tongue along the black lines and every so often biting and sucking on the tender skin. Sasha hissed every time and once almost like a whimper.

By the time Dean was down to Sasha's inner thigh, the incubus was more than ready for Dean to move a little more _center_. But Dean had better plans. "I said…over every…bit of them…" and Dean moved to the right side, starting all over again with a firm bite this time at the beginning tip of the markings there. It was torture for him too but he made the trip slower this time, knowing how crazed Sasha was by the way he began to tremble all over. The redhead's breaths were short, sharp gasps when Dean finally finished the other side.

There was definitely a whimper when Dean stopped, lifted his head, and looked at Sasha's face and the way his eyes were glazed. "Dean…" Sasha whined. Even his wings were twitching.

Dean wanted it too now, so badly, but he couldn't just pass this opportunity up. He wanted to run his hands everywhere too, and started by trailing the tips of his fingers down Sasha's thighs. Dean felt the scratches again, fainter and more healed now, almost gone. He dismissed them and moved on. Running his hands all the way down to Sasha's calves, Dean reached the spot where normal legs gave way to something more gargoyle or raptor like. The claws on Sasha's feet were just as sharp as the ones on his hands, so Dean had to be just as careful. It was also at that point that the white faded, quicker than his hands, black already before the calves gave way to ankle.

Then Dean moved up again, both hands together, all the way until they smoothed up Sasha's thighs and moved inward. Sasha mewled, pleading with noises of tortured pleasure. His wings rose for a moment and then flapped down again, demanding as they pushed a small breeze over Dean's skin.

Just a little more, Dean thought, continuing his perusal of Sasha's incubus body with his hands, skimming up his hips just far enough away from the prize to be cruel and further up Sasha's stomach and chest. At risk of giving in and just grinding himself against Sasha should he lie down, Dean managed to pull back. His hands left Sasha's completely as his mouth descended.

Sasha's renewed whimper was so small, so pitiful for a being that looked so stark and powerful when Dean's lips finally took him in at the tip, his tongue swiping over the large gathering of wetness that had formed. Sasha was still trembling, shuddering everywhere, and it only intensified as Dean's lips brought him in deeper, like Dean was sucking him down. Dean did, all the way to the back of his throat only to pull away again. Again, he had to think of the irony—what he was doing and how much he enjoyed it if only for what it did to his lover. But it wasn't only for that if Dean was really honest. He enjoyed it for himself, because he loved everything about the feel and taste of Sasha with his hands and lips and tongue.

Dean might have tried to continue his exquisite torture if not for the long pleading moan that finally left Sasha with another desperate "_Dean_…"

That utterance alone made Dean shiver as deeply as he had Sasha shivering. He wanted the incubus now and just like this, spread out before him beautifully as he truly was. First Dean climbed his way up Sasha's body, kissing a deep pathway to Sasha's lips, and then he kissed him deep as ever before, an act that Sasha welcomed and reciprocated with great fervor. Their bodies were aligned again and Sasha gave an insistent buck that ground their erections together.

Pulling away with a sharp gasp, Dean's patience shattered. He renewed their kiss, needing those lips and those dangerous fangs, but he reached down at the same time. He had to pull away eventually to really accomplish his goal, Sasha's body being so long, and one guiding finger was all it took before Sasha was begging again.

"_Dean_…" he said so pleadingly, "Hurry…please…"

Everything about Sasha saying that undid Dean. His mouth was so dry suddenly, barren and thirsty. He positioned himself swiftly, touched his tip to warm skin and pressed.

Sasha had been leaning up to look at Dean but as Dean pushed in Sasha's longer red hair tossed back and he threw his head to the pillow for leverage.

The red curtain of hair made Sasha look even more beautiful, Dean thought—radiant. And all of the things that made up that radiance were his. Sasha had declared that already, marking Dean as his as well. Dean had been with so many people, but he had never possessed anyone before, not the way Sasha had such a strong hold of him and how it was equally powerful the other way around. That's how Dean knew it was love. It couldn't be anything less supernatural than that.

Dean tried to keep his thrusts as slow as everything else had been, deep but languid, drawing every sensation out. Sasha was wound so tight that he couldn't wait to open the circuit and Dean felt it hit him like a strong wave that crashed over his body and made him gasp. God, he had never made Sasha feel like this, had he? It was all so new, so much stronger somehow. The circuit, the connection that tied them together…Dean didn't want it to end.

There were times when Dean was certain he didn't have a clue what he was doing. He thought Sasha would be better off with someone else, someone who wasn't going to leave him. But other times Dean was left only with what he felt right then, love, passion, the knowledge that everything he needed was just what he had—his brother at his side and his lover beneath him.

The two greatest loves of his life.

It was in those moments that everything was clear. Dean had had one such moment the morning they met Charis, when Sasha, wings wrapped around them, rocked Dean back against him and it was perfect. He felt it again now, the perfect clarity, knowing without an ounce of fear or doubt that this, right now, was exactly what he wanted. He wanted Sasha. He wanted to be with him.

Forever.

And in that perfect moment when everything made sense and Dean had everything he needed, the world suddenly lurched. Dean felt something almost like pain, more like pressure, fill his gut and pull. He felt it spread so quickly throughout his body that he didn't know what to do and couldn't call out, much as he wanted to. He felt it in his arms and down into his hands and fingers, a tightness, a throbbing, _something_. And when Dean pulled his hands from Sasha's body to look at them and see what was happening there was nothing that could have prepared him for what lay before his eyes.

They were his hands. His. But instead of the tanned skin that should be there, they were fading and changing shape into long. Black. Talons.

tbc...

A/N: MUWAHAHAHA! No seriously, there is no chance in HELL anyone could ever guess what is going to happen next. No chance. In fact I am so certain of this that if anyone does guess correctly there will be some astronomical prize involved that I will not even think about unless it actually happens. Do not worry, the conclusion to this arc will be up before the boys return to us next Thursday, soon as I can get it to you. All my love!

Crim


	50. Part 10: Deal Breaker

Part 10: Deal Breaker

--

The sensations traveling throughout Dean's limbs were intensifying every second and spreading. Dean could feel that same tightness everywhere like he was being stretched in all directions all the way down to his feet and pulsing up into his temples too. He could feel that, all of that, along with a nauseating knot in his stomach, but still he could only stare at his hands, gazing horrified at the black taloned fingers that were fine for Sasha's but not for his. Not _his_.

The world continued to lurch around Dean, pitching, spinning. Soon he was falling back, pulling from Sasha completely and crumbling at the foot of the mattress. At this strange departure from their activities Dean heard a questioning utterance of his name call after him followed by a shriek of it as Sasha finally took notice of what was happening. Then the incubus was beside him, morphed human and sputtering too quickly for Dean to catch everything he was saying.

There were words of apology, of "…didn't mean to…" and "…never…never without knowing you wanted it too…" and then quite distinctly, "You must have wanted it, Dean. It wouldn't be possible if you didn't."

Part of Dean wanted to ask what Sasha meant, to ask what was happening to him, but the other part of Dean already knew. The world was stabilizing and focusing better now that he was lying back, though he could still feel those strange sensations wracking his body as they changed him. He could remember well, even though it was six months ago, what Sasha had said when the brothers asked how an incubus initiated someone.

_The person being initiated has to willingly accept the change. There's sex involved, but it's still a conscious choice by both parties._

Conscious. Right. Dean may consciously know he loves Sasha but he didn't intend for _this_. In fact he very recently spoke out _against_ this. It wasn't that the transformation was painful—if this was initiation then it would be pretty cruel if it was—but it was all so foreign and strange, like supernatural growing pains Dean was never supposed to experience.

How transformed was he, Dean thought. What did he look like? The only things Dean could see were his hands when he lifted them to his face again. His arms were white, fading to black and to sharp black talons for fingers just like Sasha. Apparently, initiates took on the same coloring as their maker.

There was more than a mere echo of panic in Dean's mind as he thought of all this. Had even a minute passed since it first started? Dean couldn't be sure. He couldn't speak, didn't know what he could possibly say as he heard Sasha ranting out anxious words. Dean wasn't angry with the redhead—he could tell from Sasha's voice that this was hardly anything planned. But since Dean wasn't speaking, Sasha couldn't fully tell what Dean's reaction was, so he just kept on rambling.

"…so sorry…never meant…god…should have _explained_."

Dean tried to listen more carefully, but his head felt like it was filled with cotton and Sasha's words floated around him.

"Marking…means…want this," Sasha was saying, one hand on Dean's chest while the other combed human fingers through Dean's short hair. "…do. I want this. But only…you want it too, Dean," he said somberly, his words becoming clearer the more Dean focused, "You accepted it…marked me back. That's why…scratches stayed. I should have known. I didn't think we were this close. I didn't think you really wanted this."

I didn't think you really wanted_ me_, Dean heard, though Sasha didn't say that. The truth was Dean didn't know what he wanted. He hadn't been lying when he told Sasha that. But for a moment back there, when they were tangled together, connected and whole _because_ they were together, Dean did know. He knew with every breath in him that he wanted Sasha for the rest of his life, however long that was, and that final realization had been enough. Like a contract signed, another deal had been made.

"…take it back," Dean heard from Sasha suddenly, having faded out again, succumbed to the whirlwind of what was happening, "…not complete…can still…_Dean_," Sasha said more firmly. He grabbed Dean's face with both hands to ground him. "Dean," he said again, "You can take it back. It's not complete. I know you have doubts. You can still take it back."

Take it…_back_, Dean repeated slowly in his mind. He could take it back. This didn't have to be final. Dean didn't have to just give in and allow himself to be changed. But then he couldn't help wondering if he really wanted to stop it. Sasha had already said so himself; Dean had to want this on some level for it to even be possible. If he could be certain for one moment then why not another, and the one after that, and the one after _that_?

Dean looked up into Sasha's eyes—blue, they were blue again with Sasha human—and the only doubt he had left was the part of him that didn't believe he deserved this. He didn't. He knew he didn't. But if there was really less than three months of his life left then what room did he have for doubt, for 'not yet' or being unsure?

"What…if I don't…_want_ to take it back?" Dean whispered, surprised by his voice and how gruff it was. Sasha smiled sad and hopeful above him when he said that, the hands on Dean smoothing over his cheeks as they held his face.

The world wasn't spinning anymore. There was no nausea. Dean could feel his body still changing, knew that he was not yet an incubus but that he was no longer human either, and because he wasn't fighting, afraid, or unsure, the pressure and tightness began to feel different. Dean could still feel the circuit even though their bodies were side by side instead of interlocked. He could feel how much Sasha loved him. He could _feel_ it the way Sasha felt it.

"Baby…" Dean breathed, his own clawed hands moving to grip Sasha's face, the black so stark against Sasha's pale but not white skin. What a parody they were just now. Dean kept his grip gentle, though he knew he could never hurt Sasha, and pulled their heads together. "I know. I know what I—"

BAM.

Dean jumped, his claws releasing Sasha's face as he flinched towards the door and the loud thump that had just sounded from it. Sasha had been startled too and was also staring. It must be Sam, Dean thought, living up to his title as King of the Bad Timing. Sam probably heard Sasha's shriek and was coming to investigate.

"Sam…" Dean tried to call, but his body was still in overdrive, still changing, and he couldn't really call out all that loudly.

BAM, came another thud. It sounded strange, not like a normal knock.

Then suddenly, before either Dean or Sasha could call to Sam more effectively, the door pushed open. Well, it was more like Sam had managed to turn the knob and then simply slumped forward into the door to move it. He nearly fell, clinging to the knob and the side of the door, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes pleading, unfocused.

"D-Dean…" he said at the bed. It was clear he couldn't really see, that he didn't really know where Dean was. Suddenly, what was left of his strength dropped him and he slid down the door, crumbling hard and half on his side face down into the carpet.

The first thing Dean saw then was blood, red and ugly looking on the back of Sam's shirt as if…as if a knife had stabbed into his spine. "Sam!" Dean could shout now. He pushed Sasha away and was off the bed in a second. Dean almost sank straight to the floor then when whatever connection that had been between him and Sasha suddenly snapped like a cord and lashed back at him, giving one last mad rush of those sensations and then they were gone.

Dean wasn't thinking about that though. He hardly noticed that his arms were tan again and his fingers were fingers as he fell to Sam's side and grabbed his brother's shoulders to hold him.

"Sammy!" It had to be a dream, Dean thought, because it was too much like Cold Oak, too perfectly replicated. Even the wound was the same. "_Sammy_!"

Sam wasn't moving. Sam wasn't even breathing, Dean was sure of it, as suddenly gone as he had been almost a year ago. But then, somehow, miraculously, the picture changed. As Dean turned his brother over and pulled their bodies close, Sam's eyes fluttered open.

Relief soared through Dean's chest. Sam was okay, not just conscious but fine. He sat up and looked at Dean like he had no idea what had just happened.

So many thoughts filled Dean's head of things he should say or do—embracing his brother like he had upon Sam's first resurrection was certainly on the list—but he could only watch in joyful fascination as Sam sat up and reached back to touch his shirt, finding blood, yes, but no wound. Sam turned, twisting his body to better see and lifted both T-shirt and flannel. They stuck to his bloodied skin but the blood was all there was. If there had been a wound it was gone.

"What…what the hell just happened?" Sasha asked in a shaky voice, crouched right next to them though Dean had no idea when the incubus had joined them on the floor.

"I…I have no idea," Sam said, his forehead slick with sweat and his breaths coming understandably uneven. He was sitting up but still leaning somewhat against Dean with Dean's arm supporting him—holding him. "I…was sitting on the couch and…and suddenly there was just this _pain_. I tried to get to you but…I could barely move. It was just like…god, Dean," Sam said in horror, his hand coming up to squeeze Dean's bare bicep, "It was just like…"

"Cold Oak," Dean finished, voicing aloud what he had already thought but with a creeping realization far more chilling than his body's almost transformation and then sudden reversion back. It wasn't just _like_ Cold Oak. It _was_ Cold Oak. Same wound. Same panic. Same death…

And then the Crossroad Demon's voice was ringing in Dean's head.

_If you try to get out of the deal in any way…Sam dies._

"Fuck…" Dean choked, realizing what he had almost done. He scrubbed his free hand down his face. "Fuck. _Fuck_. What the hell was I _thinking_?"

"Dean…?" Sam prompted worriedly. Dean could feel Sasha's confused and hurt eyes on him too. It was so unfair. Dean would never trade Sam's life for his own happiness. Never. But he shouldn't have to choose.

"I tried to get out of the deal…" Dean breathed, shaking his head at his stupidity.

There was a gasp from Sasha almost immediately. The incubus understood. But Sam, who had only vaguely glimpsed what must have looked like one human and one incubus on the bed when he came in, just as there should be, did not. "Tried to get out of the deal…? What are you talking about?" His eyes were only looking into Dean's. There was just so much weight behind them that Dean felt entirely crushed. How was he supposed to explain that he had almost killed his little brother because of some really good sex? Okay, so obviously it was a little more complicated than that.

It was while Dean was trying to work out the syntax that he noticed Sam's eyes beginning to wander. Maybe Sam had finally noticed what he must have already seen and just forgotten, or maybe he was finally feeling that all the places his body was leaning against of Dean's were bare. Because suddenly Sam's puppy eyes of concern went wide with embarrassment and color flushed to his face.

"Err…" he coughed and discreetly averted his eyes from looking at Dean and especially Sasha, "You do know that you're both a little, uhh…_naked_. Right?"

_Crap_.

Actually, naked was the good part. The fact that both of them were still about half-mast had to be significantly more traumatizing. Dean promptly left Sam to his own devices, since Sam appeared to be perfectly fine anyway, and began searching for the nearest thing to cover himself with. Before he even really had to look for anything, however, Sasha thrust a pair of sweatpants at him. The incubus was already wearing sleep pants that he had seemingly pulled out of nowhere—or maybe just materialized with a glamour. Both articles of clothing at least allowed for more room and coverage than boxer briefs.

Sam was on his feet, eyes still averted, when Dean turned back to him. The taller Winchester was peeling the flannel off his body and was probably deciding whether or not he should just ditch the T-shirt too since it was soaked in the back with blood.

"Sammy…" Dean tried, coming up blank for more to say as soon as Sam's eyes turned to him. Dean didn't want Sam to die. He didn't want to go to Hell either. He wasn't even really sure if he wanted to be an incubus even if it would mean being with Sasha forever. He hadn't been lying when he told Sasha he sort of liked being Dean Winchester, human hunter. But it was all so much more complicated than any one of those. It was all of them. All tied together and it wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_.

There had to be some way out.

SLAM.

Dean jumped clean out of his skin as the bedroom door slammed shut. Sam was clearly just as startled, his head snapping to the door with every muscle tense on alert. Dean made to walk over to his brother, assuming there had been some gust of wind from somewhere or something, but Sasha had come up behind him and had a firm grip on his arm that stopped him dead. Dean peered over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. Sasha wasn't looking at him; he was shaking, his eyes filled with fear Dean had only seen a handful of times as he stared at the now closed door.

This was getting freaky. "What is it?" he asked the incubus. Then he turned to face Sam again and saw that his brother was swiftly backing away from the door as if something were about to explode through it. Sam backed right into Dean before he knew to stop. "Sammy?" Dean said quietly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sasha was still holding Dean's arm so for that moment all of them were connected.

"Something's coming…" Sam breathed.

BAM. Dean jumped again, glad for the supportive presence in front and behind him even though Sam and Sasha had both jumped too. That was louder and more resonant than Sam's fumbling thuds. Still, Dean didn't understand why his brother's utterance that something was coming had him so fearfully glued in place. Maybe it was because Sam sounded so afraid and that he and Sasha were both trembling like children as if they knew some awful truth Dean didn't.

There was another loud bang on the door. Dean was getting sick of this. If whatever this thing was wanted in then Dean wasn't about to wait for it to burst in on them. Uncharacteristically scared or not, Dean pushed around Sam, freeing his arm from Sasha's hold so he could walk to the door. Both brother and friend called after him but Dean wasn't about to let some beastie with good parlor tricks get the better of him. He grabbed the door knob expecting resistance but found it surprisingly easy to turn the knob and pull.

The sight that suddenly stood before him almost had Dean laughing. There was nothing frightening on the other side, not in appearance anyway. It was just a man.

Okay, so he wasn't standing anywhere near the door where it would make more sense since something had been pounding on it, but again, Dean thought, parlor tricks. The guy was a demon, surely, but not one that evoked much fear in Dean now that he could see him. Guy looked like a pussy. One of those metro bastards with manicured hands, a tailored suit, and perfect GQ hair.

Admittedly, Sasha had a little natural GQ going on, but _this_ guy? He had neat, impossibly blonde hair and a trim, never-worked-a-day-in-his-life kind of build. He was average height, nothing special. The suit was all black—black jacket, pants, and button down—with a blood red tie. He was standing in the middle of the living room, leaning casually against the back of the couch with a satisfied grin.

Dean disliked him immediately.

"Well done," the man said, flicking blue eyes over Dean's form in the doorway that Dean was just waiting to suddenly turn full-on black, "You are rarely frightened into inaction, Dean, and tonight you do not disappoint. You are quite unique, I can assure you." He looked past Dean then into the room and Dean couldn't help looking behind him too.

Sam and Sasha hadn't moved. They were both still back by the foot of the bed, frozen and staring horrified at what to Dean was just a man or at the very least another random demon. "What's with you guys?" Dean asked, angry now because he needed them to be on their toes like they were supposed to be, "Sam?" Dean pressed.

"Don't be too hard on them," the man called, getting Dean to turn back to face him with a glare, "They simply sense something you cannot. And only because I am allowing them to. It's often more prudent to stay under the radar but sometimes…I find this so much more entertaining." His smile was wicked and smug, entirely self-satisfied.

"Dean…" called Sam's voice from behind him, closer but strangely and frustratingly small. Dean looked back again. Sam and Sasha were closer now but still seemingly transfixed.

"Damn it, will you two snap out of it already," Dean nearly growled, "It's just another—" but before Dean could fully turn and say "demon" the pale blue eyes of the man in the suit suddenly changed. But not to all over black. The whites of his eyes were black, like any demon, but there was still clearly an iris with color. They were red. Red on black, like the Crossroads Demon but not mottled. That seemed familiar to Dean for some reason.

"Dean…"

Then Dean almost laughed again. He couldn't help thinking of Gambit from X-men, who had the same red on black eyes in the comics. He allowed himself to chuckle. "Dude, really?" he said, "I think Marvel might have some copyright issues with those."

The demon echoed Dean's laugh with a full-throated reply. "In that case…" he said, trailing purposefully. The air seemed to ripple in front of him like a mirage and before Dean could even blink the demon had switched bodies. He was no longer, well, even a he. It was a woman now, eerily similar to the man but also very opposite. She was equally average in height and slight in build, wearing a classy black dress with a gold belt and heels. But her hair was red, red as Sasha's and curly past her shoulders. Her eyes were also different, because instead of red like the blonde man they were yellow. Yellow on black. "Do you prefer…this?" she said, grinning in the same manner as the man, all pleased with herself and smug.

"Shit," Dean said, frowning now, "Never known you guys to be so cavalier about throwing away hosts for a new one. You send that poor bastard back to where he came from at least?"

"_Dean_," Sam was still repeated, clearly much more anxious now to get Dean's attention since he sounded more insistent.

Obligingly, Dean looked behind him again. This time he could see that Sam and Sasha were right there with him at the door. Even as Sam spoke, both of them continued looking at the demon. It really annoyed Dean. "What?" he said without patience.

"Dean," Sasha answered, not really answering, his head shaking back and forth like he didn't want to believe whatever it was that was running through his head.

"It's not…it's not a host," Sam finally explained, eyes quivering, "It's not a…body, it's just…" Sam shook his head too.

"It's just a demon…" Sasha finished.

Now that was just plain ridiculous. Demons couldn't manifest whole and real in bodies of their own. They needed to possess. Every hunter knew that. Dean turned once again back to the demon in question as he thought that, knowing it couldn't be possible because no demon had ever accomplished such a thing—unless that incubus legend Sasha told them was true—and thank goodness because the sheer magnitude of problems that would quadruple for hunters was terrifying.

Then Dean realized the demon was still smiling.

"I have no need for a host," she said, her voice bearing the same tone as her male version, simply higher in pitch, "I grew beyond that a long time ago. I'm afraid most of your usual tricks will be quite lost on me, Dean. Better if we talked this out like civilized men." She grinned to herself at her mistake. "Well, civilized people anyway. Shall we?"

Once again, Dean was starting to feel Sam and Sasha's anxiety creeping into him, and it disgusted him with the unfamiliar tremors that built inside his gut. A demon that didn't need a host; it wasn't supposed to be possible. Dean had to stay calm. "Sorry, pal. Or…sweetheart, whatever. I don't have sit-downs with demons. Sam," Dean turned to his brother. Just because this thing didn't have a body to exorcize it from didn't mean Sam couldn't mojo the damn thing. Right?

Sam shook his head like he had read Dean's very thoughts. He didn't speak though. He just shook his head and kept on staring. It really wasn't helping Dean's nerves. "They…" Sam said like an afterthought, "Because it's…_both_."

"Now, now," the demon interrupted with a dainty hand raised into the air, "Not both, darling. Either/or. I just don't see the point in limiting myself. There are benefits and good points to either gender." She batted those awful yellow on black eyes at Dean and her tongue darted out at her bottom lip for a moment. "You understand that quite well these days, don't you…Dean?" she said, glancing pointedly at Sasha.

Dean had no idea what his brother had been going on about, but now he was getting angry and that always trumped any feelings of fear. "Look, _princess_," Dean snarled, stepping out of the doorway finally to approach her. He kept his distance—he wasn't a complete idiot—but he wasn't about to stay cowering with the others. "You got some interest in us you better spit it out before we kick your gender-confused ass back to Hell."

"Oh?" she said without moving an inch, just leaning back casually still, "And…how would you go about doing that? You'll find no exorcism would be quite the right…flavor for me. And Sam's powers? Very nice for a beginner but he has a lot to learn before he even comes close to a fraction of what I can do let alone being a challenge for me. Where do you think all that power comes from?" she said looking at Sam who along with Sasha had slowly followed Dean out of the room, "Some _heavenly_ gift? Hardly."

Like the cruelest of temptations, Dean suddenly noticed the Colt lying in the open on the side table next to the sofa. Sam must have had it out for some reason since otherwise it would always be safely tucked away, usually in the hotel safe if there was one. Somehow Dean knew his brother and maybe Sasha as well were thinking just as he was even if none of them dared look at the Colt directly. Right now it was closest to the demon though. She had to know it was there.

And then she moved, walking the direction _away_ from the Colt as if taunting them to go for it. "I'm actually a very reasonable person you'll find if you cooperate. For example, I could allow myself to be very angry right now with young Sam for dispatching my emissary so rudely a few months ago…and yet, as you can see, I haven't touched him. Well, not since you corrected that little…mistake a few moments ago…_Dean_." She paused halfway to the kitchenette and glanced back with a wider smile. "I'd say that's very hospitable of me, wouldn't you?"

Realization clanged in Dean's head like a gong. _Shit_.

Before Dean could think to say anything or come up with some kind of plan, Sam was already moving. She had given him what he believed to be his best opportunity and he took it, sprinting past Dean for the side table, grabbing the Colt, aiming it at the demon and cocking it assuredly. Dean had felt the same surge of panic and expectancy as Sam must have. Sasha probably felt it too. They knew this demon. They had been looking for her…for they, them, whatever, for months now.

"Let Dean go," Sam demanded shakily. His hands were steady, his aim perfect at her head, but Dean knew how much his brother had to be panicking.

This was the contract holder and she didn't even need a host to step foot on Earth. They were out of their league. Somehow Dean knew it was a mistake to point the Colt at her because she hadn't even flinched when Sam made his desperate dash.

"Let him out of the deal!" Sam demanded more firmly, "Or I shoot."

Sasha had moved when Sam did, close on Dean's other side like maybe he thought simple proximity would make it easier to protect him. The sofa was between Sam and the demon. In other cases Dean might consider that a bonus, even an advantage, especially since Sam had the Colt. But something was wrong. The demon looked too impassive.

"Let Dean go!" Sam cried again, bordering on hysterics at having this sudden chance, this unexpected encounter. Much as they had hoped for this, they really never expected the contract holder would come to them.

She tilted her head at Sam, a small smirk on her lips as she simply said, "No."

Dean saw Sam's face change into that sneer, the only expression of Sam's he really hated and remembered well from when Sam shot and killed Jake at the Devil's Gate. Dean hated it because it was too reminiscent of how Sam looked when Meg was pulling the strings. That expression marred Sam. He was sneering, the demon was smirking, and something about it all was just _wrong_.

Dean called out to Sam, "Wait!" just as the gunshot fired, his voice drowned out by the distinctive sound of the Colt. Dean didn't know what he expected. Maybe a little Magneto action and for the bullet to just stop mid-air before meeting its mark. Maybe for the bullet to just go poof. What he certainly didn't expect was for the shot to reach its goal clean and unchallenged.

As sure as Dean's shot had struck the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Sam's shot was also true. It hit her forehead with a burst of arcane energy, the little jolts of electricity like an internal thunderstorm spasming through her body. It was too easy. Too easy. It couldn't be that _easy_.

And of course Dean only had a few seconds to feel the beginnings of joy and relief before it became quite plain that it wasn't that easy at all.

The little shocks fizzled away as always but the demon did not drop to the ground, wide-eyed or at all dead. She blinked full consciousness, gave herself an almost pleasured shake, and grinned slowly at Sam as the wound left behind by the bullet began to close. In a moment there was nothing but smooth skin again.

Raising her left arm, her palm out facing Sam, the demon tilted her head at him again as she said, "Now that, my dear Sammy…was rude."

Sam flew backwards across the room, striking the far wall painfully hard. The Colt was knocked from his hands and the picture that had been hanging along the wall fell with a thud. Sam remained pinned an inch above the floor, grimacing within the demon's hold.

Sasha and Dean stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The Colt could kill anything. Anything.

"Well, clearly I am not merely _anything_," the demon said snidely at Dean, unrepentant of the ease with which she slipped into his mind, "Honestly, do you think Samuel Colt made that gun on a whim with only his own devices and ideas? He was just a man. Even great men need a little help now and again."

What she meant by that was too impossible to believe. "_You_ taught that guy how to make the Colt?" he said somewhere between distasteful and disbelieving, "A gun that can kill demons? Why would you do that?"

The demon shrugged. She had lowered her arm but Sam remained pinned against the wall. He seemed unable to speak because of the strain on his body though it looked as though he had a few choice words that were bubbling up within him. "How else was I suppose to make things more interesting," she said.

This did not bode well. The demon turned her attention back on Sam after speaking and her head tilted slightly again, as if she were merely regarding him. Sam's slowly building cry that finally ended in a full blown scream proved very quickly that she was doing much more than just that. The fact that whatever she was doing wasn't physically visible disturbed Dean even more.

"You have become quite irritating, Sam," the demon said, "And Azazel had had such hopes for you."

"Stop," Dean said, trying to find some leverage, some way to talk them out of this steadily worsening situation. Whatever this demon was it had just survived a direct shot from the _Colt_, had supposedly helped build the original, and Sam's powers were useless against it. As a real demon and not just a host they couldn't exorcize it. That meant their only hope was compromise. With the damn demon that owned Dean's soul. "Just tell me what you want?" Dean said slowly, casting Sasha a quick, careful eye to tell his companion that any action would do them no good right now, "You came here so you obviously want something. What?"

Gaugingly, the demon turned to Dean, and Sam's pained noises lessened. "Oh, so I came here for you, did I? And here I thought it was you who were seeking out _me_," she said sharply, though she still wore a smile. She was beautiful in a way that just seemed cruel and Dean hated her for it, hated her even more for that red hair that was so like Sasha's. "I don't think you fully comprehend yet," she went on, "What your place is in this, Dean. After all, it would appear your brother is still alive. I do believe that was our deal. Now, I cannot guarantee that he won't get himself killed sooner than you might want, but I carried out my part of our bargain. Why then, I ask myself, do you insist on trying to swindle your way out of _yours_." The demon's eyes snapped to Sasha with a flash of her yellow on black eyes.

"Wait!" Dean cried before he had really thought about it, stepping in front of Sasha to somehow block him from her, "That was an accident. I wasn't thinking. I don't want to be an incubus." Dean didn't have time right now to care if Sasha was pained to hear that, he needed to say what would get them out of this until they had more time to come up with something better. "Caught up in the moment, ya know? You can't take Sam back. See? All human again. One human soul for another, just like we said." Dean understood that that was where the problem had started. The deal was for his human soul; as an incubus his soul would be something different.

Also, now Sam knew what he had walked in on and understood the sudden reappearance of that knife wound. But again Dean didn't have time to deal with that.

The demon did not yet look swayed.

"If not for the consequence of losing your brother, you would have gone through with that little ritual tonight, I think," she said, "Perhaps it would be better if I removed the temptation. Tell me," she said with a cruel quirk of her lips, "Do you know what it looks like, Dean…when an incubus staves to death?"

Those words were all it took for Dean to completely forget how to breathe. He flipped around just in time to see Sasha go pale, not just from nausea or pain but because he was morphing into an incubus, something that was clearly being forced upon him. Sasha's eyes went red as he changed and he growled suddenly like he was frenzied. Then Dean understood. That was exactly what was happening.

"Of course you remember the first stage," came the demon's voice, calm and unfazed.

Sasha lunged for Dean as soon as his vision cleared enough to see that a warm, prone body was in front of him. Yeah, Dean remembered this stage. But before Sasha could do more than grip Dean's arms painfully and tower over him, the incubus began to falter. He shook his head, his vision clouding again while his breaths came slow and shallow as if the energy was draining right out of him.

"After that things get more interesting," the demon went on, like she was explaining something out of a textbook, completely detached from what was actually happening, "What happens if a frenzied incubus, starved already, fails to get what he needs? They don't just remain frenzied. No, it's actually quite fascinating what happens next."

As Sasha began to stumble away from Dean, disoriented and confused, Dean dove for him, uncaring to the possibility of harm to himself. Sasha looked so suddenly weak and frightened. When Dean reached him again and grabbed onto his waist, Sasha almost instantly crumbled in his arms. He started to change back to human but only halfway, like his body didn't know what it should be. He was left with slightly longer hair, fangs, the eyes Dean loved, slightly pointier ears, and blackened fingers. He stared at Dean as they fell to the floor together, recognition having returned.

"Exactly," the demon said, a voice in the distance, "It seems they find their way back to themselves in the end. Just long enough to be aware…as their insides rot from inside of them." She bit out the last of it, a curse and promise from an angry tongue.

"Stop," Dean choked out, on his knees with Sasha in his lap, just as it had been when he thought Sasha had died in his arms the first time. He couldn't handle it again. Not for real. Not with Sasha looking at him the same way, frightened and unsure of what was happening. And this was worse, because she wasn't lying. Dean knew everything she was saying was true. The part of Sasha that wasn't seeking help was looking at Dean in pure anguish. He couldn't speak for all the pain he was in, just gasping and whimpering, trying to say anything so that Dean would hear him somehow and know. "Please…" Dean pleaded of the demon even though he was looking at Sasha, "Leave him alone," he cried. This power was too great for them. They couldn't defeat this. They couldn't. "I'm here. I'll talk," Dean said, turning back to her finally as he held onto Sasha tighter, "Whatever you want. Just _stop_."

"Ah!" sounded an audible cry, this time from Sam. Dean's head whipped to his brother still against the wall. The demon had increased the pain for Sam as well, killing them both from within their bodies where Dean couldn't do anything.

"Sammy!"

"De…D-Dean…" croaked Sasha in Dean's arms. His eyes were red but they were faded when Dean looked down, caught between brother and friend, neither of which he could do anything to save. Sasha did not look like he eventually had in the factory, resolute and ready to say his goodbyes. The incubus gripped Dean's arms, clutching at him, pleading with choked off cries at Dean to save him, to make the pain go away, anything. Dean could see it in his eyes, and in Sam's too when he looked up again at his brother. Whatever the demon was doing to them it was robbing them even of their pride and they just wanted to be rid of it, whatever way made that happen faster.

"No…no…no, just…just stop. Whatever you want. Whatever…you _want_. Just…leave them alone. You want me, you have me. You can fucking take me right now, just…don't do this to them, please. I won't try to get out of the deal. I won't, I…_won't_. Just stop!" Dean yelled the last of that at the demon, meaning every word. If it would save them, if anything he could do, anything could just save them then he would gladly go to Hell right now.

"Well…I don't think we need to go that far."

Dean was startled at the sudden gasp, loud and followed by sharp, ragged breaths that came from Sasha. Just as suddenly there was a thud as Sam fell to the floor. Dean looked and saw that his brother was coughing into the carpet, shaking and sucking down air. He had been released. The pain was gone; Dean could see the relief on his brother's face. When Dean looked down at Sasha who he was still holding tightly in his arms he saw the same, that the incubus was breathing in gulps of air and shaking like leaf, but whatever the demon had been doing to him it was over and Sasha was okay again.

Even still, neither of them looked to Dean with grateful expressions once they had a hold of themselves. They looked at him with horror on their faces, neither knowing nor wanting to know what the price of their lives would cost. It was the inevitability of their trio to always save each other, willing to give up themselves, and to always worry that the next time they would be the one saved instead of the sacrifice, having to watch as the one that saved them gave up too much.

"You're not going to Hell yet, Dean," the demon said, "Not yet. But honestly. You people wonder why I use such tactics." Haughtily, she moved to the cushy chair across from the sofa so that she was still facing them. As she sat down, the same ripple as before moved across her form and by the time she was seated, lifting a leg to rest one ankle on the opposing thigh, she was the male version again in that nice black suit. "If you don't mind. I prefer to sit this way and it just isn't lady-like in a dress," he grinned.

Sam was already making his way over to them, slow and stumbling. Dean helped Sasha to his feet and then turned immediately to the demon. He wasn't going to give either of the others the chance to scold him with their eyes. Surely, they were doing so anyway, they couldn't help themselves, but he didn't have to look at them.

"Come," the demon said, gesturing to the empty sofa, "Let's chat. Of course the others can join us. I understand how impossible it is for any of you to do anything without each other these days," he added nastily.

Much as Dean was pleased that Sam and Sasha would not be rotting from the inside out or whatever it was this thing had been doing to them, Dean was now very confused. Regardless, he moved to the sofa as asked and said, "So…you actually want to talk? Why? If you just want to make sure I'm not going to renege on the deal again then we're good." Dean sat down cautiously, taking the middle since he knew some deep-seated sense of over-protectiveness in both Sam and Sasha would make them want to sit on either side of him. They did.

"Just like that?" the demon said with a touch of mocking. He looked so damn comfortable in that chair, leaning back with one leg still propped up. "And I thought you were so adamant to get out of the deal. What happened to all that bravado, hmm?"

Dean's fists clenched tight. It was a good thing he had only had claws for a few minutes because if he had them now he would be doing excess injury to his hands. "Dude, are you…trying to drive me crazy?" Dean said, struggling to hold his tongue, "Two seconds ago you were torturing my friends to get me to swear I'd behave. Just what the hell do you want?"

If possible, the grin on the demon's face stretched wider. His eyes were red on black again. Dean didn't know which pair he hated more. "Just because I want obedience doesn't mean I don't have a proposition for you."

"What?" It was Sasha who spoke, not having said more than a handful of words since the door slammed. He was still shaky, more so than Sam who was on Dean's left.

"Don't you know?" the demon sneered at Sasha, seeming to have a particular distaste for the incubus, "Half-breed or not it should be common knowledge that there is no way out of a devil deal once one has been made. Freedom of choice. A truly wonderful gift. Well…of course there is one way out of a deal," he turned back to Dean.

Already Dean knew this was a trick, that he was somehow being set up even before any terms were spoken, but that couldn't stay his tongue. "You're offering me a way out?"

"Oh, there is no way out," the demon said simply, "There is no way to break our contract, anyway. Renegotiation on the other hand…"

"At what cost?" Sam asked right away. Apparently, Sam and Sasha had both decided to avoid looking at Dean since Dean wasn't looking at either of them. Dean could feel the absence of Sam's peripheral gaze more than he ever felt the presence of it. "Renegotiate for what?"

"Normally, I would ask that others be silent in this kind of meeting," the demon replied with a sharp look at Sam, "But given that you'll be necessary to carry out my wishes, I'm sure Dean will want your input before making his decision."

"You can't have Sam," Dean said without another thought. No more souls were being traded.

It was almost funny to see red on black eyes roll. "You can't sell back the soul that was bought in the first place. Do try to keep up. I'm talking about a task. The rest of the deal remains. Sam stays alive unless his own means foil that on his own terms. And you belong to me come May. Unless…you do me this small favor. At the rate you've been going I'm sure it will be no problem for such…apt hunters."

"You…you _need_ us…" Sam said like a slow realization, leaning forward and scooting to the edge of the sofa, "Why else would you even ask or offer this?"

Something in the air instantly crackled. "Do not presume to think you hold any power over me, boy," the demon snapped. Even Dean felt the rise in dark energy that time besides seeing the flare in the demon's eyes and hearing the slightly more resonant voice. And then the demon smiled again, brushing that off as if it were nothing. "I simply don't want to waste the effort. It's just become a nuisance, you see. All those ungrateful little wretches Azazel let loose on the world without a proper leader waiting for them. He hoped it would be you, Sam. I knew that if it wasn't the plan would fail. It was always supposed to be you. But I let Azazel carry out his plans as he wanted them, knowing he would more than likely fail. You weren't ready. And now we have all these demons out running amuck without purpose. It…disturbs me at their lack of vision. I would like you to remedy that for me."

Now Dean saw where this was going and there was no way in Hell he would agree to it. "You want Sam to step up and be the boy king, is that it?" he growled, "No fucking way. I'll take my chances with Hell before I'll allow that."

"_Dean_," Sam said firmly.

"Sammy, shut up."

"But—"

"Both of you could shut up, if you don't mind," the demon said with a wave of his hand, and Dean found in that moment that he couldn't speak. Neither, it seemed, could Sam. "Entertaining as that might be, no I do not want Sam to gather up the demons and lead them anywhere or to do anything." The demon looked very steadily at Sam and Dean in turn before saying, "What I do want is for you to send them back where they belong. All of them. If you can capture all of the demons that escaped the Devil's Gate before your time is up, Dean…we'll call it even." The demon situated himself in the chair again, comfortable, confident. "Sound fair?"

Again, it was Sasha who spoke, but maybe that was because Sam and Dean still couldn't and therefore couldn't beat him to it. "You want us to send all the demons back to Hell?" the incubus repeated, "You, a powerful demon higher up than the one that planned all this, want us to save everyone from the demon menace? No offence but…you gotta be fucking kidding me."

Dean would have snorted if the demon had returned his ability to speak. He was also a little worried that the demon would snap at Sasha again or worse. He didn't, but he did turn rather annoyed eyes on the redhead. "You know…I never planned for you. That…bothered me originally. But then I saw the potential of your presence. You see, you make this a team instead of a duo. You make them stronger than they are alone. That will be very useful in the future…" the demon said with an appraising tilt of his head, "But until that time comes…you're still a bit of a nuisance and as dense as these two. Contrary to what you might think I do not revel in chaos. I find that a well carried out plan, a _purpose,_ is much more lasting and effective than sheer carnage. Call me…" he shrugged, "_Lawful_ Evil."

Oh, how Dean wanted to speak again. "Look buddy…" and was therefore a little surprised when he found he could. He started over. "Look, you expect us to believe you want us to get rid of all the demons that got out? And let me guess. All we need to do to accomplish this…is for Sam to go a little more overdrive with his powers. Am I right?"

Again there came that slow, satisfied grin. "Well, you don't expect to track down over a hundred demons in less than three months just going on the level of power he has now, do you? That would be…rather difficult, I think."

He was leading them. Where Dean wasn't sure, but he knew the damn demon was leading them along. It knew things they didn't and was exploiting that. Dean had the nauseating feeling that no matter what he did this guy would still win.

The demon's smirk twitched. "I don't see the problem," he said, "You do what you would do anyway, just a little faster and more efficient. If you succeed, you go free. No more ticking clock. If not then you're no worse off than you are now and at least the world is left a little safer. Just the way you want it, right, Dean? To go out saving as many as you can. So noble. So caught up in your white knight persona. I'm merely sweetening the deal."

"For yourself," Dean shot back, "Win, win for you. We succeed all your little minions are back to start over, maybe do it right next time since Sam will be supped up and maybe…hell, I don't know what. We fail, we've still done most of your work for you and you still get me. Pretty good set up you got, pal. But if you're so smart then I'm sure you already know my answer." And Dean was happy to give it. He raised his right hand and thrust his middle finger out in front of him. "Fuck you. I'll take my chances in the pit _without_ your renegotiation."

"Dean," Sam jumped right in, apparently also with the ability to speak again, damn it.

"Sammy, don't you even—"

"Dean, think about this," Sasha jumped in next. Both of them were turned in towards Dean now, ganging up on him with their anger and their puppy eyes, "What have we got to lose?"

Dean wanted to throw that line right back at Sasha. What have they got to lose? _Sam_. It was obviously what the demon was counting on. Somehow that had to be it. Maybe they were wrong and Sam using his powers more really would lead down that path none of them wanted him to go.

"Dean," Sam said again, in that no-nonsense Dad voice he used better than Dean ever could, "You don't get to make this decision alone. You keep saying that you're the one who gets to decide if I lose myself too much to be worth saving. Then let me decide when it's too late to save you. I can take care of myself, Dean. I can handle this. I know I can."

Dean didn't want to meet Sam's eyes, because those puppy-dogs were the worst and would almost assuredly sway him, but then Sam was looking at the demon, not Dean, and Dean couldn't help glancing at his brother.

"Freedom of choice," Sam said to the demon, "You said it yourself. Great gift. I agree. And _I_ choose whether or not I own the powers or the powers own me. If you think accepting this offer will end things differently…you're wrong."

A week ago Dean would have been proud to hear Sam talk with that kind of conviction that he could just be Sam and control the powers within him. Hell, yesterday Dean would have been proud. An hour ago. But something about this demon made Dean doubt even though he never wanted to doubt Sam.

Maybe Sam could feel that, read it right out of Dean's head, because Sam turned back to him then and Dean was caught. Those eyes said 'trust me'. Those eyes said 'this is Sammy and I'll always be Sammy'. God damn it.

"I can do this, Dean," Sam said, his voice wet with tears that weren't there, "Please let me. I know you have to make the decision but…but if this is how I save you then you have to give me that chance. I know you'll be there to save _me_…if it comes to it."

Dean grit his teeth to hear that. He knew what Sam really meant—I know you'll be there to _kill_ me if it comes to it. "Sammy…"

"Dean please," Sasha said behind Dean, a warm hand grabbing his bicep and squeezing, "All of us together…we can do this. If it's a trick then he doesn't know who he's dealing with." Sasha turned angry blues that were finally looking their usual brightness on the demon, who was patiently waiting while the trio talked things out, smug as ever.

But how could Dean make that decision for all of them. It wouldn't just be about him anymore. He could be putting them all at risk by making this deal.

He had made that mistake once already.

"Don't think you're so above this, Dean," the demon said from his throne, "You made a deal with me once before and I held up my end of the bargain. Now I'm giving you another chance. Mutual satisfaction, that's all. No catch. Anything that may or may not happen outside of the terms is entirely up to the three of you." He grinned as he said that and Dean hated that it made him doubt even more and yet it also made him want to prove the bastard wrong.

Then the demon was getting up, and as he did so he shifted once again into the redheaded woman in the classy black dress. She smoothed out her skirt and then placed a hand coyly on her hip.

"Think, Dean, before you so carelessly leave yourself to your fate. I know I won't mind either way, of course. I do hope you won't be able to wrangle in all of the demons in time. Mmm, the plans I have for you…" Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip again. "But I'd still come out better were you to agree with the new deal. Perhaps a little…incentive?" The demon's eyes flashed with their once again yellow on black color.

Therefore, Dean was surprised when nothing happened. He had expected pain, excruciating probably, like whatever she had put Sam and Sasha through. Dean even looked down at his body to check for open wounds. He looked back up at her ready with a scathing comeback when he was suddenly pushed back into the cushions of the couch by hands that came from either side of him. One hand was Sam's. The other Sasha's.

Dean turned to each of them with questioning on his lips but his words fell away to nothing as he saw them. Their _eyes_. Dean remembered with the worst kind of recollection as he looked over at each of them and saw Sasha with the demon's red on black eyes and Sam with the woman's yellow.

Just like in Dean's dream.

"No…" Dean pushed up against those constricting hands but Sam and Sasha easily pushed him down again. They were both so damn strong. "Stop," Dean said to the demon, standing there with her hand still on her hip as she looked on.

"Oh, do you remember, Dean?" she said as Sam and Sasha held him down, "Good for you."

Dean didn't want to remember but it brought everything to a whole new light, and a whole new horror. "_You_…you're the one giving me all those dreams," he said through clenched teeth, unable to move as Sam got onto his knees on the couch, towering over Dean and holding him more firmly, while Sasha growled low and began licking and kissing Dean's neck.

"I'm just giving you a taste of the future, Dean," the demon said. Dean couldn't see her. He had clenched his eyes shut and was trying to struggle up against Sasha and Sam's hold, impossible as it was. "Whether with me in a few months…or with them in…maybe not much longer than that…I can assure you. Those dreams are worth more than you think. Which side you're on when it happens will be up to you…if Sam allows you to choose."

"Stop," Dean said more firmly, because he could feel his brother drawing closer and he just couldn't bear that. Her words told him he was making the wrong decision and yet the thought of escaping Hell, of at least being here to do something about what she was saying made him make it anyway. "I'll do it. I'll do it, okay, just snap them out of it!" Dean clenched his eyes tighter. They were pressing in on him so tight; he could feel Sasha's teeth and Sam's too close breath on his skin.

And then it was as if everything snapped back to where it had been. The demon was standing there and Dean was pushed back into the cushions, but Sam and Sasha were sitting normally, their eyes hazel and blue the way they were supposed to be and looking at Dean expectantly for his answer.

Dean could not possibly express how glad he was that they didn't seem to realize anything had just happened. He would have thanked the demon for that if the thought didn't sicken him.

Slowly, Dean sat up straight again, his pulse quick, his mind in turmoil even though he already knew his answer. He didn't look at Sam or Sasha, only the demon. "Okay. We have a deal," he said, glad that Sam and Sasha only looked relieved not pleased or something similar that would have just made Dean angry, "We'll do what you want. I'd ask how we're supposed to find all these demons but I'm guessing that's up to us to figure out, huh?"

The demon just grinned.

"Do I hafta…kiss you?" Dean asked with a grimace. He remembered well that the Crossroads Demon had sealed her deals that way.

"An offering of the flesh is necessary, I'm afraid," the demon said, always smiling, always so sure that everything was just as she wanted, "I used to take that by cutting out a pound of it, so be glad I'm so nice these days." She took a few steps towards Dean and stopped in front of the sofa.

Dean wanted this over with so he stood up, finding her to be somewhat short actually but right there so that he couldn't move without touching her. He grabbed her arms but before he could pull her in for the kiss she suddenly shifted again, taking on the other form in the black suit.

The male demon with blonde hair tossed Dean a smirk. It was strange to feel fabric now when Dean had initially grabbed bare skin.

At the mention of the kiss, a detail Dean had left out before when explaining things to Sasha, Dean had been able to palpably feel the incubus' disapproval. That sky-rocketed now, because Sasha knew somehow, just as Dean did, that this was a jab at both of them—one last win.

"I thought you preferred this these days," the demon said.

Dean really hated this guy. "You gonna at least give me a name I can hate too? Maybe a month from now I think of an even better renegotiation. Gotta have a way to contact you somehow. Unless you want us to just send all those demons to bug you again."

If Dean didn't know any better he would swear the demon looked pleased. "Of course," he said, "For you, Dean, I'd be happy to. Should you feel the…desire to call on me, and I can't guarantee I'll actually answer…"

Naturally.

"Then…" The demon broke from Dean's hold and had Dean's arms instead in an instant. He pulled Dean close, his lips brushing Dean's ear to whisper just loud enough that Dean was sure Sam and Sasha heard it too. "Call me…_Malak_," he said, "And please…use it wisely."

Then the demon's lips were just _on_ Dean, possessive as any kiss Dean had ever felt. It was almost too deep, an invading tongue marking Dean as his. The whole thing was a bit of a rush, Dean had to admit, like kissing dry ice but not entirely unpleasant. It was a bit of shock then when within the kiss, before Dean even knew what was happening, the demon was suddenly gone, vanished into nothing.

Dean almost fell forward face-first into the carpet.

"Jesus," Dean grumbled, steadying himself, "Talk about wham, bam, thank you, ma'am, the fucker." Dean wiped at his mouth, still feeling the presence of that tongue and the taste of something he could only describe as sinister. He shuddered.

Sam was right next to him in a second and when Dean turned to his brother he saw a look that Sam usually only wore when Dean said a bad pun.

"What?" Dean had to ask, since he didn't really think their encounter warranted that particular reaction.

Sam tried to shrug it off but the nerd in him it would seem was ready to share. "That name. Malak? It means 'angel' in Hebrew. I guess he was trying to be ironic."

Dean huffed. Arrogant bastard. He realized then that Sasha hadn't stood up yet. He was still on the sofa. Dean turned to him and found an expression there as well that he hadn't expected but at least this one seemed more fitting. Sasha looked terrified. "Sasha…?" Dean said, because he hated that look on Sasha as much as he hated it on Sam. They had been through too much for one night.

It was obvious that Sasha wanted to hide his fear from them when he looked up, like he didn't want either of them to have to share in his terror. Damn martyr. "It's just…uhh…well…_Malak_…means something else too," the incubus said. With Sam and Dean both looking at him questioningly, the incubus had no choice but to finish his explanation. "It does mean angel, in Arabic and other languages too. But…for some it means…a very specific angel. In the Yazidi religion, Malak means…" Sasha swallowed deep in his throat, "…the first angel who fell."

Three pairs of eyes met across the small space between them and stared varyingly at each other.

"I think I need a drink."

"Me too."

"_Fuck_ yeah."

--

THE END...of Arc 6! To be continued RIGHT HERE with Arc 7 and many more!

A/N: Phew. See that coming? Actually, two people got it right that Sam would be affected by what was happening, Ann Patterson from FF and tarroandmarro from Y!Gallery. Congrats. You can still request.

Well folks, this will mark almost a year, I should hit over 700 reviews, and Incubus is now almost 1000 pages after 50 chapters and 6 arcs. You still sticking with me? I'm sure I'll be going into a coma now until Thursday. I may take the day off from work. I have plenty more planned for the fic. Next arc, first thing...we meet Eppy and Atty. Please review!

Also, Malak is MINE. Through and through. My hubby and I might use that character for a comic if we ever do it. Any thoughts on him? ;-)

Crimson


	51. ARC 7: Sam, PART 1: Progress

Arc 7: Sam, Part 1: Progress

--

Dean cringed as Sam struck Sasha again, clean across the jaw so that the incubus' head snapped to one side. Every time one of them did that to the other Dean wanted to rush in and stop the fight. But he didn't know which of the two he would be quickest to defend. It was hard being the bystander, only allowed to watch as the other two trained and traded blows. It brought back shades of that old inferiority because apparently Dean was too fragile to join in whenever they were really going at it. Though Dean did have to admit he never wanted to be on the receiving end of any of those blows.

Suddenly, Sasha pulled away and managed to catch another punch of Sam's that had been aimed at his face. He squeezed Sam's fist hard enough to make the taller man grimace. Then before Sam could retaliate Sasha slammed his free hand open-palmed into Sam's chest and sent the other hunter stumbling backwards, winding him.

"You're still doing it," Sasha shook his head, staying away so they could take a moment to catch their breaths. Both of them were shirtless and barefoot as they sparred. They had claimed their motel's racquetball court that was effectively a plain square room. Perfect for their needs. "You're still fighting how you always do, as if you had your old strength and reflexes," Sasha went on, "But you don't. You're stronger than me, Sam, I know you are. And you have a lot of years on me for skills and experience. You should be wiping the floor with me. Know why you're not?"

There was something especially enjoyable about this part of the sparring for Dean—Sasha schooling Sam. Dean was also barefoot and in sweatpants, but he had kept his shirt on since it didn't appear he would be getting in on any of the action. It made sense; Sam was the one who needed to be at his best because he was the only one who could exorcize a demon just by looking at them. And that was only the tip of the superpowers iceberg. There was no telling what Sam might eventually be able to do. And it was possible that all of that potential power would be necessary to save Dean.

Dean sort of hated that. But ever since their encounter with the demon Malak they had doubled their hunting efforts and had endeavored to all help Sam hone his powers, which had recently escalated to include these sessions with Sasha. The incubus had been born with his abilities, after all, and knew how to use them naturally.

Sam didn't have an answer for Sasha's question; the petulant look on his face said he had no idea why Sasha kept kicking his ass. It was only a physical fight—Sam surely could have cheated with some TK or something—but even so Sam's physical attributes hadn't only been increased in strength. He was faster, Dean could tell, and with much more stamina. Dean had already come up with several jokes he could use about that.

"Here," Sasha said when Sam just stared at him, looking lost for an answer as to why he kept sucking so bad. Dean watched as Sasha stepped up close to Sam and manhandled his brother's limbs into a relaxed stance. "Let's go a little Far East for this. Your dad taught you some of the martial arts stuff for controlling your breathing. Go there. Close your eyes," he said. Sam did so. "Work on controlling your breathing. Focus. Think of it like this. Right now you're treating your extra strength and agility like it's this separate extension of your body. An outside force that isn't really you. It's not. Your body is responding to you feeling detached from it. I can hone my extra umph because I know it's just another part of me. That's what you have to learn."

Even if Dean knew he was just going to be a spectator, he always sat in on these sessions. Partly because it helped him keep tabs on his super-friends. But also because it was pretty damn amazing when they really got going. Sometimes he felt like he was sitting in on the filming of _The Matrix_, only these characters didn't need strings or special effects.

"If all that strength and power is in you, Sam, and it _is_," Sasha said, standing right in front of Sam, almost too close to be comfortable if Sam's eyes had been open, "Then you can channel it and move it to whatever part of your body you need it to be in. You can focus it to one spot, the hand you're punching with or the leg you're kicking with, and totally annihilate whatever you're hitting. You have to let it be you. It is you. Now come at me again," he said, taking a quick step back as Sam opened his eyes, "And try not to be such a pussy this time," he grinned.

A smirk pulled at Sam's otherwise serious mouth. They started circling each other. Dean felt the adrenaline rush building in his own body like he was watching a prize fight and all of his money was on one competitor. Only he still didn't know which one.

Sasha struck first, a quick jab to Sam's side, but Sam sidestepped it and swung a kick around into Sasha's hip that nearly buckled the incubus over. Sasha used the momentum, however, to go down into a roll and kicked out at Sasha's shins to knock him down to the ground with him. Dean remembered that move from his own fight with Sasha, always going for the legs. Sam anticipated it though and leapt before the blow could take him down. He then dove for Sasha on the ground but Sasha rolled again and was up on his feet, instantly moving around Sam's side to punch again. This time it was Sam catching Sasha's fist only he didn't take the time to squeeze it. He grabbed onto Sasha's upper arm with his other hand and swung the incubus around into one of the walls.

Dean cringed yet again as Sasha hit the wall only to bounce immediately off of it as he lunged for Sam. It surprised both Winchesters when Sasha went down fast of his own accord, sliding through Sam's wide-stanced legs. He spun around on his back before Sam could turn around, grabbed Sam's feet with his own ankles and twisted so that Sam finally fell to the ground beside him.

Internally, Dean gave a little cheer. That had been pretty frickin' awesome. But he had to cheer the other team too when Sam had the foresight to roll right over on top of Sasha, forcing the incubus—who was unbalanced and trying to get up—face-first into the floor. Dean had taught Sam that particular hold years ago. It was very effective for pinning and immobilizing. Dean swelled with pride.

But of course Sasha was no amateur; the incubus did what most people never think of—he went slack, completely limp in Sam's hold, and it was enough to slip him from Sam's tight grip. Sasha rolled over and successfully knocked Sam away in no time.

Then Dean felt the build up, felt the gathering of power that he had grown so used to, something that had first happened one cold autumn night in Minnesota. Only Sam wasn't preparing to use TK; he was finally listening to his teacher.

Once both Sam and Sasha were on their feet again, circling, gauging each other's next move, Dean felt it. He was fairly certain Sasha could feel it too.

Sasha struck out with a sure blow but Sam swerved with seemingly no effort at all. He twisted back up, caught Sasha's shoulder so he could knock the incubus back and line him up in front of him. And then Sam struck, sharp and sure with the full force of his palm right into Sasha's chest just as Sasha had done to him. The power behind it was palpable. Sasha flew back significantly further than Sam had, halfway across the room until he slammed bodily into the wall and crumbled straight to the floor.

"Sasha!" Sam cried, shocked at his own ability. Dean jumped up and the both of them sprinted across the room to Sasha's side.

"Jesus, you okay?" Dean said as they helped Sasha get up at least to his knees, which seemed as much as he was capable of right now. He was entirely winded and gasping for air and yet he had a huge smile on his face when he looked up.

Sasha reached out and patted Sam's chest affectionately. "Now _that's_…what I'm talking about," he grinned out of breath.

Laughter bubbled out of Sam unbidden and soon Dean was joining him and all of them were laughing. They finally helped Sasha to his feet when he had gotten his breath back. He nodded to Sam in honor of a job well done.

"Now…next," the incubus said, "We work on doing one up on Superman."

"Superman?" Sam repeated, lost on how there could possibly be a relation.

Sasha nodded, still smiling and leaning instinctively into Dean for support. "Big Blue's main flaw, besides being a giant Boy Scout," Sasha explained, "Is that he's way overpowered in the DC universe. But he never actually lives up to that potential. You can probably count on one hand how many times he's used more than one of his powers at the same time. He'd be unstoppable if he did that more often. Maybe you can be too. So we'll work on that. Next time," Sasha finished with a more crooked smile, "I want to actually be able to move for the hunt tonight. I'm gonna grab a hot shower. Can you guys turn the room back in?" Sasha eased away from Dean and headed for the door as he said that. It was as if he suddenly remembered it was Dean he was leaning against and had to get away. They shared a tight smile, brief, eyes never quite connecting, and then Sasha was gone.

Dean's eyes followed after Sasha. He couldn't help it. The swells of pride and excitement he had felt while watching the mock-fight dripped out of him like blood from a slowly seeping wound. That was the other reason he rarely joined in when Sam and Sasha sparred. He and Sasha didn't get too close these days.

It was a deep, frustrated sigh that shocked Dean out of his reverie.

"It was nice to hear the two of you laugh at the same time again. Used to be I'd worry if you weren't having sex at least once a week," Sam said beside him, "Now you barely even look at each other. I don't think you've said more than a handful of words to each other in the past two weeks, Dean. What's wrong with you two?"

Not a conversation Dean wanted to have today. Or any time soon. "It's complicated, Sammy," Dean said, making a bee-line for the door now that Sasha had left.

"_Dean_," Sam said firmly, using some of that super-strength on Dean as he grabbed for Dean's shoulder and held the shorter man in place easily.

It was Dean's injured shoulder but he couldn't really call it injured anymore. Dean's halfway transformation the night they met the contract holder had almost completely healed his gunshot wound, along with fading several old scars—though the one through his eyebrow remained. After two weeks Dean's shoulder barely even ached.

He still resented Sam's hold on it though. "Sammy…"

"It's not complicated," Sam said, forcing Dean to face him. His brow was knit together tightly. "I think it's pretty easy to figure out actually. That night—"

"Sam—"

"—you and Sasha were together and he almost turned you into an incubus," Sam pushed on without stopping, "Something you had to have wanted. You told him that, didn't you? That it was what you wanted. And then you had to take it back. Then he had to hear you say it was an accident, that you didn't mean it, that you don't want to be with him anymore."

"I never—!" Dean was so angry he couldn't get his words out. "I never said that," he finished with a growl, glaring at Sam and ripping his shoulder fiercely out of that tight hold, "I said I didn't want to be an incubus. And it wasn't just to appease that asshole, Malak, either. I don't _know_ if I want to be an incubus, okay? I got caught up in the moment. I meant that when I said it. That doesn't mean I don't want to be with him."

The fierce expression melted from Sam's face as he looked at what must have been the anguished one on Dean's. "But he doesn't know that, Dean. You can see it every time you look at him. If you ever did. Have you actually told him that? If we're not hunting something or working on my powers…he looks like his whole world has ended. He thinks he's already lost you. Have you even been sleeping together?"

"Hey," Dean grimaced, "That's…that's none of your—"

"I mean sleep, Dean. In the same bed. You've had a separate room from me since Pittsburgh, but they always have two beds. My guess is you guys have been using both of them. And not in a kinky way," he tried to add humorously.

Dean felt more like crying than laughing. He didn't want to talk about this but it was inevitable that Sam would bring it up and the brother mojo worked more and more every day. "It just…sorta happened," Dean said, looking anywhere but up into those puppy dogs, "That night…when none of us could sleep and we just stayed up not knowing what to say or what the hell we were gonna do…I thought it was gonna be okay after that. But Sasha got all quiet and…and then at the next hotel when I was getting into bed he just…sat down on the other one and gave me this god damn bleeding heart smile just like he gave me a second ago…" Dean shook his head. They had been moving so fast, rushing into so many hunts to get through as many demons as fast as they could; he had tried not to think about it.

"And you didn't say anything to him?" Sam asked, sounding just as heartbroken as Dean so that it really was pushing Dean further than he could stand right now. Now wasn't the time for this, both of them knew that, but then when was the time? "Dean," Sam said more tenderly, his hand reaching to Dean's shoulder again but with gentle fingers instead of a firm grip, "Without stealing a look, which I'm not going to do, I don't know for sure how Sasha's feeling or what's going through his head. But he needs you right now. You love him, don't you?"

That wasn't even a question anymore. Dean looked up at Sam sharply. "God damn it, Sammy, 'course I do. I just…I…" Dean sighed.

"You still think you don't deserve to be happy," Sam said, and it wasn't at all a question. His hand squeezed Dean's shoulder gently. "You do, Dean. God, you do. So much more than you think. And if Sasha's your happiness than what the hell are you doing throwing it away? I know we don't have time for romantic getaways or the several dozen long talks you two deserve, but you've gotta at least hold yourselves together til we're through this. You'll have all the time in the world after May." It was the same promise Sam kept making, so sure that they could do this and refusing to believe any other outcome was possible. But still a shadow crossed Sam's face as he allowed his hand to drop from Dean's shoulder. "We have to work faster. Ten demons in two weeks isn't enough."

The mere existence of that phrase seemed impossible to Dean. "Dude," he said, "Ten demons in two weeks is a frickin' record. That's almost a demon a day. We're practically blowing through this with you leading us to these guys."

Sam shook his head. "It's not enough. We slow down even a little, have one bad week and…" Sam didn't need to finish. They all knew what it meant if they failed. "That's why tonight and others like it are important, Dean. The demons I sense here…it's like a coven of them hiding out. Fifteen or more."

"I know," Dean said. They had gone over all this in preparation for tonight. They knew they were facing what once would have been suicidal odds. Bobby wanted to come along, much as they insisted they could handle it, but in the end he had gotten tied up with a case of his own. "We need to be at our best," Dean said, "And me and Sasha going in circles like this, all preoccupied and being idiots hasn't been helping. I just…don't even know where to start to fix this."

"Let me help," Sam said, sounding entirely sincere. Then he bodily flipped Dean around to face the door and gave his back a firm push.

Dean would have laughed if that wasn't so not funny. "I fucking hate you, you know that," he grumbled, even though his feet obeyed Sam's not quite order and began to carry him out of the room.

There was a smile in Sam's voice as he said, "I love you too, Dean."

--

Sasha was in the shower when Dean got back to their room. Since he hadn't done any of the strenuous activity himself, Dean didn't feel the need for a shower of his own and contented himself with changing for the hunt.

Gradually, their previously mismatched wardrobes of their own and each other's clothing had reverted to being only their own again; Dean didn't have a single shirt of Sasha's mixed amongst his things or vice versa. That stung as much as their recent silence. How had one night brought them so far only to have everything become horribly severed?

The need for layers called to Dean, maybe more out of need for comfort than protection against the cold. He was ready in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a flannel by the time Sasha came out to discover him sitting on his bed. Sasha was dressed as well—he always changed in the bathroom now—but his hair was still wet and clung to his forehead. He stared at Dean, so damn awkward and fidgety that it made Dean's throat close up. Sasha held it together on hunts and seemed like his normal self whenever he sparred with Sam, but alone with Dean he was a shadow, a sad and faded remnant.

And Dean was the one who had made him that way.

"Sasha…we need to talk about this," Dean said, hating that words like that even existed in his vocabulary. He was leaning forward on his thighs and had to force himself to look up at Sasha directly. "This…mess we got going. I can't handle another two weeks of it. Hell, I can't handle another second. How long are we gonna play the unhappily married couple here until one of us finally does something about it?" Dean tried to be light, maybe even joking with the 'married couple' line, but his voice came out flat, like it had been ever since Sasha started drifting away from him.

Layered, complicated pain flitted across the incubus' face. Sasha didn't move, he just stood there between the bathroom and bed looking misplaced. His eyes strayed, not meeting Dean's as he spoke. "Uh…yeah. You're probably…right," Sasha said too quietly, "I know I'm…just making things harder. I thought you wouldn't want Sam to worry."

Dean's brow furrowed; he wasn't sure what Sasha was getting at. "He's already worried. It's _Sam_," Dean said, "Couldn't help it if he tried. This isn't about him. It's about us."

That same pain rippled over Sasha's features. It made him look as though he were about to cry and was using all of his strength just to keep that from happening. His lip quivered as he said, "Umm…okay. I can just, uhh…get another room then."

Dean's first responding thought was _'huh?'_ Then it struck him rather abruptly what Sasha thought he was saying. "Jesus," Dean grumbled to himself, "Sammy was right." He stood up and approached Sasha then because they had been distant for far too long, "That is so not what I meant," he swore to the redhead, "I want this to stop so we can go back to being _us_ again. I never signed up for this break we've been on, this sleeping next to each other instead of with each other thing. You started that on your own. I thought you…I thought you were mad I didn't let the change happen all the way."

"What?" At last Sasha was looking at Dean instead of around him. "God, Dean, I…of course I'm not mad about that. I thought…" he looked down briefly again, "I thought you hated _me_ for almost getting Sam killed."

_Fucking shit_. "What the hell is wrong with us," Dean said to the ceiling, a hand instinctively coming up to scrub down his face. He peeked at Sasha from between his fingers and saw that those bright blues were three different shades of confused. He took the hand from his face and used it to reach out for Sasha's. "Baby…you didn't almost get Sam killed. And neither did I. It was that Malak bastard lording his power over us, shoving it in our faces that he owns me. You didn't know that was gonna happen."

"But…" Sasha still looked worried and confused even as he leaned his face into Dean's touch, "You looked so…relieved when the change didn't take. The things you said to that demon, I thought…you had to have meant them."

Damn it. Just when Dean had been starting to think he could salvage things the weight of Sasha's words was enough to pull his hand away from holding the incubus's face. "I…did mean them," Dean admitted, hanging on firm to that blue gaze, "And I was relieved. I wasn't ready for all that, Sasha. Forever's such a crazy word for me. I'd never want it to happen just for me to regret it later. Because I never want to hurt you like that," he said quickly, knowing how badly he was messing this up, "Which I realize now I've done anyway…" Dean desperately wanted to scrub his face again but he knew it was a compulsion.

"Do you still want to be with me, Dean?" Sasha asked plainly.

Dean hadn't even realized he had glanced away until he flicked his green eyes up again and found wet, anguished blue. Love should never look anguished. "I don't know if I want to be an incubus," Dean said instead of answering, "Maybe. Some day. It's not something I can just decide easily. And I'm glad I didn't. But I got caught up in the moment that night because the moment was there, because it's always right here, tugging me closer to you. I can't imagine life without you now. I don't want to. I _want_ to be with you. I got a little over two months left, baby, I want to be with you every second. If I make it past that…then…"

"It's okay, Dean," Sasha said in that soft, always understanding voice. This time it was his hand coming up to cup Dean's cheek, eventually sliding his fingernails back through Dean's short hair. "I kinda got caught up in it all too. It just…scared me so much what happened to Sam. And then meeting Malak and seeing the power he had. I was afraid to…touch you again. Like I carried the kiss of death or something." He tried to laugh but the sound still came out a little broken.

They were idiots so often Dean couldn't believe how many times they seemed to end up right back here again, misinterpreting each other and messing things up. He grinned a little crookedly as he said, "Do you think…maybe we could skip all this…and get to the making up part?" purposely reminiscent of Sasha when the redhead was fitted into his hospital bed with him after Kubrick.

Sasha laughed brokenly again, those wet eyes finally giving way to a few stubborn tears. "I'm sorry I'm an idiot," he said, squeezing the back of Dean's neck as he held it.

"We deserve awards for it or something," Dean chuckled. He was already leaning in.

Kisses just came so natural for them, whether a soft and simple pressing of lips like right then, or deep and possessive the way the kiss started to become. The feel of Sasha's tongue sent a little jolt through Dean's body and he realized how much he had missed Sasha. He wasn't worried about Sam dropping dead; simply knowing the consequences of giving in too much left Dean with a little more doubt than he might have had otherwise. Not doubt in Sasha. Just doubt. It wasn't that he didn't deserve to be happy. It was just never going to be easy for him. Dean wasn't about to let that keep him from enjoying what little time he had left though.

Besides, Sasha had to get his feedings from somewhere, and elsewhere was not an option.

"Are we about done with all this now?" Sasha asked with a cheeky grin after several moments had passed of their kissing, "Coz this whole scene is totally cramping our style for tonight."

And just like that everything was okay again. "Dude, whatever," Dean said, giving Sasha's chest a playful shove, "I'm not the one who admitted defeat for no reason and chose to sleep alone. Next time do you think you could try asking me what's up before you sulk?" The words were entirely playful.

"Right. Says the guy who took two weeks to say _anything_," Sasha said with just as much snark, "Let's agree we're even, try not to assume so much, and maybe there won't be a next time. You know I love you, Dean. I always will. Sometimes I just…need to be reminded you love me back." A quirk of the old, sad smile crept in.

Dean couldn't have that. "I'm sure I can manage occasional reminders. Long as you stop being such a sap." Dean put a hand to the side of Sasha's head again but this time so he could playfully push it to the side like he would Sam.

"Oho," Sasha laughed at the subtle challenge, "Careful there. I know all the places you're ticklish," he warned and gave a couple promising, advancing steps towards Dean.

"You stay away from me," Dean said totally serious, hands held up quickly in defense as he took a step back. No one was supposed to know he had ticklish spots. It was one of those things he liked to keep secret, like his fear of flying. The only reason Sasha had discovered this was because he had been with Dean enough times and ran his hands over enough of Dean's body to have noticed that certain spots always made Dean tense up for a moment. Further exploration had resulted in fits of laughter from Dean and a very red face.

Reliving that was so not on Dean's agenda for tonight.

Just as Sasha pounced forward Dean tried to turn so he could better get away instead of just backing up. Sasha was quicker though and he caught Dean around the waist from behind, slipping large insistent hands up underneath Dean's layered shirts the way Dean had so deeply missed. But as expected Dean tensed when soft fingers traced too lightly along his sides just beneath his ribs. He had fooled people for years by just tensing but Sasha knew better.

"Stop!" Dean called out, immediately biting his tongue to keep the exclamation from becoming a laugh. Sasha was laughing enough for both of them anyway. Dean managed to squirm away only to trip forward onto the bed. He rolled over just as Sasha pounced on him yet again, this time pinning him with his hips. Dean held up his hands. "No, _bad_ incubus. No sex for you."

For a moment Sasha looked honestly crestfallen until his face broke into a large grin and he laughed out loud. He thankfully did not continue his tickle assault but instead smoothed the flat of his palms up Dean's stomach and down again. It made Dean shiver deeply but Sasha didn't go any further than that, as if he had meant the gesture purely appreciative.

There was a sweetness in Sasha's smile as he looked down at Dean, even though he was still basically sitting in Dean's lap.

"I know you don't mean that," he said, "But just in case you do, I guess I better behave, huh? We, uhh…we good here then?" he said more seriously again, "I'm so sorry, Dean. I guess I was letting that old fear creep in."

"Old fear?' Dean repeated.

The somber part of Sasha's smile pulled at his lips. "Everybody leaves eventually," he said.

Dean wanted so badly to say that he would be someone who would never leave but he couldn't promise that. He didn't get the chance to say anything in reply anyway because that was the moment Sam chose to knock and then come waltzing in without so much as an invitation.

Dean knew he should have locked the door. It served Sam right though, his eyes bugging out before he could say anything since he had walked in on a rather compromising looking sight.

Another great laugh erupted from Sasha. "Really, Sam, we might have to promote you from king of the awkward bad timing to the unholy supreme _emperor_ of it," Sasha laughed again, climbing off of Dean and then holding out a hand to help hoist Dean onto his feet, "It's okay," Sasha continued, "It just looked bad. You're safe. Come on in. We were just fooling around."

"Good," Sam smiled as he entered. Then he seemed to recognize how wrong that sounded and suddenly blanched. "I mean…not that I want any thoughts of you two fooling around running through my head, but…" Sam smiled, "I'm glad everything's okay. I actually hate to interrupt but…we need to go."

That got Dean's attention. They had another half hour before they had planned to head out. "What's up?' he asked Sam, straightening out his shirts a little better and immediately going for his jacket. Sam was already wearing his.

"They've moved," Sam said, "All of the demons are in one place now. I can feel it. We might not get another chance like this. If we go now we can get all of them in one hit."

"But I thought we were going to make several smaller raids since they were split up," Sasha voiced his concern. Actually, it was Dean's concern too. Fifteen or more in one night was one thing, but that many all at one time was twice the amount they had dealt with when they faced the seven deadly sins. Of course Sam's powers had handled the Magnificent Seven just fine, once the powers kicked in anyway. Still. "Can you handle that many, Sam? That's a lot of demons to exorcize just by thinking it."

"Especially if you're also using TK or something to hold them in place while you do it," Dean added. They had been facing more and more powerful demons and that seemed to take more of a toll on Sam. He couldn't just 'got to Hell' with all of them. Some took more concentration. If all of these demons were even close to that level it might take Sam longer and he would need to ensure they stayed in place to pull the exorcisms off. The fact that Sam could do it at all proved how much stronger he was getting.

Sam also seemed to be enjoying his powers more and was discovering new ones or new ways to use them all the time. Part of Dean thought it was a little odd since Sam for so long had been against using his powers. Now Sam smiled as he said, "I think I have a way around that. Sasha, remember what we talked about before? Can I try it on you?"

That sounded all kinds of wrong. "Uhh…what?" Dean couldn't help intervening.

There was a complacent smile on Sasha's face. "Sure. Always a willing guinea pig long as it doesn't kill me," he said to Sam, "Go ahead." Sasha stepped a little ways away from Dean into the center of the room.

"Wait," Dean called as Sam raised an arm towards Sasha without so much as a word of explanation, "What are you—" there was a sudden flash of red light that forced Dean to shield his eyes. He felt panic swell in his throat immediately because the others were not supposed to just do things like that without filling him in first.

But when Dean dropped his arm he saw that Sasha was perfectly fine. Except for the part about being bound inside a devil's trap that was written in manifested red glowing light.

Dean recognized it right away as a runic spell. But to do something like that without actually drawing the symbols yourself required strong arcane knowledge usually associated only with sorcerers from the Dark Ages. It wasn't something you just did with a wave of your hand.

"It'll take less energy to cast out fifteen of those than to try holding all of the demons in place with TK," Sam said, like what he had done was nothing special, "If it works. Sasha?"

Sasha nodded, not seeming bothered that Sam had basically just caged him. The incubus walked towards the edge of the trap that had appeared around him. Like with any normal devil's trap it prevented Sasha from moving any further than the area the symbols covered. "Awesome, Sam," Sasha grinned when he realized it worked, "You're learning so fast."

_Maybe too fast_, Dean almost said aloud. He couldn't help it. He trusted Sam but the reason his brother was picking up things at a more alarming rate was because of a driving desire to help Dean before their time ran out. Dean still had his doubts as to whether or not this was the right path. Sam just looked so sincerely proud and sure of himself these days, not frightened or hesitant.

With another wave of Sam's hand the red light faded away, the devil's trap vanishing, and Sasha was free to move again. He walked right up to Sam and grabbed his shoulder with a firm squeeze. "Dude, you're calling on old magicks like second nature. There's no telling what you could do eventually. We really should look into—" Sasha cut off abruptly as he looked at Dean, "Dean? You okay?"

Dean didn't know what expression he was wearing but he knew it wasn't exactly supportive. He would have tried to smile it off but he had already been caught. "Yeah," he said, "It's just…Sammy. You swear you'll say something if this gets to be too much for you, right? If you feel any…different or anything." Oh that so didn't sound how Dean wanted it to.

And low and behold the look that crossed Sam's face was an instant shift into wounded. "Dean…? You don't trust me. I'm scaring you again, aren't I? And don't lie," Sam said sharply when Dean opened his mouth to counter that, "I can tell when you're lying whether I look into your head or not. I know this is a lot, Dean, but the last thing we want right now is for me to hold back and risk sleep walking again. I'm too much pure instinct like that. But if I face the powers head on I can control them. You…believe me, right?"

Fuck. There went the puppy eyes and Dean was just putty. "Shit, Sammy, I…I trust you, I do. I'm…trying to," Dean amended, trying in vain to articulate himself better with hand gestures, "It's just this…power thing still gets to me sometimes. I can't help worrying we're doing exactly what Malak wants."

"Well…we are," Sasha said with a shrug, "That's the point. We're following his rules because then we can be sure you're out of the deal."

"Yeah…ain't that grand," Dean grumbled, turning away, "I'm sorry," he said with a shake of his head, looking to each of them and hating that their worried faces were because of him, "The point is that even if he is expecting something from us…we gotta prove him wrong. You can prove him wrong, Sammy. If anyone can, you can." Dean nodded to himself, maybe to help convince himself of what he was saying.

Sam picked up Dean's shotgun from the top of the table where he had left it after a good cleaning that afternoon. He tossed it to Dean and Dean caught it with ease. "After tonight," Sam said, "Maybe I can get you to believe that." Sam wore a tight smile but he didn't press Dean any further. His gaze was steady.

Dean responded the only way he could. He looked back at Sam just as steadily and gave his brother a firm nod.

--

There were so many reasons Dean should be feeling good right now. He and Sasha were back on speaking—and touching and kissing—terms. Sam was doing great, mastering more powers and still seeming wholly and unquestionably Sam. And Hell, they had already gotten rid of ten demons working towards ending Dean's deal and were headed for a hunt to banish over a dozen more. Dean had his brother, his lover, a chance at salvation, and a brand new hunt. Life should be _good_.

Which had to be why Dean felt so damn pissy for having a bad feeling about tonight. He just couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong, and his instincts were usually right. He still wanted to believe that his ill feelings had nothing to do with Sam but that was a struggle too. It couldn't be Sam. It just couldn't be. Dean would know if his brother was changing, wouldn't he?

Going off what Sam had told them—that there was a coven of demons all meeting in one place for a singular purpose—Dean had expected the gathering to be in a warehouse district or something. The reality was actually much more convenient, a farmstead in the middle of nowhere that appeared to be abandoned and had a large old barn.

The hunters arrived well after dark, something they were all used to, but what made it worse was that it had started to storm. Thunderstorms and freezing rain in the middle of March were not among Dean's favorite things. Summer storms Dean loved but this kind of shit just made him feel like he was going to catch a cold or something. They had dealt with like conditions on many hunts of course, most recently when they chased down that black dog in Troy, Pennsylvania that had turned out to be a run-of-the-mill rabid black lab.

Tonight wasn't shaping up much better in the weather department. Dean was already caked in mud up to his knees by the time they stealthed their way over to the side of the barn. There was a strange, unearthly light emanating from the building. All of the demons were already inside according to Sam. Dean and the others had unanimously decided not to split up and therefore they all climbed up the soaking wet and rather rotted hay stacks to get a look through one of the broken barn windows.

"Jesus," Dean whispered in exclamation, the irony of that particular word choice not at all lost on him in this situation, "Sorry to knock your powers down a peg, Sammy, but this is twice as many as we were thinking."

"Twenty-five," Sasha said, eyes trained on the gathering through the window.

Dean all but rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that, Rain Man. But you miss my point. We gotta abort this thing. There's too many for you, Sammy. And Sasha and I cannot pick up that much slack. This is crazy."

"What are they doing?" Sasha asked somewhat absently, clearly not paying attention to what Dean had just said, "They're all just standing around."

"With that one demon in the center," Sam continued, indicating a dark-haired young man standing on a platform in the middle of the barn with the other demons around him. All of their eyes were open, revealing their full-on black eyes, but the young man in the center had his closed. "They must be performing some kind of ritual."

"_Hey_," Dean growled out low in his throat, "Either of you care to listen to the voice of reason over here? We need to go. This is over our heads. Listen to yourselves. We don't even know what's going on."

That should have been enough sound reasoning to convince the usually logical guys of their trio but when they turned to look at Dean with frightening symmetry and determined expressions Dean already knew he was screwed.

Why was it always them ganging up on _him_ anyway?

"Dean," Sam said slow and calculating like he needed to speak that way for Dean's benefit or something, "We can't just walk away now. Whatever they're doing in there we're talking about some seriously bad mojo. I can feel it."

"I can feel it too," Sasha nodded, "Like pure demonic power on overdrive."

Dean really didn't understand why they were dismissing his suggestion then. They needed to move their asses and get out of there. "All the more reason to go, you idiots," he said, "Sammy, this gathering, ritual, whatever thing they're doing in there is big enough that it threw off your radar. This could go from bad to worse real fast."

"Dean, the only reason my radar was thrown off is because I've been spending extra energy shielding us so they won't sense us coming. I'm not exactly going to need to do that anymore once we drop in. I can handle that many, I know I can. I'm not saying it'll be easy. But if we leave now there's no telling what might happen. That ritual in there could…it could blow up all the neighboring towns for all we know."

"Actually…" came Sasha's voice with a leading lilt. He was looking through the window again. The barn was large all right and mostly empty other than the demons. There didn't seem to be a visible source for all that strange light either, ghostly and blue. "Look at all the reversed pentagrams they've drawn," Sasha said, attempting to point at some of them through the glass. There were several, like backwards devil's traps. "I think it's some kind of channeling ritual. Notice anything about the hosts?" Sasha glanced back at them with raised eyebrows.

Together Dean and Sam peered closer, trying to be careful not to be too conspicuous even though that didn't seem to really matter since the demons all looked pretty damn focused on their leader in the middle. Dean wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for in the hosts though. There was no general age or description to any of them, male and female alike of varying ethnicity and stature.

Then Dean noticed something about the young man in the center. There was blood on his shirt and a small hole as though he had been shot. Dean wasn't sure which he felt more, revulsion or relief. "They're all…dead," he said with a grimace, "Like were dead before the demons took them, dead." Most of them were in fairly good shape, obviously recently dead, but Dean could see a few that hadn't gone out nicely—a broken neck, slit wrists, stab wounds. Dean shuddered. Demons or not he frickin' hated zombies.

"At least we don't have to worry about trying not to hurt the bodies," Sam said in a hollow voice, "But there's no doubt now that this is big if they're purposely using dead hosts. Demons generally don't possess the dead. The living is more…enjoyable, has more options. They're doing this to better channel their demonic energy so that a human soul can't get in the way."

"And they're focusing all of it on that one guy…" Dean said, feeling more than ever that it would be best if they high-tailed it out of there. Fast. "Why put all their eggs in one basket? That one guy goes down it's a waste of almost thirty demons."

Sasha huffed. "Assuming it would even be possible to take that one guy down. They're making a demon super soldier in their, Dean. And I'll give you one guess as to why." Sasha turned his piercing blue gaze none too subtly onto Sam. "Word travels fast, Sam. They must know we're after them. They're probably thinking preemptive strike here. We gotta stop 'em."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait," Dean said jumped in, holding up a hand for them to just pause and think for a minute. He looked firm but beseeching at both of his companions. "Guys, just hang on, okay. We don't know if our guess is right and we sure don't know if the purpose is to send some super demon after Sammy. If we're gonna do this then we better have one damn good plan. One wrong move and we are toast. Period."

At least that bit of sense seemed to make an impression on Sam and Sasha. They both seemed to be stepping back a minute and thinking very carefully about how they should proceed. Dean did as well but every possibility he came up with seemed more and more crazy and suicidal.

Then it hit him. He wasn't thrilled about it but it was probably their best bet. He was just happy Sam and Sasha were only vulnerable to devil's traps. Not salt lines.

"Sam, you sure you can hold all of them with those red light devil's traps of yours?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked at Dean slowly, the shadow of a smile on his lips. "Yeah."

"Okay. Well in case a couple slip free while you're working your mojo…I got an idea."

The fun part would be dropping in from the old skylight-like window on top of the roof.

Sasha was able to fly both of them up there, the wood creaking unhappily under their weight, and then once they were ready and Sam swore he knew what he was doing, the younger Winchester jumped into the hole, landing unharmed and easily right on top of the platform next to the center guy. Snarls and something like roars erupted from all of the demons, only that center man remaining still and docile.

Sam was fast, Dean had to give him that, because before the first of the demons had even thought to rush him he had already thrown out his right arm with that same flash of red light Dean saw in the motel. Twenty-five glowing devil's traps formed, capturing all of the demons in an instant, including Mr. Centerpoint. Sam closed his eyes, raised up both of his hands and just concentrated.

As the process of exorcizing the many demons began, Sasha, with Dean safely in his arms, dove down through the skylight. They landed just below the platform in front of Sam and Sasha immediately set Dean on his feet. The incubus couldn't risk getting caught in one of the devil's traps. His job was to stay by Sam and make sure none of the demons reached him should they escape. It was up to Dean to make sure none of them got out of the building since he was the only one who could move freely throughout the room. For now they merely watched, scanning for any flickering traps. Dean clutched his shotgun in preparation.

Just as they feared the gathered and concentrated power of the demons was more than Sam had dealt with before. A quick glance showed sweat beading on his forehead and a deeply furrowed brow. He was having trouble holding all of the traps while trying to banish the demons at the same time.

"He looking a little strained to you?" Dean said aside to the still incubus-looking Sasha.

Sasha bit his lip, his fangs pulling at the skin, but said nothing.

A louder howl erupted from somewhere near the back row of demons and Sasha's wings shot out behind him, tense and ready, his claws curled as a low growl began in his throat. Dean turned towards the sound as well and saw it. One of the outer traps was flickering.

Dean immediately took off, shotgun ready, sprinting between demons, many of which tried to grab for him but couldn't because of the traps. Just as Dean reached the one that had been wavering, the red light around that demon went out completely. Dean stopped and cocked the shotgun, ready to fire a blast of rocksalt into the damn thing's face should it try and go for Sammy.

Then the demon did the other thing they had feared. It didn't go for Sam. It turned tail and ran straight for the main door. Dean took off after it. They couldn't afford to let any demons get away. Every last one of them was part of the key to Dean's freedom. Dean sort of had to grin then when the demon reached the door, threw it open, and found he had nowhere to go.

They had salted every last possible entrance in and out of the barn.

The demon turned back to Dean with barred teeth. It was a man who didn't look all that dead really other than the sickly pallor to his skin. Disease had taken him maybe, or internal injuries that weren't outwardly visible. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that these bodies were expendable because they had already expired.

"No late checkout today, pal," Dean said, raising the shotgun to fire, "So sorry."

The gun went off with a crack and Dean hit the barn floor hard, having struck nothing. He looked behind him and saw that two more demons had gotten free and now had hold of his ankles. Wonderful.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, kicking the demons away. He managed to free one leg and watched as that demon instantly became entrapped again by a red light devil's trap. Sam was doing his best. That was as much as Dean could ask for.

At least Dean hadn't lost the shotgun. He rolled over onto his back, having enough leverage now, aimed at the other demon's face and fired. The demon released Dean with a howl and just like the other one it was immediately caught again by red light.

It struck Dean suddenly that the demons were more interested in escape than they were in Sam. And it would seem that the only way to manage that escape was to go through Dean.

The first demon that had gotten free from its devil's trap, who seemed to be just one too many for Sam to hold, took that thought to heart and lunged for Dean just as Dean was getting to his feet. Dean slammed back against the doorframe behind him, hitting a spot just between his shoulder blades that made him hiss. He understood the game now. The demon was going to try and use Dean to make a break in the line of salt.

Dean ducked to the side just as the demon punched into the doorframe where Dean's face had been a moment before, chipping out a chunk of old wood. Rolling away, Dean could see that the demons closest to Sam were finally giving in as more and more of them opened their mouths to the ceiling and black smoke shot out of them like locust. If Dean could just hold out long enough for Sam to dwindle the numbers then this one demon would be cake.

"Dean!" Dean heard over the roars of the demons and the rumbles of thunder and rain from outside.

Rolling further away from the door, Dean jumped to his feet. He couldn't immediately see the demon who had just attacked him, which was bad, but he still turned to Sasha and yelled, "I'm fine! Stay with Sam!" Dean didn't want to take any chances.

Suddenly, the one free demon pounced on Dean yet again, catching Dean off guard from behind. Dean hung onto his shotgun tightly as he was pushed roughly towards the barn door and their most important salt line. Dean's breath hitched as he willed himself to stop, somehow managing to halt his movement inches from disrupting it.

Relief was short lived, however, because Dean turned to see the demon barreling towards him. He didn't have time to fire but it was more than enough time to pivot and slam the butt of the gun across the demon's face as it reached him. Dean heard a sickening, satisfying crack. Too bad it wasn't enough to slow the demon down.

The punch came so fast and so hard that Dean's jaw burned from impact long before he hit the ground. He had about two seconds to realize he had basically obliterated the salt line before the demon leapt over him out into the night.

"No!" Dean called after it. He couldn't let even one demon get away. Not _one_.

Searing jaw be damned, Dean jumped back up to his feet. He paused only long enough to fix the salt line again.

There weren't many demons left, mostly just dead bodies scattered over the floor, but no more demons were getting out of that barn. Then Dean was off in pursuit of the escapee, completely oblivious to Sasha's calls after him.

"Dean, wait! _Dean_!"

There was a steep slope to the right of the barn that led down into a low, shallow river, a clearing, and finally a grove of trees. The demon was running fell pelt over the muddy ground down that slope and Dean bounded after him. He just needed one clear shot to slow the demon down. Just one.

Stumbling towards the river, the demon's footing faltered, unused to flying over that kind of terrain so fast in the pouring rain. But Dean was a pro and that was just the opening he needed. A few more fast, sure strides and Dean had him. The demon went down with a cry as Dean shot him square in the back, the rocksalt burning and sizzling through his shirt.

When Dean caught up and the demon rolled over, just off the bank of the small river and covered in mud—much as Dean was—Dean was surprised to find the damn thing grinning up at him. "You're a fool, Dean!" It yelled to him over the rain falling hard and constant around them, "You're so predictable I feel sorry for you!"

Dean's teeth clenched. He didn't know what the hell this demon was talking about but he knew he didn't like what he was hearing. He reached into his jacket for his flask and liberally poured holy water over the demon's body. It mixed with the rain and burned over the bastard's skin, making him roar as steam rose up from where the holy water had touched him.

But before Dean could speak any snide remarks the asshole was grinning up at him again, so strangely compliant, lying in the mud with the rain beating down on the poor dead body it was animating. "I will follow your brother with a glad heart, Dean…when he becomes king," the demon said, "Will you?"

Fury burned in Dean so hot and so fast he wasn't thinking straight. He fell upon the demon, shotgun and flask dropping from his hands so he could yank the demon up by his shirts. "Sammy is not your fucking king!" Dean growled as low and dangerous as he had ever heard from Sasha, "Give my regards to Malak, you bastard. Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Domino," Dean began, staring unflinchingly into the demon's black eyes.

It didn't look nearly as smug now. With a great shove the demon pushed Dean away, knocking him several feet back to land just as solidly in the mud as he was. But Dean didn't falter.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas…"

Dean had grown used to the sound of a demon's roar—that unearthly cry they made when they knew their time was up. Maybe this demon knew nothing of 'Malak', but it still understood that Dean was owned by something more powerful than itself. It would sooner face Hell than risk the wrath of the contract holder should it accidentally harm Dean while trying to stop him.

The last of the ritual fell from Dean's lips like a curse, "Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri," and black smoke poured from the host's mouth leaving behind only a hollow husk with yellow skin and wide dead eyes. Dean couldn't help the smirk that crawled onto his lips after that. "Knew finally memorizing that damn thing would come in handy."

Dean would have been content to just fall back into the mud and lie there after that. If it hadn't been right then that he heard the first explosion. He was perked up and alert in seconds, his head snapping to the left to stare horrified up the slope at the barn. The barn that was currently on _fire_ and emitting loud pops and bangs into the night!

Horror burned through Dean's chest with a terrible heat at the sight of those flames. He was all set to sprint back up the slope and into that damn burning barn in search of his companions, having no idea how the barn could possibly have caught fire in the first place, when the next explosion burst out of the barn doorway along with the sweet miraculous sight of an incubus in flight.

Relief cooled the remaining embers of horror Dean felt as the first thing he noticed was that Sam was in Sasha's arms, conscious so he knew both of them were okay. Dean laughed out loud at the sight of them and how Sam was so tightly clinging to Sasha's neck. This would be his brother's first incubus-borne flight after all.

But then another explosion followed after them and with the combination of rain and confusion Sasha's flight path tilted haphazardly in Dean's direction. The incubus was obviously losing control and needed to land as soon as he could but as he came in low down the slope he was having trouble steering.

If Sam could have helped their landing at all he was either too wiped or too stunned to do anything. Sasha and Sam crashed into the muddy and wet grass about three yards from where Dean was sitting, tumbled a few times, and finally came to a stop with Sam sprawled over Sasha's incubus body.

They immediately started laughing.

Too exhausted and wet and relieved to move quickly, Dean chose instead to crawl over to his companions. It was raining harder now, a full downpour, not that that was doing anything to help put out the fire. Old wood like that would keep on burning.

Dean wanted to ask what the Hell had just happened but he could already tell that something was…off. He could see Sam and Sasha's twin smiles and hear their wild laughter. He watched, transfixed, as Sasha morphed back to human and hugged Sam to his chest.

"That was amazing!" Dean barely heard Sasha yell over the storm, "I almost didn't think you could do it and then BAM," Sasha laughed again, "I can still feel it. _Fuck_. All throughout my body, ya know?"

The answering chuckle from Sam was low and mischievous. He lifted his head to look at Sasha, still pretty much on top of him and allowing the firm hold Sasha had on his body. "I don't think it's gonna go away any time soon, either," Sam grinned.

Getting close enough to really see Sam and Sasha, finally only a couple feet away from them, Dean almost choked at the sight of their eyes. None of this was funny to him anymore. Sam's eyes were their demon mottled yellow and there were sparks of electricity dancing around them like static. Sasha was the same, his incubus eyes red even though the rest of him was human, with electricity sparking everywhere.

It was then that Sam and Sasha noticed Dean, both of them looking to him with those strange eyes at the same time. Dean couldn't help it. He shuddered down to his toes.

"Uhh…you guys are kinda…crackling," Dean said, feeling a strange sense of fear that he usually only felt when he was dreaming. He swallowed. They both looked like they were about ready to eat him alive. And like they would really enjoy it.

Then they were laughing again, free and easy and not seemingly sinister at all. It was actually kind of giddy. "The energy," Sam said with a wave of his hand, finally pushing up to get off of Sasha's body, which was more than fine by Dean. Sasha sat up too and they both took a few deep breaths. "Exorcizing all those demons," Sam was trying to explain to Dean but there was this strange, goofy smile on his face, "They were so strong, so supped-up. But that guy in the middle, he was the last to go. And when he went, _shit_. All that energy they'd been pouring into him just shot out everywhere. It had to go somewhere, so…it went into the only things available," Sam smirked, "_Us_."

Dean felt a cold hand wrap gnarled fingers around his heart and squeeze.

Fuck.

"Us and the fusebox," Sasha said with a chuckle, leaning his head back to enjoy the rain like he was sunbathing, "Thing was so old it totally blew out. Whole place went up in seconds. _Man_, that was a rush." There were fangs in his smile.

This was bad. A knot had formed in Dean's stomach that was so big he couldn't move. He wasn't hearing this. "All that…evil…demonic energy…went into _you_?" He knew his voice was trembling.

This time when Sam and Sasha looked to him their expressions were strangely intent. Then suddenly they were reaching for him and there wasn't any time. Dean only had one weapon on him now and he went for it, pulling out his ankle blade and brandishing it out in front of him. He knew he could never use it but he didn't know what else to do.

The intent expressions on Sam and Sasha's faces immediately broke and what Dean read on them wasn't malice. It was concern. Shame.

"Dean," Sam said first, his eyes drooping at their edges, "It's us. It's just the energy. Sure, it's intense but…it's not evil."

"Power's just power," Sasha joined in, both of them up on their knees now facing Dean, "It's a crazy high, I'll admit, but we're still us, Dean, I swear. We didn't mean to scare you."

"You have to believe us, Dean."

"Please."

"Stop," Dean held up his free hand, "Just…just stop."

Dean stared hard at both of them, at the way their eyes pulled down all puppy-like even though they were yellow and red and still crackling. As he watched, trying to sort out if he believed them or not, Sam closed his eyes and slowly the sparks of electricity faded until they were gone. He opened them again to reveal hazel that just tore into Dean. A moment later Sasha had managed the same. Dean knew that the energy, the power, was still in them, but they captured him with their collective gaze and Dean had no choice.

His arm dropped.

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again," Dean said, scrubbing his face even though it really didn't do much to help with the rain, "Fucking energy high?" Dean scowled, "You big freaks, what the hell am I gonna do with you."

And then somehow everything was okay, at least as much as it could be, because Sam and Sasha were laughing again. Giddy. They were definitely giddy.

"This is gonna wear off, right?" Dean said, re-sheathing his ankle blade and finally relaxing. Soon they were all just sitting in the mud. It's not like it mattered if they rushed to get out of the rain now.

Sam was nodding as he laughed. "It'll wear off. Twenty-four hours probably."

"They were definitely gonna use that on us," Sasha said, "Good thing you sensed those guys first, Sammy, or we would have had a very different kind of wild night, I'm thinking."

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

Now Dean knew they were on some crazy high. Sasha only ever called Sam 'Sammy' if he was drunk or dying. "Can we get the Hell out of here now?" Dean said, nodding up the slope, "That fire's bound to bring someone, and considering all the dead bodies…" He turned and glanced further down the slope then where the body the demon he exorcized had used was returning to rotting.

Sasha and Sam quickly agreed that a speedy departure was a good idea and they all got to their feet. It became immediately apparent that the energy surging through Dean's companions was something they both wanted to burn.

Dean was not at all surprised with Sam's next suggestion.

"We gotta do something," Sam practically bounced, "I'd say we shouldn't let this extra power go to waste, but that was literally every demon in the tri-state area. And believe me, I know," he said, closing his eyes a moment, "My radius is a lot bigger right now."

This was so unlike Sam, Dean couldn't help the grin that grew on his face. "You want to go out?" he practically balked, "Like hit the town for some well-earned fun kind of going out? _You_?"

Sasha giggled.

Sam—somehow managing it while still smiling—scowled.

"Yes, _me_. What, I can't want fun? Isn't that something you would suggest about now?"

"Well yeah. But then you're supposed to shoot me down and say that we have to turn in early so we can get up and head out first thing to track down our next batch of demons."

"And we should," Sam nodded, "The leaving first thing, thing anyway. Nothing's more important to me than saving you, Dean. You know that," he said perfectly serious. Then his large grin quirked up again. "But as for tonight…"

"Woot!" Sasha whooped up at the sky, slapping both Sam and Dean on the backs with wet slopping noises that made Dean feel even squishier. He had to smile though. They all did. "That's thirty-five demons in two weeks," Sasha said what they were all thinking, "I mean, holy shit, guys, that's crazy. Dean, we can totally do this." The hand on Dean's back moved and went straight for Dean's face, holding it with wet on wet skin.

Well, if the Wonder Twins could survive and come out on top with demonic energy pulsing through their veins, Dean supposed anything was possible. "Yeah…I think we can. So," Dean had to grin, "What's this night on the town going to entail?"

Sam looked honestly thoughtful but Sasha seemed to have an idea because his mouth immediately began to open. Then his cell phone went off with a loud exclamation of Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" before he could say anything.

Sam barked another laugh while Sasha moved to answer the call, trying unsuccessfully to shield his phone from the rain.

"Yeah?" He listened for a moment. "Cam! Hey, what's up? Uh, standing in the pouring rain covered in mud, actually." He laughed again and gave Dean's arm a good smack. "No, not in a kinky way. You in town?" Sasha had been keeping his old friends posted on where they were. They hadn't exactly explained to anyone about the whole hunting down demons thing. Except to Bobby.

While Sasha and Cam talked, Dean turned his eyes onto his brother, who was trying to flick some of the mud off of his clothing. They would all need a shower before any 'outing' was to be had. And then suddenly one good fling sent a gob of mud from Sam's sleeve right at Dean's neck. It oozed down underneath Dean's collar, reminding him of how gross he felt. He tossed Sam a glare.

Sam, of course, snickered.

'_I will end you,'_ Dean mouthed.

If Dean hadn't seen the expression when they were kids, he never would have believed Sam had it in him. Sam eyed Dean with the most insufferable look. It said _'bring it'_ loud and clear and Dean was so ready to get dirty. He reached down and scooped up a handful of mud. Sam did the same.

"Guys!" Sasha yelled.

But it was too late. Dean let lose with a good fling and so did Sam, both of them managing fairly direct shots to the face. They would definitely be needing those showers.

Dean didn't wait for Sam to reload. He dove forward right into that larger than life body and brought Sam down hard into the mud. Sam was bigger and stronger, but he was also something like drunk or high and was so not at his best. He just barely grabbed hold of enough mud to smash up into Dean's face again. Dean didn't care though. He had hold of Sam now and was soon giving his brother a good old fashioned mud facewash.

"You are so dead!" Sam laughed as he lashed back at Dean, knocking Dean to the side and then pouncing after his brother with his face and hair totally covered. The rain helped wash most of it away, but they weren't finished yet. Dean tried to crawl out of Sam's reach but Sam grabbed quickly onto his thighs to hold him. He scooped up another gob of mud and hurled it point blank into Dean's face again.

"Oversized freak!" Dean called, laughing so hard he got some of the mud in his mouth and had to spit before he could regroup. When he did it was to tackle Sam back again until they were honestly wrestling in the mud like ten-year-olds.

"Ha! You're just jealous coz you're short!" Sam called.

"Like Hell!"

"Oh, Dean," Sam said mockingly like he used to when he was fifteen and first shot up taller than his older brother, "Can I borrow one of your shirts? Oh, wait, I can't. It's too _small_ for me."

"Bite me, Sasquatch!" Sam's giggles were really getting ridiculous. Then again Dean wasn't really much better and he didn't have the excuse of crazy demonic influence.

"Guys!" Sasha called again, this time actually insistent even though he was laughing so hard there may have been tears streaming down his face if not for the rain.

Sam and Dean obeyed, stopping their mud fight long enough to look up. They also realized that they were currently grappled around each other and completely covered in mud. They turned their mud-covered faces up at Sasha who looked unfairly clean in the rain.

"Cam's not here but he wanted us to know that Eppy and Atty _are_," Sasha said, "They hate the phone. Long story. But they told him they'd meet us later at this place in town if we're game. Guess they've been waiting for the chance to hook up. It's perfect," Sasha assured them, "If anyone knows how to live it up, it's the twins."

Normally, Dean would have made his utterance alone, but it was further proof that Sam was buzzing from that energy high because both of them responded with the same toned, same hopeful sounding prompt of, "Twins?"

tbc...

A/N: Ta da! Happy Anniversary, Incubus! One year, woohoo! Sorry about the later chapter. I'm just not sure about this one so I'd really like some thoughts. Maybe too much happened? I can't put my finger on it, so please comment this round for me. Next you meet the last of Sasha's old friends. I have to say alot in this chapter was initially unplanned, but I gotta let the boys lead me. Seems Sasha and Sam are looking for some fun now. And don''t be fooled by their easy success. Sometimes things just seem easy... ;-)

Crim


	52. Part 2: The Twins

Part 2: The Twins

--

There were few things that could best the fun of having a mud fight with his baby brother after a successful hunt. Washing the mud off of his body with his boyfriend in the shower was definitely one of them. Dean loved an aggressive Sasha. Whatever that surge of demonic energy was doing to his companions, fervor was a prominent part of the package. And stamina, it would seem.

Dean was still half covered in mud, gasping back against the tiled wall while Sasha gripped him hard and ran eager hands down the contours of his stomach, making him quiver. It was as if there had never been a fight or that empty _hole_ during the two weeks Dean and Sasha barely spoke, which was exactly how Dean wanted it. There was no easing back in for them. Dean didn't have time for that.

Time, in fact, slipped away from them quickly even when they thought there was plenty of it. Too soon a ready-to-go Sam was knocking on their bathroom door. There was laughter in his voice as he called, "Hey, no time for that! It's already late! Come on, you two!"

There was no command in the words so Sasha didn't immediately listen, chuckling darkly as he continued his assault and the mapping of Dean's body with his fingers.

Dean finally was the one to pull away because he didn't like knowing Sam was just outside the door, not when this power made both brother and lover so unpredictable. Hell, Dean wouldn't put it past Sam to walk right in and haul their naked asses out of the shower.

"Incubus…back in the box," Dean gasped and patted Sasha's chest, only for once the phrase didn't refer to any visible incubus attributes. This was more for the 'little incubus' that was not at all little and was currently sandwiched hard and demanding between their bodies. "Later," Dean promised, looking forward to that so damn much since there had been yet another long hiatus.

After actually getting clean with some slightly cooler water, Dean and Sasha made quick work of the bathroom. They hadn't brought any clothes in with them so they had to walk out in just their towels. Dean was surprised to find Sam sitting on one of the beds, his right leg bouncing in anticipation to leave, in clothing Dean was sure he had never seen before. Well, Sam's jacket was Sam's jacket, but the jeans were nicer and not as baggy as usual, and his T-shirt looked at least a half-size too small, pulling tight across Sam's chest and abs.

There was a long whistle from Sasha in approval as the incubus moved for his bag. Sam grinned and then politely turned his head so they could both get dressed.

"I didn't know you owned clothing not made of flannel, _Smallville_," Sasha said as he scrounged for proper attire. His eyes darted over to Dean. "Well, Smallville #1, I should say," he smirked.

Dean promptly and gladly gave Sasha the finger. "Eat me, _Lois_," Dean shot back.

Sasha gasped and feigned offence. "In front of Sam?"

The nearest thing for Dean to grab other than a gun was the motel's complimentary box of Kleenex. He hurled it at Sasha's head. The incubus easily sidestepped it, of course, and him and Sam both laughed.

"Seriously now," Sasha went on, dropping his towel once Sam had turned away again, "You guys are too practical with all the layers. 'Bout time you showed off some of that _body_." The incubus fairly leered as he said the word.

Dean scowled. "Hey," he called to the incubus—_his_ incubus, damn it, "I don't need to hear that shit. That's my baby brother you're hitting on."

There was a nondescript snort from Sam who wisely kept his head turned towards the window. Sasha, still buck naked without the towel, shorts in hand now but not on his body, looked to Dean with a coy expression. "I meant the comment for both of you," he said, "And that was not me hitting on Sam. Trust me. If I _was_ hitting on Sam it would be more like—"

"Don't even go there," Sam said before Dean could, mock-horrified but with a smile in every word like how he had been since they left the farmstead. Dean couldn't help loving the sound of Sam's voice like that because it so rarely maintained anything even close to that quality for long. "I had the jeans from way back," Sam started to explain, probably to get the subject off of anything sexual, "I don't wear them much because we're always doing things I'd rather wear wrecked ones for. No point in ruining my one nice pair. And the shirt…" Dean could hear something like a blush creep into his brother's voice. He wasn't sure how it was possible to _hear_ a blush, but that was definitely what it was. "Jessica…" he breathed, "When she gave it to me…she said I didn't have enough fun with myself. I haven't worn it since…"

Dean didn't need the end of that sentence to know when the 'since' referred to. But it was strange. Sam was openly talking about something that had to do with Jessica but there wasn't the usual remorse in his voice. There was fondness, a fondness of remembering something happy and pleasant. Dean knew it was mainly because of the energy high—the normal Sam hadn't gotten to that point yet where he could talk about Jess without sulking and looking forlorn—but tonight this Sam could, and it made Dean happy Sam was wearing that shirt.

It wasn't all that bad a shirt either, just so…Ambercrombie, or whatever that place was. Too tight. Graphic of some weird design on it. Probably cost more than Dean's whole outfit. Once he decided what he was going to wear. Dean stared at his stuffed duffle. It was official—the 'girls' had corrupted him if he was actually _thinking_ about what to wear for a night out.

"Here," Sasha called to him suddenly, and when Dean looked up, the redhead, who was bare-chested but in jeans now, tossed him a dark grey Henley. Dean didn't recognize the shirt as anything Sasha had worn before, and then he realized why. By the looks of it, the shirt was a little too small for the incubus.

A smile pulled at the corner of Dean's mouth as he held the shirt up. "You dressing me, baby?"

"Well not _physically_," Sasha smirked, "Unless you want me to."

"Hey, virgin ears over here," Sam called to them, actually kind of making fun of himself with that remark, which made Dean laugh then too.

Dean liked Henleys and the dark grey was kind of nice so he figured what the hell and slipped the shirt on. Sasha, like Sam, selected one of his tighter T-shirts. It was a shame both his and Dean's leathers were drying out after being muddied and rained on, so they would have to settled for their non-leather jackets.

It was magic hour, just when the clubs and bars really got crazy, which was the best time to hit them anyway. And to make things even better, Sasha's succubus twin friends Epica and Attoinette would be waiting for them. Finally, a little of that good feeling Dean had earned at least ten times over and should have been feeling earlier in the night began to fill his chest with warmth. For the first time in almost a year he didn't feel like a marked man.

He was more than ready for a night on the town.

--

Dean could admit that he was a little wary as to what kind of place these succubae would be meeting them at since last time he had ended up at a gay bar with Cam. He liked the girls already though when Sasha directed Dean into a parking lot for a bar that was much more Dean's style. Rougher without being Hicksville, pool tables and card games for hustling—not that Dean had his mind set on any of that for tonight—two working bars, one on either side of the place, and a dance floor that was full without being packed. Dean grinned to think that he might be able to get away with some subtle dancing with Sasha since they would have two women with them.

"So what do these chicks look like?" Dean asked, scanning the bar for an identical pair. Sasha had said they were identical twins but that they were as far from the dress alike, act alike kind as you could get. That made spotting them a little more difficult.

Sasha was worrying his lip a little as he scanned along with Dean. They were just off the side of the main door so they wouldn't block anyone coming or going. "Think stereotypical succubus," Sasha said, "At least appearance wise. I suppose coloring could be all over the map, but the twins are blonde. Blue eyes."

"And built like a brick house?" Dean snarked.

A similar grin played about Sasha's face as he turned to Dean. "You know the way models were in the 80s?"

"You mean when they still had curves?"

Sasha nodded appreciatively. "And the last time I saw them was when we were sixteen, so…"

"So basically whoever has the biggest tits in this place is—"

"There," Sam cut Dean off, gesturing towards the back of the bar where there were several tall tables with stools all around them. Low and behold there were two blondes sitting back there, one of which was waving them over enthusiastically. Sam just shrugged when Sasha and Dean turned skeptical eyes on him. "What? I can sense Sasha and the others, right? Tonight I could probably sense those two from five miles away. Let's go." He flashed a smile Dean had thought was only a Winchester trait for _him_—and maybe Dad back in the day—but apparently Sam knew how to turn on the charm too. It made Dean smirk to himself as they made their way across the bar.

The twins were everything Sasha had said as they came into closer view—blonde, blue eyed, svelte and busty as anything, and as different as two women with the same face could be. The one who had waved them over wore her hair long and wavy down her back. She was wearing a slinky little pink dress with a short black jacket. She had one of those blinding smiles as if she loved everyone and everything and wanted the whole wide world to know about it.

Her sister, on the other hand, merely smirked a little as they approached, more subtle and laid back. Her hair was shaggy and mused with gel so that it framed her head and face at sharp angles. There was a streak of royal blue in a chunk of her bangs that reminded Dean of Wade from Pittsburgh. She was also in tight black jeans, a red midriff cutoff tank and a black leather jacket that was and was not like her sister's cotton one. One look at each of them said pretty much everything about their personalities.

"Sasha!" the long-haired one squealed once they reached the table, throwing herself into his arms so that he had no choice but to lift her from the floor and spin her a little, which made her giggle happily, "Oh my god! You're gorgeous! Not that that wasn't the most obvious thing back in the day, but _honey_. You are just hot. Ooo! And these are your boys, right?" she said, bouncing just as easily away from Sasha towards Sam and Dean. "I'm Attoinette."

Dean wasn't entirely sure if he should hug the girl or hold out a hand, so he left that decision up to Sam who, high on energy or not, went with the handshake. "As in 'let them eat cake'?" Sam asked as they shook.

The succubus giggled again, grabbing Dean's hand next which she surprised him with considering her firm and very strong grip. "No 'N'. Just 'AT'. Attointette. Atty's fine though. Come sit down."

Sasha was already wrapped around the other sister who had gotten up but was squeezing Sasha tight not being twirled. When they parted, she took the initiative to hold out a hand for Sam and Dean. Her grip was even tighter, Dean noted. "Epica," she said with that same half-smile, "Eppy'll do. Sam and…Dean, right?" Her eyes surveyed both of them with a brief but encompassing head to toe scan. Dean knew that both sisters had the same tone and general quality to their voices, but something in Epica's just had more depth.

The five of them settled in at the table, which seemed most suited for four chairs but the girls had already procured a fifth. They fit Sasha in between them leaving Sam and Dean to sit next to each other. Neither Winchester really minded considering this was supposed to be another meeting of old friends. Dean was surprised though that Sam sat next to Epica and not Attoinette seeing as how the sweet and bouncy just seemed more his type. Epica looked like she could probably kick Dean's ass at pool, and probably also just kick his ass in general.

"Got a couple pitchers of Blue Moon on the way, if that's okay with you boys?" Epica said, "Course we could always grab some shots first to start the night right." She leaned forward a little as she gauged Sasha and then the brothers for their reactions to that suggestion, her cleavage becoming just a bit more pronounced over the top of her tight tank. Dean spotted a little blue star tattoo on the fleshy part of her right breast. Very sexy.

Suddenly, something—or rather someone—struck Dean's shin hard enough that he almost cried out. He managed to hold it back and just grimace but he immediately looked to Sasha with a ready glare. The incubus was watching him all smug and self-satisfied. '_What'_, Dean snarled with his eyes. He had only been admiring. Like Sasha never admired? Ha!

While Sasha turned away innocently, Dean was brought back to the conversation as he picked up on what Sam was saying.

"Depends on the shots," Sam said almost coyly, "And who's buying."

Epica's sideways grin widened. "We'll cover first round, and first shots, but that means we get to choose what, eh, Atty?"

"Rules are rules," Attoinette answered sweetly.

"We're looking to hear all about what you boys have been up to," Epica went on, casting her eyes in turn at each of them. But, Dean noticed, landing finally on Sam beside her. "Let's see how…_loose_ we can get those tongues of yours." She winked and got up from the table again, heading towards the bar, Dean assumed, to get those promised shots before their beer arrived.

Dean couldn't help elbowing Sam a little, which Sam didn't ignore like usual. Instead the guy actually allowed a small grin. "So," Dean started in, looking to Attoinette beside him, "What were you fine ladies doing in town? Gotta say this is much better company than we probably would have had otherwise." Attoinette's dress wasn't quite as low cut as her sister's top, but Dean couldn't help wondering if there was a tattoo hiding under there too.

"Mutual quarry," Attoinette said, "Talked to Cam the other day and said where we were headed. He mentioned you guys were heading here too. Everything go okay with your, umm…hunt?" She said the word as if it was some dangerous thing that shouldn't be spoken aloud, but her smile never wavered. "Must have been something big. Looks like you needed a quickie before coming here," she giggled, elbowing Sasha much as Dean had just elbowed Sam, "You're so totally glowing."

A blush spread over Sasha's cheeks, something that Dean saw so seldom he often wondered if he imagined it. "Atty," he said chidingly, "Actually, it _was_ kind of big, but it went well. Sam and I are a little…I guess you could say, buzzed. Long story."

Almost immediately Attoinette turned her head curiously to Sam. Her brow furrowed for a moment like she was trying to see something that just wasn't there. "Hmm. You're the…the special one with all the powers, right?" she asked, "But…I don't see anything other than hot young guy." Her hand came up to her mouth as she giggled again. "Guess you're a little out of our league if I don't sense anything. Though Cam had already said that."

"I hope that doesn't…scare you," Sam said, for a moment completely back to the Sam that Dean dealt with on a daily basis—caring and apologetic with the puppy-eyes turned up to full volume in fear that someone might actually think he was the big bad so many people considered him.

Again, Dean knew he already liked these sisters because Attoinette laughed full breadth and said, "You kidding me? Honey, you may be a lot of things but scary isn't one of them. Cam and Charis would have been enough for us to believe that, but to hear Lindsey give the okay too? Okay, so a very tentative and not quite complete okay, but still, this is Lindsey we're talking about. We heard all about Pittsburgh. I'll admit, the idea of hunters can be kinda scary. But you aren't. It was never really about that, Sash," she said with a frown as she turned to the redhead, hugging Sasha's arm with sudden fervor, "You know that right?"

Sasha had already explained to Sam and Dean that the same forgive and forget wouldn't be necessary with the twins because they never really had strong opinions about hunters other than to avoid them if thrown right into their path. He imagined that the only reason they hadn't come to him themselves sooner was because they assumed he wanted nothing to do with them.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

Sasha had also been kind enough to forewarn Dean that the twins were especially touchy feeling with everyone, and that being around them usually made Sasha act more that way too. Therefore Dean knew not to get upset when Sasha leaned over to Attoinette, her arms still clutching his, and kissed her soft and chaste on the lips. "I'm just ready to put it all behind me, Atty. Figured tonight would be a great start." He grinned that positively blinding smile. "Fun and mayhem and everything else. Me and my boys are so ready for that."

A snort rose up from Dean before he could help it. "There's that 'your boys' line again," Dean said with a slight grimace.

"Is there some part of this relationship I'm unaware of," Sam finished, indicating the three of them with a twirl of his finger. He was smirking and being coy _and_ making inappropriate sex jokes. Oh, how Dean wished he could get Sam to act like that more often.

"So," Dean went on, returning the conversation to Attoinette, "You said mutual quarry brought you two here? What, you and your sister do a little double-teaming sometimes?" Dean leered suggestively as he said that, expecting a jab or kick from Sam at his inappropriateness or maybe a sharp look from Sasha.

But no reprimand came, at least not before Attoinette responded quite innocently with, "Of course. Don't you?"

Somehow Dean managed quite valiantly to choke on his lack of drink and he and Sam simultaneously inched their stools further apart. Apparently between the whole 'Sasha's boys' thing, Sam's little comment, and who knows what else, the twins were under a very wrong impression about the nature of the Winchester/incubus relationship.

"Oh, oops," Attoinette giggled, covering her mouth again, "Guess not. My bad. Obviously I can see that Sam doesn't have any pheromones on him or anything, but I thought maybe that was just coz I couldn't sense anything else either. And since you boys have been hanging out with an incubus so long," she said to Sam and Dean, "I guess we thought maybe you didn't care as much about those silly human boundaries." She waved her hand dismissively.

Silly human boundaries? Dean held his tongue from explaining to the succubus that it was more like the thought of Sam in any way sexual made him feel like he was about to throw up. Dean realized the double standard, of course, of finding it hot that the twins enjoyed joint sexual acts, and he was fine with that—with the double standard. May it continue forever, he thought vehemently.

Attoinette opened her mouth as if she was about to explain further. Meanwhile, it did not go unnoticed that Sasha looked halfway to horrified and very apologetic. Thankfully, they were all saved from further embarrassing ideas as Epica returned with a small tray of shots.

"Quick and dirty, kids," Epica grinned as she passed the shots around the table. It was a three layered shot with a sheen of green to it, the top layer obviously being crème de menthe. At the group's curious looks—save Attoinette who was beaming—Epica rolled her eyes at all of them and smacked Sasha in the shoulder. "You don't know what an Irish Flag is, Mr. Kelly? What kind of Mic are you? Bottoms up." She winked, lifted her own shot to the center of the table and waited for the others to clink.

Quick and dirty. Since no one had any objections and the subject being changed was more than welcome, they obeyed. The shots went down smooth and fast just as instructed. Dean licked his lips, enjoying the slight burn from the mint. Push come to shove he was always a beer man, but damn there were some good shots in the world.

Half an hour later their first two pitchers of beer had come and gone and the night looked very promising.

Dean barely even registered anymore that Sam and Sasha were running off an energy high. With Sasha it just made him a little more excitable, though Dean happily anticipated more of that sex-starved aggression when they got back to the motel later. With Sam it seemed to make him a little more…well, frankly, like Dean. He was blatantly flirting with both succubae in the same manner he calmed mothers and frightened children on hunts—with caring eyes, that large smile with dimples, and his full and undivided attention.

"All night just sitting in the car watching? I think I'd go crazy," Attoinette laughed. It was even later now and the warmth of the alcohol had made her ditch her jacket a few minutes earlier. Dean couldn't help noticing the extra heave to her bosom. Her dress was spaghetti strap but he still couldn't tell if she was hiding any tattoos like her sister—besides the ones he knew she had to have been born with. Sadly, Attoinette's hair covered her back and Epica still had her jacket on, so Dean hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of either of their wings.

Sasha replied to Attoinette's comment with a wide smile. "We have ways of entertaining ourselves," he supplied, waggling an eyebrow at Dean, which made the whole thing seem much naughtier than it had been.

Early morning before sunrise while staking out a warehouse in Napoleon, ND Dean had woken up leaning against Sasha in the front seat of the Impala. This had been before their relationship had gone anywhere beyond stolen kisses. That was all they had done at the warehouse too, steal a mutual kiss—okay, maybe a succession of kisses—while Sam slumbered in the back.

Dean remembered it fondly.

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding mildly irritated but mostly just amused, "They tend to think that me being even slightly unconscious gives them the go ahead to full-on molest each other five feet away from me."

"Hey, what you don't know…" Dean shrugged.

Sam shook his head and laughed, the twins laughing merrily right along with him. "You know the funny thing about that, Dean…is that you think I didn't know," Sam grinned.

There again was some of that energy-induced mischievousness that kind of made Dean nervous. "Wait. What?" Dean nearly gaped. He could have sworn that Sam hadn't been onto them yet in Napoleon, but apparently the kid was more observant than he gave him credit for.

The rest of the table erupted into laughter at Dean's expense. "Your turn," Sam said, leaning into Epica a little and then looking across at Attoinette, "We caught up with the hellbeast the next night. Clean sweep. It tried to run for it but Dean shot it down before it could get too far. Believe me we'll take a boring night of staking out any day if it leads to an easy end to the hunt. So…next pearl of wisdom is yours again, ladies."

They had been trading stories quid pro quo. So far the twins had made it quite clear that they lived up to everything Dean thought about succubae. They both definitely leaned the male direction when it came to hunting, but neither was entirely exclusive like Cam. They also were just as often apart as they were together, much as they admitted enjoying a little 'family fun' now and again.

Hot as the images running through Dean's head may be, he was still a little nauseous from that particular way of wording it.

"You know it's funny, or maybe kind of crazy," Epica started in, pausing to take a long gulp of who knows what beer they were on by now, "We split often enough to go our own way, do our own thing, ya know. Coz we're big girls now, thank you. We don't always need to be together. But somehow, I don't know if it's being twins, just sisters, or coz we're on the supernatural side of things anyway, but we always end up together again. Right, Atty?" she said, to which her sister giggled as she often did and gave an affirming nod.

"You too, huh?" Sam smiled warmly, casting a fond glance over at Dean.

Dean smiled right back. There was only one time Sam walked away from him out of choice. Okay, maybe two times. Damn it, actually three, Dean realized, which kind of made him pissed for a second and he lost that smile in an instant. Yeah, there were three times.

When Sam left for college.

When Sam went in search of Dad—which incidentally almost got Dean skewered by a pagan scarecrow.

And then there was that whole second mess with Gordon that if it hadn't been for Ava would have ended with Sam blowing up on trip wire.

There was no doubt in Dean's mind, life was definitely better when Sam stayed close to home.

"There was this one time," Attoinette was saying, "I was already in town, Spokane, I think."

"Yeah," Epica nodded.

"I was tailing this older guy, the kind of sweet, handsome, totally wonderful type, but for whatever crazy reason never got married and almost never gets laid. You know? We had already met briefly and I let the whole thing slide, playing a little hard to get. Then I show up at this pub he stopped at in town all 'oh, wow, I didn't think I'd see you here!'." She giggled again. It was very bell-like, and Dean decided it must be part of their fae heritage since it made him think of nymphs or something to hear a voice that honestly sweet and melodic. "But he had this sort of confused look on his face when I started talking, right?" she went on, "Coz suddenly up walks Eppy who had been chatting to him too. He thought we were the same person! And poor us, we didn't even know we were in the same town."

"Wait, wait," Dean couldn't help intervening, "I thought it was like way easy for you guys to sense your same kind. You know, succubus sensing succubus."

"Wavelengths, Dean," Sasha explained dismissively, "We always assumed the twins had a tougher time because they were too close, or some shit like that, right?" he barked a laugh like maybe he thought they were faking that little detail.

"It's true," Attoinette said, sounding affronted, "It just feels like sensing ourselves. Eppy could be standing right behind me and I'd barely notice. But there must be some kind of pull or psychic thing or something since things like that happen practically all the time. All for the best though. That guy really needed us, poor thing."

Epica grinned but with more of a leer than Attoinette as she said, "He was very…appreciative too. Course whenever we go for a group effort like that we need to feed again that much sooner. Kinda have to share, ya know? Wouldn't want to wear any one person out too much, especially since once in a while," she said with a not so subtle look at Sam, "We might like to go back for seconds."

_Oh fuck, _Dean thought. That was definitely a cue to make scarce. "Need a new round here looks like," he said quickly, getting up from his stool and smacking Sam a little harder than necessary on the back, "Hey, Baby," he called to Sasha, "Why don't you give me a hand, huh?" He made sure his stare was direct enough so that Sasha would get the hint.

A grin curled around Sasha's lips and he was out of his stool in a second. "Sure, any requests?" he asked the rest of the table.

"Aw, you call him 'baby'?" Attoinette nearly squealed at Dean rather than answer Sasha's question, "That's so cute. Cam said you were cute. Well, Cam's a boy, so he said you 'suited each other' or something. But it all means the same."

If possible Attoinette seemed even more bouncy and chatty now that she had a good amount of alcohol in her. Epica hardly seemed phased, just sort of laid back and easy, which Dean assumed was why Sam was playing to her a little more. Epica said, "I could go for some Leinies," and Dean was sold.

"At your service," Dean winked and then took off with Sasha towards the bar. He vaguely heard the beginnings of Sam and the twins' new conversation, which seemed to head straight for talk of Sam: the almost lawyer. The girls sounded like they had real interest too. Sammy was in so much trouble. It made Dean grin almost sinisterly. He was so thankful of that energy high now if it got Sam off his high horse for a few hours.

"I should really tell them to stop," Sasha said once they were up at the bar. There was quite a gathering so they were in for a fairly long wait before they'd even get to put in their order for a few more pitchers.

Despite Sasha's words his voice sounded merry and impish, just as Dean knew he probably sounded too. "Leave 'em be. Sammy needs his ego stroked a little."

"Among other things," Sasha snorted.

Dean smacked Sasha in the arm for that comment, much as he might agree. What he had once thought was a blush in Sasha's cheeks he now realized was a warm glow, either from the beer, the energy, or maybe some fun combination. Dean liked the way it made Sasha look so content with life and living.

Glancing over their shoulders at the table, Dean could see that Sam and the girls were laughing and getting on well even by their lonesome. Every time one of them spoke they leaned in real close—intimate.

Dean had to ask, "They using a little pheromone action over there?"

The bar was loud enough that they didn't even have to keep their voices all that hushed to know no one else could hear what they said. Sasha bit his lip a little before answering, like maybe he felt guilty. "Only the normal kind. I can tell them to stop. I should," he said. He seemed to be trying to convince himself like a little part of his conscience kept getting in the way of just leaving Sam to his good time.

There was no part of Dean that minded trumping someone's conscience. "Like I said, leave 'em. If it's just the normal kind than Sam's still making his own decisions. Knowing him, the combination of being giddy with demonic energy and being swayed by pheromones is probably the only way he'd ever get laid. Besides, the twins are _hot_. Lucky bastard."

Considering how often Dean felt the white hot anger of jealousy, it sort of pleased him when Sasha turned sharply with a somewhat fierce expression.

Grinning devilishly, Dean said, "Be honest now. What exactly is the energy thing doing to you guys other than making you both itching to let off a little steam?" The music was loud and there were at least a dozen conversations going on right around them, so they had to stay close in order to talk.

Sasha took advantage of that. It probably looked innocent enough from an outside perspective, but as Sasha leaned close to Dean's ear again, breath dusting over the sensitive skin, the incubus' hips pressed in tight against Dean's thigh. Heat emanated from beneath the firm denim. "Well, Dean, it seems to me it just takes what's already in us and…enhances that like an overcharged battery. Maybe we're a little more…open because dissenting voices are smaller and…_hushed_," he said with an exhale of air that made Dean shiver, "But is that a bad thing?"

Even though the familiar presence beneath Sasha's jeans wasn't exactly hard, that heat was still enough to send rivulets of fire spiraling down to Dean's belly. "You know what they say," Dean couldn't resist grinning, "Absolute power…"

"Oh I think you know I've always been a little…corrupted," Sasha breathed in a dangerously low voice.

Dean shivered harder. "Ah…well then. Guess I know what we'll be doing tonight," he said, still feeling Sasha's warm breath against his ear and that radiating heat pressed to his thigh, "And since I have an idea what Sammy might be doing tonight too, you can vouch for those chicks, right?" Even feeling a little amorous and buzzed from the drinking and good conversation, Sam's well being always came first.

It was further evidence how perfect the incubus was for Dean that Sasha never seemed to mind. He pulled away slightly and smiled in reassurance. "Do you mean could they be secretly plotting Sam's death by sex? No," he grinned, "Knowing Eppy and Atty though, they could probably still wear him out no matter how juiced up he is. Oh, and if we have to face the wrath of Sam later for not intervening, I am so putting the blame on you."

Laughter tumbled easily from Dean's lips. "I accept your terms." Besides, no man in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to sex up twins. If Sam had to be in a slightly altered state of mind to get on that same wavelength then Dean was fine with that. It's not as if it was possible to take advantage of a couple of succubae.

Sasha and Dean finally returned to the table with two new pitchers of beer only to find the girls getting up off their stools and manhandling Sam towards the dance floor. He was really only feigning a struggle since he was smiling all bashful-like instead of looking freaked like usual.

"Hey!" Dean called after them, setting the pitcher he had been carrying down on the table. Going off of what Sasha had said about the energy, Dean realized with a kind of satisfaction that this flirtier, more fun Sam was part of the way the kid really was deep down. The Boy Scout/Bitch nature just got in the way too often.

"Come on," the twins said together, reminding Dean for the first time in at least a couple hours now that they were actually _twins_, not just hot chicks with the same face.

Dean was all set to wave them off and enjoy some cold beer, leaving Sammy to his fun, but suddenly there was a firm grip on his wrist and Dean was being dragged in Sam and the girls' direction by an incubus who he kept forgetting _loved_ to dance. Dean could admit a growing fondness for it too where Sasha was involved but he didn't want to have to remind his even more ardent than usual _incubus_ lover that they were not in a gay bar. They were in a normal, people-would-probably-stare kind of bar.

The girls looked pleased that they would be joined and Sam just shrugged all unassuming as they all soon found themselves crowded amongst several dozen other people on the dance floor, all moving in different ways to the current song. No one really looked as though they were dancing with just one person so Dean relaxed, hoping he would be safe from Sasha broadcasting their relationship. Considering the repercussions that once had in a very different bar Dean should have known that even a heightened Sasha would never risk that again.

The redhead must have also known that Eppy and Atty would take control of the situation because he didn't seem at all surprised when the twins sandwiched themselves between their male companions and began dancing without an ounce of modesty. Dean got a little lost in the whole thing, sometimes listening in as one or both of the girls laughed and talked with Sasha over the music, or when the girls continued their blatant flirting with Sam. Dean didn't feel at all left out, more like a privileged spectator that kept getting drawn in and was always part of the dance.

At one point Dean very distinctly noticed Epica grinning while she whispered something into Sasha's ear. The incubus chuckled and turned to promptly whisper back. Whatever he told her seemed to please Epica because she raised her eyebrows seductively and danced back over to Sam.

The look Sasha gave Dean then explained perfectly what the exchange had been about.

Permission.

A few minutes later Sam excused himself to the restroom just before a slow song began. Dean had to wonder if his brother was psychic. Ha ha.

Attoinette immediately tugged Sasha's arm and pulled him close, pleading for a dance. Since the incubus smiled and gave in Dean figured he had an obligation to look after the other sister. He tossed Epica his patented 'so, uh, care for a dance' look that he used to only use on the rare occasions a slow song played in one of the rougher bars they frequented. The short-haired blonde with blue bangs to match her eyes and that alluring star tattoo quirked her lips and obliged, moving into Dean's body.

Dean enjoyed the irony of the situation. "I'm guessing you're the older sister," he said, and for the first time all night he was able to speak at a normal level and still be heard.

The twins had angular faces, sharp and symmetrical, except for their dainty little noses. Attoinette's crinkled when she smiled or giggled. Epica's just gave a little twitch. "And don't think I don't take those ten minutes seriously," she said, "Cam mentioned that he thought you and Sam reminded him of us with how much you'd pretty much do anything for each other. I can admire that. Family's important. And Sasha's family. Kills me we stayed away just because we figured that's what he wanted. Never had a run-in with a hunter myself but I know Sasha's no turn-coat. And as for you and your brother, way I see it if you meant Sasha any harm you've had plenty of opportunity."

In his periphery Dean caught sight of Sam returning. He met his brother's gaze for a moment before saying, "Good to hear you think so, coz I'm a sucker for a pretty face and I'd hate for this to be one-sided." Dean leaned the smallest bit closer. "Pretty sure it's not one-sided but I'm guessing you already know that."

Before Epica had the chance to be confused by Dean's cryptic assessment, the elder Winchester smoothly passed her over to Sam.

"Keep this poor girl company, will ya, Sammy?" Dean said with a grin, "I'm dying for a drink."

Another slow song played in succession and while enjoying an admittedly warm glass of beer, Dean watched Sasha and Sam in amusement as they traded partners, still dancing. What Dean wouldn't give to see both of them have that everyday. Not that he wanted to push Sasha into the arms of some chick, of course. He wasn't too worried about either of the twins trying to steal his baby. His baby brother, on the other hand…

Dean snorted to himself before taking another drink, contentedly alone at their table for the moment. No, what Dean wanted for both brother and friend was for those smiles to be more than passing or just energy induced. At the rate they were going he was actually starting to believe he might be able to manage that.

While contemplating getting a new drink since the beer was really too warm to enjoy, Dean was surprised to be suddenly joined at the table. He felt the presence first, seeing that someone was sitting across from him out of the corner of his eye as he stared into his half-full glass. The bit of black he could see made him assume it had to be one of the girls, probably Epica since she still had her jacket on. But when Dean looked up the woman he saw sitting with him was not blonde, a succubus, or at all welcome.

"_Malak_."

The red-haired woman before Dean, wearing that same classy black dress but with blue eyes instead of yellow on black, was grinning all self-assured like usual. "Hello, Dean. Having a good night?" she asked, as if they could just carry on a normal conversation.

Dean's eyes went immediately back to the dance floor and his companions, none of whom seemed to have noticed Dean wasn't alone at the table anymore.

"They'll be fine," Malak said to get Dean's attention back on her, "And so will you. For tonight anyway. Just thought I'd congratulate you on a job well done earlier. One meager little demon for you compared to, what? Twenty-four for Sam? Oh but I'm sure you're just so proud of his demonic influence, not…jealous."

"What the fuck do you want?" Dean growled, ignoring her comments and skipping any formalities, "I thought you said you probably wouldn't even come if I _called_. Now you're just showing up for fun?"

Darkness passed over Malak's face for the briefest moment and then she was smiling just as brightly as before. She leaned forward, her hands folded on top of the table. "Show some respect to your _owner_, Dean. I could always cancel our new arrangement, you know. All I intended tonight was to give you some advice."

Right. Like Dean wanted advice from any demon, let alone the one dangling both freedom and damnation in front of his nose. "What?" he decided on saying, hoping to at least get rid of her as soon as possible. The demon's very presence made Dean's blood boil and his skin feel hot, like maybe she carried Hellfire in her heels.

Malak leaned even further over the table, her eyes sparkling but remaining blue. "Things are not always what they seem to be, Dean. A cliché remark, perhaps. But you're no use to me if you're average. I expect more from you. I expect…for you to be one step ahead of the game, even if I prefer for you to still be one step behind me."

"A thirty-five demon count isn't ahead of the game?" Dean snarled.

At last Malak leaned back again, her legs crossed, her expression relaxed and easy. "Dean. This is about so much more than that."

"Dean?"

Dean jumped—actually jumped right off his stool. Sasha's voice had come from nowhere and suddenly Dean was staring across the table at nothing. Sasha came up beside him, slipping onto a closer stool. The incubus squeezed Dean's shoulder, concerned for maybe a moment before assuming Dean must have just been startled.

"Hey, I've barely gotten to dance with you at all," the incubus playfully pouted, "You gonna come back out? I think you're spacing over here all by your lonesome."

Spacing. Right. Dean tried to just breathe and get his pulse under control. He wasn't sure if that meeting with Malak had really happened or if he had nodded off for a second. Either way, he wanted nothing more than to forget about it. "I was just giving you guys some alone time with the girls," Dean shrugged, mustering a smile as he turned to Sasha. The smile turned real almost right away because he did so love how Sasha pursued him even now that they were together. "Besides, this place is still pretty crowded, ya know, and—"

"And mostly with college students, if you hadn't noticed. I doubt they'd care. Still. I promise I'll behave."

"Right," Dean laughed, "Heard that one before." Even so, Dean was already up and following Sasha back to the dance floor, Malak happily forgotten. Tonight wasn't a night to think about devil deals.

The song playing had become upbeat again and Sam—crazy kid—had a bouncing blonde on either side of him. Dean couldn't help chuckling to himself. Things were rarely what they seemed, that was true, but Dean knew everything was okay.

The group quickly became a mass again so that who was dancing with who wasn't all that important. Dean felt Sasha's presence more distinctly this time though, the occasional and brief hand at his hip, breath on his neck, or just the way Sasha kept moving in close to him. It was something of a tease and it made Dean's jeans just slightly uncomfortable.

"We _approve_," Epica shouted over the music suddenly.

"Oh totally!" Attoinette joined in.

Dean wasn't sure what they meant until he realized both of them were looking at him. "I still needed approval?" he laughed, "Good thing I passed." There was no doubt in his mind that claws would have been involved if he hadn't.

"Guess so," Sasha laughed with him, just as surprised.

"We're still one short," Attoinette continued, "But we're gonna try anyway. We just wanted to be sure everything was okay first. That you were, ya know…safe," she shrugged at Sasha.

They had stopped dancing, off to the side of the crowd of people. The boys all wore confused expressions but it was Sam who said, "You're gonna try what? One short?" They had obviously missed something in translation.

The twins were grinning wide, another brief moment were they actually looked like twins. "You need at least six people to speak on your behalf if you want those elders to overturn a _banishing_," Epica spoke up, poking Sasha in the ribs, "You didn't think we'd leave you high and dry now, did you? Home's still home. We want you to be able to visit once in a while."

Sasha's face lit up so fast Dean would almost have believed a spotlight had appeared out of nowhere. He was speechless, unable to comprehend, Dean thought, that he could have friends again who would go to such lengths for him. It was different with Sam and Dean because they were fellow soldiers as well as friends. Sacrifice was implied.

"Gotta at least try for ya, Sasha." Epica said.

"Yeah," Attoinette joined in, smiling just as brightly, "We'd have six if we could count your aunt. Oh well. We can get 'em with five. And if we do I'm sure they'll turn over Shiarra's banishment too."

Crap. And there went all that good feeling. "What?" Sasha gaped, his happiness instantly reverted. While Dean had been privy to that information, Sasha had not. "Shi…was banished too? Because of me?"

The twins had obviously assumed Sasha knew that already. Dean looked at both of them with a blatant 'no, no he didn't' clear in his eyes. "Shit," Epica said without ceremony, "I'm guessing we weren't supposed to be the ones to spoil that for you." She jabbed her sister in the side.

"Crap. Oh crap," Attoinette chimed, reaching immediately for Sasha's arm that she hugged again like a teddy bear.

Dean finally took real note of just how short the twins were, which was probably the only part of them that wasn't model worthy. Shiarra was tall, almost eye level with Dean. Charis had to be about 5'8". But the twins were five and half if that.

"Stupid me," Attoinette went on, "I just assumed you knew. Course Shiarra wouldn't want to tell you that."

Sasha's face was blank for a few moments as he processed this new information. Sam had gone from smooth partier to his usual puppy concern. But it was when Sasha looked at Dean that the older hunter had to come clean. He said with his eyes instead of his voice that yes, he had known about Shiarra but hadn't been able to say anything.

Recognition and then understanding dawned in the too blue eyes.

"She stood up for me…didn't she," he said, not really asking, "And of course she wouldn't tell me that because she wouldn't want me to worry."

"Or for you to blame yourself when it's not your fault," Sam said. He was good at that speech after all.

There was a moment of silence, if there can really be silence just off the side of a hopping dance floor while loud music played and conversations buzzed. Then Attoinette said, "What are friends for if they can't help you clean up your messes? We'll fix it, Sasha. We can so totally vouch that you're on the level and so are the hunters you…hunt with," she giggled, tugging Sasha's arm so she could peck him on the cheek.

Yep, Dean officially liked all of Sasha's old friends. Well, Lindsey was at least past loathing now. The truth is Dean wasn't entirely sure what he wanted more, to leave Sasha with the twins so they could keep catching up or to whisk Sasha away and have the incubus all to himself for awhile, which consequently would leave Sam alone with the succubae, which was also acceptable.

In the end something in between happened and that was just perfect. The group retired to the table, Sam went to grab new pitchers of beer that were cold, and after the twins had explained their grand master plan—theirs meaning them, Charis, Lindsey, and Cam—to go to the elders on Sasha's behalf, the conversation fell to less serious things again.

The beer was gone and they had all been out on the dance floor a few more times when Dean finally started dragging Sasha away. He didn't feel bad about it either; he could be selfish sometimes. And Sasha was in whole-hearted agreement when Dean pulled him close and whispered, "Let's leave Sammy to his fun, huh? And go get some of our own."

Sam just nodded when Dean said they were heading out, and Epica gave the promise that they would get baby Winchester back to the hotel in one piece. Dean couldn't resist teasing his brother a little before leaving.

"Now in case you're a little rusty later," he started in with a big grin, having pulled Sam aside.

A laugh and a strong push at Dean's chest was his response. Dean laughed too. For a few brief moments everything was okay with the world while two brothers laughed. Better than okay. Wonderful. And really, the wonderful moments after that were hardly _brief_.

Sasha and Dean weren't two steps over the threshold to their room before there were teeth and lips on Dean's neck. _Teeth_. Not fangs. For having so little restraint concerning his wanting of Dean, Sasha had a surprising amount of control. Dean sighed into the feeling, knowing what a paradox it was to think like that. He hadn't drunk enough to be tipsy but he felt dizzy anyway. Giddy like his companions had been giddy all night, like maybe some of that energy had transferred to him.

Making an unspoken but unanimous promise that there would never again be that long of a hiatus of sex between them, Dean turned and pushed Sasha against the door, clicking it shut with the incubus' back. Dean tried to steal a kiss but Sasha went right for his neck again, the smooth dull edge of teeth skimming those tender areas around Dean's ear. Every part of him shivered, the heat that had already started to build burning hot in his gut.

Dean was overwhelmed with the most unquenchable desire for Sasha suddenly. He had to laugh, patting Sasha's chest as he said, "Dude, don't overdue the pheromones. You already got me."

A laugh that was much more like a growl sounded, low and rumbling, before Sasha gruffly replied, "Promise?"

"Oh _hell_ yes," Dean gasped as Sasha nipped at his jugular, almost causing Dean to fall back from where he had Sasha pressed to the door, "Every…last…inch of me." That was as much an invitation as it was an admittance and Dean did not try to hide that at all.

Sasha growled approval and before Dean could reclaim his bearings he found himself lifted right off the floor. It wasn't even the slightest effort for the incubus to hoist Dean up in a way that had Dean curling his legs around Sasha's waist, those large hands holding firm on Dean's denim covered ass as he moved swiftly across the room. Dean didn't feel frail, or dainty, or feminine like that, held up by Sasha's superior strength. He felt desired, wanted, _needed_. Physical strength had nothing on being needed.

Dean felt Sasha pressing up into him as they remained connected, hard and straining in his jeans. Knowing Sasha couldn't, wouldn't drop him, Dean bucked forward, his ankles locking together at Sasha's lower back as his own hardness pressed just as impressively into Sasha. He liked this feeling, being lifted and grounded at the same time.

Then suddenly he was being laid out on the mattress as Sasha climbed up the bed. But Dean's legs still had the two of them hooked at the waist and Dean wasn't about to release the redhead without a fight. They both still had their jackets and shoes on along with all of their clothing.

"_Dean_," Sasha growled, grinding down so that being captive beneath denim was really starting to get painful. Sasha's hands were on either side of Dean's head, bracing him as he leaned down and kissed Dean fiercely. Still, there were no fangs, no flash of red eyes, just raw passion fueled by the extra power coursing through Sasha's veins.

The bizarre combination was even more of a turn on, Dean found. His fingers curled around the edges of Sasha's jacket to keep him close as they kissed hard and deep with long strokes of their tongues. Dean moved one hand up into Sasha's hair and gripped tight. There was a furnace between them that could not burn any hotter.

Dean needed to get out of his clothes.

But Sasha was being so demanding, like he was trying to fuck Dean right through his jeans, grinding down and kissing Dean feverishly. "Work for it, baby," Dean gasped around those full lips, bucking up to meet Sasha's insistent thrusting.

"Fucking tease," came back that wonderfully rough voice that made Dean tremble.

Dean toed off his shoes—not boots for once—while his legs were still wrapped around Sasha's waist. They fell to either side of Sasha onto the bed. Dean felt awkward movements from Sasha as the incubus did the same but Dean heard the _thud, thud_ that indicated Sasha's shoes had at least made it to the floor.

With a great rush of air, Sasha pulled up so that he was almost kneeling over Dean. His stare was so hungry, famished and wanting, as he looked Dean over. Dean's coat was open but the Henley beneath must have been offensive to Sasha or something for how he grimaced and then pushed it up nearly to Dean's chin to reveal smooth flesh. He ran the flat of his hands up Dean's stomach and gentle fingers traced over the flecks of remaining scars.

Those scars were from so many things. Shotgun pellets and Sasha's own incubus claws to name a few. They did nothing to mar the perfection of Dean in Sasha's eyes though. Dean could see that reflected back to him passionately in shades of blue.

Lovingly, Sasha ran his hands back down Dean's chest and stomach. He leaned closer, this time for a gentler kiss, Dean could tell. But then Dean rolled his hips to reposition himself, inadvertently grinding them into each other again. Sasha gasped and sat up.

"Dean," he said exasperatingly, for a moment sounding entirely human as he broke into a grin and laughed, "Will you unhook your legs already?"

Hehe. "_Make_ me," Dean replied, arching up and stretching back all 'come and get it'. He knew he was the one on his back with his legs more or less up in the air, but that hardly meant he had to be at the disadvantage.

Dean wasn't entirely right about that, however, because whatever happened next—he couldn't be sure exactly what happened—had him dizzy with vertigo. One second he was grinning up at Sasha, the next Dean's back was pressed up against the headboard and Sasha was drawn in so close that Dean could feel every bit of the incubus' body touching him somewhere.

It was so fucking hot with all their clothes still on.

"Make you?" Sasha repeated, back to a rumbling growl. His eyes shimmered but didn't flash red, so close that Dean was utterly lost in them. "Coz ya know…that can be arranged."

Of course Dean's legs were already lying flat on the bed now, not coiled around Sasha anymore, but the incubus seemed to mean his words in more ways than one. Dean shivered in anticipation, his back a little sore from however he had ended up against the headboard. While sometimes Dean craved Sasha's incubus nature—claws, fangs, red eyes and glorious wings—there was something so much more carnal about how Sasha roughly began to tear off Dean's clothing as just a man.

It wasn't gentle, the way Dean's jacket was just gone, his borrowed shirt torn over his head, or his barely undone jeans pushed down his hips, but there was no fear or pain in the wake of Sasha's pressing fingertips. Any bruises Dean had in the morning would be cherished marks of honor.

Dean was barely able to help Sasha undress in kind, too overrun by Sasha's eagerness and rough hands. He was completely naked beneath the incubus and all he had managed was to free one arm from Sasha's jacket.

Looking wild and starved—not to feed, just for _Dean_—Sasha shrugged the jacket off, knocked Dean's shoes to the floor, and began as quickly and haphazardly stripping himself as he had Dean. Finally, there was Dean's chance to offer a little help and he went straight for the button and zipper on Sasha's jeans. Even those he only got half down Sasha's hips before finding himself suddenly knocked back into the headboard again.

Sasha's hands were everywhere, touching, seeking, his whole body surrounding Dean like the redhead had him pinned into a corner and was lifting him up for a hard fuck against the wall. It was just like that, even though the pillows were beneath Dean's ass and Sasha was on his knees, his jeans still trapping him and impairing his movement. Without stopping his rough memorizing of Dean's body, Sasha shimmied his jeans off his hips finally and kicked them to the floor, the shorts having easily slid down along with the rest.

The relief was visible on Sasha's face but then his body was all over Dean's again like a great big blanket and there weren't even any wings involved. Sasha swooped forward and he just _had_ Dean, his arms lifting Dean up under his knees. For a second Dean feared Sasha wasn't going to wait. Aided by pheromones or not that would _hurt_. But Sasha just kissed him hard, moving to his stubbled cheek and then down his neck where he nipped and licked again with flat, normal teeth.

With the way Sasha was pressed forward, Dean could feel everything, especially that insistent presence seeking an entrance but not actually going for it. Their chests were tight, the room hot and sticky around them as their skin became so quickly slick. Dean knew he was already gasping, trying to stabilize, to offer responding kisses or touches, but Sasha had him absolutely bound and all he could do was accept everything that happened to him.

The first finger was surprisingly gentle considering Sasha's urgency. No single part of him ever slowed down or stopped, not his hips subtly arching up, his hands, or his mouth moving across Dean's collar bone. That first finger stretched and pressed and made Dean's breath hitch. The second had mewling noises falling from his throat. By the third Dean was past ready, trying to move but unable to within Sasha's tight and full-bodied hold. Dean was pressed between the headboard and Sasha's firm form. He wasn't even touching the mattress with how Sasha had him lifted.

"You're mine…_mine_," Sasha gasped growly and low as he finally began to press inside of Dean, "Say you're mine," he demanded softly.

Something about the way Sasha said that, the way he possessed him so completely made Dean feel glorious. "Yours. All…yours," he said breathily, barely audible but he knew Sasha heard him because that was all it took to get the incubus to thrust up without further gentleness. It was tight and blinding and made Dean lose his breath entirely for how it hurt just right so that it didn't hurt at all. He bit his lip, waiting to adjust, waiting for Sasha to move and press him back hard and unyielding against the headboard behind them.

"I love you…" came the words first, accompanied by a slow, steady buck forward. Then again, the same way, "I love you," with another thrust that was too drawn out for Dean to bear. It became a chant on trembling lips that finally gave way to just breaths rising and falling along with Dean's. The pace went from languid to fierce in seconds, Sasha's movements so claiming, so rough and yet still loving that at one point Dean's head snapped back and struck the wall above the end of the headboard.

Dean laughed when Sasha paused at hearing his sudden cursing, moving as best he could to get Sasha to just keep going, don't stop, oh right fuck _there_, don't you _dare_ stop. It was deep and shuddering and more forceful than they had ever been. And Dean loved every fucking minute of it. Pun intended.

It wasn't until he had spilled between their bodies with a great shudder and soon felt Sasha reach a similarly sharp and satisfying end, that Dean realized at no point had he felt any semblance of the circuit. Much as Dean loved the circuit, he grinned when he thought of the reason why.

Sasha was juiced from the energy; he didn't need to feed. And while Dean was sure Sasha had taken something from him, coz what a waste otherwise, their dance had been purely about them. About Sasha wanting Dean. _Just_ Dean.

Eventually clean, exhausted, and lying numb on top of the mattress, Dean thought he would fall asleep quickly. He was pleasantly surprised when instead Sasha curled up tight against him, clinging to him and holding him, and they started to talk. They talked about nothing, about everything, about things that made them laugh and sometimes made their voices catch. They talked for hours until they were so tired their talking fell to contented hums and finally they fell asleep.

"You think…Sammy…had as good a time as us tonight?" Dean asked just before sleep took him.

"Mmm," Sasha rumbled beside his ear, all warm skin like velvet, "I hope so."

tbc...

A/N: Hmm...why am I so iffy lately with my work. Thoughts? I have so many shout outs. Go read deangirl's newest Incubus addition, my anniversary present, woohoo. It's been up for a week but we posted at the same time so I didn't get to tell you. Also, check out the website for extra pictures. I have several new photo manips. Theorically, there should be more commissioned artwork coming but I keep asking artists who have crazy things happen.

Sorry this was so late again, but as a treat you'll be a getting a bonus chapter later this week, dedicated to Ann Patterson who requested some Sammy POV. I think I'll do this chapter, starting from a little before when Sasha and Dean leave to the end of the night. Hehe. Perfect really, since this is the 'Sam' arc.

I am in love with Castiel and he is interferring with my writing.

You're still with me, right? Even with the new season?

I will endeavor to write two chapters a week since I have been slacking. I HATE that I am doing that and I know if I just write more everyday that I'll get back into the swing. Love you all!

Crim


	53. BONUS: Sam and the Twins

Bonus: Sam and the Twins

--

Sam hadn't felt this alive in years. This was first kiss, first time making love, first real adrenaline rush on your first hunt kind of alive. It was like being buzzed on caffeine without the drawbacks, being just so awake that he needed, craved motion, movement, anything. He had never been so pleased to be asked to dance.

It wasn't a truly conscious decision at first—flirting with the twins. With both of them. Sam grinned to himself, thinking that he was as bad as his brother. By why did that have to be bad really? Sam had certainly never heard any of Dean's one-nighters complain. Hearing them agree, on the other hand—if the walls were thin enough—was something Sam had experienced more times than he cared to remember.

So no, it wasn't conscious at first. He fell into it naturally, pleased at their responses and how easy it was for him to smile and laugh and be. He could sense Epica and Attoinette's returned attraction, sense the pheromones when they first started to lure him. That instinctual addition wasn't what swayed him though. Sam doubted—brimming with power and feeling all of his true potential—that there was a being alive that could have power over him. Maybe one day even Malak would be a trifling thing easily dispatched.

It was thrilling, that was true. Sam had never reveled in his own power before, knowing the dangers of that, and as powerful as he felt tonight he didn't allow himself to revel now either. Instead, he took what the power filled him with and used it to focus full-bodied on one thing.

Being Sam Winchester.

He knew it was what Dean would want and what Jessica would want for him too. They couldn't chase after anymore demons tonight anyway, but Sam's thoughts were still on saving his brother. Making Dean happy, seeing him smile unmarred, laughing, and elbowing 'little Sammy' for finally being a man and chasing a little tail, saved Dean in ways the older hunter often overlooked. Sam could give Dean that. Sam would give Dean anything.

The part of it all that was purely selfish paled in comparison to the desire to make Dean happy, but Sam was enjoying himself for his own sake too. He knew what the twins wanted, what they were so obviously after besides just having a good time with an old friend, and what they had asked Sasha's permission for.

Attoinette had said that she could only sense Sam as a normal, regular guy, his power being so amplified that he could easily mask himself. But then Sam had to wonder if the twins were unconsciously lured by that power anyway, by an undercurrent even Sam didn't fully understand.

Dancing felt great as a way to burn some of that excess energy. Sam laughed that that thought could even cross his mind. But it did. He wasn't even twenty-five years old, not for another couple months. He deserved to act his age once in a while.

Seeing Dean and Sasha on the dance floor too, their casual, sneaky touches and ways of swaying close and then away again made the whole thing even better. Sam loved the couple they were. Tonight he didn't have that sinking, mourning feeling at all, not like he had at Wade's bar in Pittsburgh. He only felt the affection he had for both of them and the warm, comforting knowledge that occasionally the world actually got a few things right.

Like him and Jessica. That was right. That was wonderful, however brief. Sure, Sam could admit that he wanted that for himself again, and maybe one day he would find it, but for now he could settle for making sure Dean and Sasha never suffered like he did. He could also settle—no, _enjoy_—the company of Epica and Attoinette.

"Now in case you're a little rusty later," Dean had started to say before he and Sasha left. Of course Sam couldn't acknowledge that and had to playfully push at his brother's chest, laughing, because they both knew what each other would be doing tonight.

Then Dean and Sasha were gone and Sam was back in the whirlwind of the twins, dancing, and music. There was a throng in his head, whispers that seemed to say if he just opened himself up the littlest bit more he could hear the thoughts of everyone in the bar all at once and it wouldn't be overwhelming. He could sense the twins for what they were and feel the contrast of all the normal human beings. He could still sense Sasha as he and Dean drove away. There were even a few spirits in town. Not harmful ones, just there. And also a few things Sam sensed that he couldn't recognize, things he would have to learn.

Just being like that, dancing with the twins and soaking everything in so that his powers could truly _breathe_ for a moment made Sam feel invincible.

He was the one who finally said that he really should be getting back to the motel, and did the girls have a car, would they be kind enough to drop him off since he had maybe had a little too much to drink. None of those words matched their subtext of course. As much as Sam could easily mask his powers he allowed for the twins to at least sense that.

As it turned out the twins did have a car. Epica drove. Sam didn't ask if it was something they always had or just rented. The car wasn't anything special or that he could name. Not that it mattered. He chuckled to himself thinking that Dean could have been with triplets and he would have managed to note the make and model of the car more accurately than his conquests' names.

While Epica drove, Sam and Attoinette sat in the back, which was a little awkward at first. The part of Sam's conscious mind that was still very much a boy scout—he could admit that to himself—felt exposed and fidgety when Attoinette first started pressing up against him, sliding one small but firm hand up his thigh and squeezing through the denim. It just seemed like there should be some sort of etiquette to follow since Epica could so clearly see them through the rearview mirror.

Then Sam realized. She couldn't just see them. She was _watching_.

The moment Sam realized this his eyes met Epica's in the glass and he felt his face flush with heat. Epica's eyes weren't the same bright blue as Sasha's or like Charis' that were practically silver; they were a deeper blue, especially in the dark. Maybe it was lust shining there—shimmering, expectant. Regardless, Sam knew then that it was okay and turning to Attoinette beside him, he caught those same dark blue eyes but different now, so different. His gaze drifted slowly to her mouth, slightly parted, smiling. She squeezed his thigh again, higher up this time, promising. And suddenly Sam was kissing her.

It was an eruption really, a great collision of all the wanting between them that finally found release through lips and tongues. It reminded Sam—he realized this with something of a pained shock—of Madison, the last woman he had been with, though he would never admit that to Dean. Sasha could probably tell just by looking at him. Sasha could probably smell it, the lack of anything but Sam himself. The twins had to be able to sense it too and maybe that was why they offered this and wanted this so heatedly.

Sam didn't know where the twins were staying but he knew where they would be staying tonight since Epica had driven them to the hunters' motel. By then Sam had begun kissing the soft skin along Attoinette's neck. She sighed just like how she giggled, melodic and all together sweet. It was such a wonderful contrast to Epica and how she came around to the passenger side door and dragged him suddenly out of the car away from her sister only to push him up against the vehicle with amazing force and claim his lips for her own. It went unspoken but acknowledged that watching Sam and Attoinette in the backseat had spurned Epica along just fine.

Attoinette was giggling again as she got out of the car after them, never jealous or possessive. Neither of them ever seemed to get that way as their night continued, but instead they shared him like something precious they had to treat with tender—well, more oftentimes _fierce_—care.

At some point Sam knew he must have said where his room was and had to have produced the key, though maybe one of the twins fished it out of his pocket. He did remember passing by Dean and Sasha's room and hearing a few telling thuds that made him chuckle and realize that he definitely wasn't completely in his right mind tonight. He was a little drunk, a little power-buzzed, and, he could admit it, very horny.

Single words floated around Sam in the twins' like but still different voices once they were inside his room. It was a calming, whispered mantra as they worked together to remove him of his clothing without ceremony or hesitation.

"Here."

"Relax."

"Come."

"Warm."

"Trembling."

"Okay?"

"Calm."

"Touch."

"Breathe."

"Feel."

"Lucky."

_Lucky_. Sam clung to that word, knowing he had missed so many between the ones he had heard. They were saying _they_ were lucky, lucky to be with him. It got Sam lost in all those soothing utterances and he wondered since he couldn't hear his own voice if he was responding into their minds. They never said anything about it but he made an extra effort not to think too much. He didn't want to accidentally order what would be willingly given. He just wanted to be. Just be. Just _be_ Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester knew how to do this.

Admittedly, Sam Winchester knew how to do this one on one. The double-teaming was new. It seemed like there were hands everywhere. He was down to his jeans and he could feel soft fingertips pressing into his chest and back. He had to get his bearings; the room was dark and he was nearly stumbling as the girls led him back towards the bed.

Sam broke away from whichever twin was kissing him, who he saw was Attoinette again; Epica had his hips from behind, gently tugging while she lifted up on tiptoe to tongue his ear. Sam shivered amidst the double sensations and watched how Attoinette's eyes glowed in the dark of the room. Did Sasha's, Sam wondered briefly. Did Dean get this lost in them?

Epica must have climbed onto the bed because suddenly she was pushing Sam's shoulder down so that he would sit on the edge. Finally this gave her a height advantage, up on her knees behind him. She was rough, sucking and biting his shoulder, up his neck and to his ear again where she swiped her tongue in languid strokes.

Attoinette came forward, parting Sam's legs with her hands so she could sink between them right into his arms for another deep, slow kiss. She wasn't really that much taller than him like this, standing while he was sitting, so small and seemingly frail for all the power that was really in both of them.

Melting into the kiss that was so wonderfully sweet and affectionate compared to Epica's alluring roughness, Sam fell prey easily to how they complimented each other. He could feel the pheromones pressing on him and he let them cloud his mind with desire, a willing victim.

He had Attoinette around the waist and allowed his hands to slither up her sides to her shoulders and down her arms. He gripped there tight and then moved back up to her shoulders, sliding his hands down her arms once again while this time bringing the straps of her dress down as well. His fingers grazed the soft skin beneath. Moving down her back to seek the zipper, he realized it must be some cosmic succubus miracle that she wasn't wearing a bra but still remained that voluptuously perky. As he brought the dress down she was revealed soft and ivory and he felt the flush to his cheeks burn hotter.

Her markings were beautiful. He hadn't expected to find any on her chest since Sasha's were only on his hips and back. But succubae, it seemed, also had them detailed and delicate beneath and around their breasts, gently encasing them like lace. Even more surprising was the warm, dusty-rose color. Sam had seen Lindsey and Charis and Cam; he knew the color schemes could vary. But dark pink was just so fitting and beautiful for these women. He wanted to see the rest of them.

Easily the dress slipped down Attoinette's body. Her hips were slim despite an ample chest and Sam was not surprised to find her wearing a thong, pink with purple trim. He could see the dark rose tattoos coiling around her hips from out of the silky underwear. It seemed almost too intimate a thing to touch the markings, such a bare and exposed part of what she really was, but Sam reached out anyway.

With gentle fingers Sam traced the curving lines, first on her hips and then further up to ghost around her breasts. He even reached around her back, pulling her close, her bare chest pressing into his so he could feel where he knew her wings would be.

Attoinette whimpered in the back of her throat as he did all this, shivering a little in his arms. He kissed her shoulder. Her neck. Had no one before ever cherished her for what she was?

Behind Sam, Epica was squeezing his biceps and licking the places she had marked on his neck. She bit hard into his pulse point suddenly, making him gasp. Fangs. Then he grinned because he knew why she had done that. Seeing him touch Attoinette—her parody self—stirred something in Epica. There was a breathy growl that accompanied that bite, something Sam was certain she wouldn't have allowed if not for the fact that he knew what they were. Attoinette giggled at her sister and Sam understood.

Releasing Attoinette, he turned, climbing immediately onto the bed so that Epica had to fall back and scoot her way up the mattress or risk being overtaken by is larger body. She smirked up at him as she moved always just out of reach until her head was on one of the pillows. The bed was big enough for two but maybe not quite three. They'd make it work though.

Sam realized that Epica had lost her jacket at some point too, just in that low-cut red tank that showed off her midriff. Just as he fit his fingers underneath the fabric and began to lift, he felt Attoinette slithering up behind him, reaching her small hands around his waist and beginning to undo the button to his jeans. He lifted Epica's shirt over her head just as Attoinette tugged his jeans and shorts down his thighs.

It was hard to focus on any one thing so Sam didn't try to, he just sank into the feeling of the both of them. He kissed Epica's chest and that blue star tattoo, then further down her stomach and navel. He moaned as Attoinette kissed up his back and feathered teasing fingers between his legs. It was encompassing. He was up on his knees with Epica between his legs, but when Attoinette curled her fingers around him and tugged he nearly sunk bonelessly to the bed.

He was too big for Attoinette to properly get around his broad back so she pushed at him just enough to get her point across. Sam lay down on his side next to Epica, moving into her body as she turned towards him and scooted back, leaving enough room for Attoinette to fall behind Sam and more easily keep her hands on him. He could feel the warmth of her skin all along behind him. She had definitely lost the thong at some point.

Sam concentrated on getting Epica on even footing with them. He kissed her hard, just like she kissed, surprised but pleasantly to feel the same fangs he had felt on his neck. Now Sam _knew_ Sasha and Dean did something with that. It was just the kind of kink Dean would be into. And really, Sam couldn't deny the strange appeal, the way that slight prick made him shiver.

One hand strayed to the star tattoo, his fingers smoothing little half circles. The other hand moved lower to Epica's jeans, undid the button, slid down the zipper, and slipped nimble fingers inside. He almost laughed then though he couldn't say he was all that shocked.

No underwear.

"Mmmm…" Attoinette hummed as if she was the one he was touching. Sam couldn't help humming in response because those delicate fingers were strong in all the right ways as they held firm on him and stroked, her tongue flitting over his shoulder blades.

Epica didn't hum but growled again instead. She almost seemed worried for a moment afterwards, as if she had just then realized that she was letting a little of the succubus out to play. Sam reassured her with a hand on her cheek, his thumb gently going to her lips and pressing past them to tap a fang. He smiled. He wanted to see more of her true nature and tried to emote that, to impart that with some small part of his powers. Her eyes flashed red almost immediately.

Maybe if Sam was in his right mind without a slight haze of alcohol, such a rush of power, and all the pheromones he had allowed to pass into his senses, he would have thought it strange how much he wanted to know if this was what it was like for Dean when he was with Sasha. Of course he understood where the obvious differences would be, besides there being two sex vampires instead of one, but still, the way those fangs felt against his lips, the sight of those red eyes glowing in the dark, the way Attoinette's free hand traced gently up his stomach with claws, it was like nothing Sam could have imagined.

Then Sam thought of the circuit, of what he had heard from Sasha and Dean, and then later again from Sasha more detailed when he asked the incubus to explain further. It wasn't only something shared with someone marked, it was just that Dean being marked made the circuit more pronounced, more accessible. Sam wanted to feel it. He asked for that without having to ask.

It was only then when rose colored wings were surrounding him and he was lost somewhere in the twin circuits that had a hold of him, that Sam really understood what Dean would lose if he went to Hell. Sam understood because he could remember what it felt like to have this kind of thrill but to be loved as well. It wasn't about love with Epica and Attoinette but he could still remember. And as he remembered he felt for his brother that much more. Sam rode out the waves of the circuit in a delirium of touching and being touched, of being held in soft hands and later being surrounded and filled with warmth by something sweeter. All the while he was both there in the room and somewhere else, a part of him lost in memories of Jessica and the last time they were together, while the rest of him was with Dean.

Sam trembled, thinking of the reasons he had been without this for so long, because of mourning Jess and mourning Madison, because of falling to the obsession of saving Dean at all costs so that nothing else could ever matter more than that. He felt more now how lonely he had been than he did when he was actually alone. But he was so seldom alone really. He would look up and there would be Dean smirking about something or Sasha laughing and that was enough. Sam couldn't be lonely with them there. But he was.

He had born his loss, it was true, but Sasha and Dean shouldn't have to. Sam had to save Dean. He had to find all of the demons. Nothing, _nothing_ could stand in his way.

Even as he thought of all that, the euphoria of sensations melted into something hotter that traveled down into his hands and sizzled. His hands seared with that power, he could feel it, and he gripped whatever he was holding hard, realizing only then that it was forearms, thin and cool to the touch. He poured all of that burning energy into the skin beneath his palms, feeling it heat up and blister away into nothing so easily...

"_Sam_."

Sam opened his eyes suddenly to a yellow haze that covered everything. With those eyes, his demon eyes, he saw a world barren and black with red dripping along the horizon. There was no sun, no point of light, and yet something was glowing enough to illuminate the land, land that was so hot heat waves were radiated up from it. Trees that should be filled with leaves were burnt away. Husks of ash stood lining empty, broken streets and Sam knew those husks had once been people. Only he alone walked untouched along the middle of some unknown, unimportant road in a town that no longer existed. He was naked and glowing with power. It frightened him that the cracked concrete melted beneath his feet as he walked.

"Dean!" Sam called out, because what other name could be important in an empty world.

"Sammy…" came a whisper like the ash of the no-more people.

Sam turned quickly around to stare down the road behind him. The land was so flat, he could see for miles in every direction and everything looked like the surroundings beside him—black, barren, _dead_.

There was a hill not far away that might have had grass once. Sasha and Dean were standing on top of it looking down at him. But Sasha was changed, his incubus self, with black wings out and ready for flight even though he was crouched by Dean's feet. His fangs glistened within a sickly smile.

But it was Dean that made Sam's heart clench tight. Dean was seemingly just Dean at first, in jeans, a black T-shirt, and his favored leather jacket. His combat boots were clean somehow of all the dirt and ash of the land. He looked glorious and perfect like always, smiling free as anything, and Sam realized then that the light, the meager light keeping the world from being utterly consumed in darkness was coming from Dean. But it was flickering, fading away.

What was worse was that Dean's eyes were not the soft green and brown Sam knew so well and loved. They were black. All over black. _Demon_ black. And as Dean looked at Sam, grinning with Sasha at his feet, he regarded his brother with those black eyes and bowed.

"Come on," Dean said with that voice that hissed and roared even though it was still just Dean's voice, "We have work to do, little brother."

As Dean spoke, his eyes slowly regained their irises, a color appearing against the black. It was red. _Red on black._

Sam almost screamed as he opened his eyes—his real eyes this time. His breathing was sharp and his pulse racing. Before he could contain himself his panic reached a pinnacle he had never before felt and he looked frantically around him, fearing with some awful horror that he would find _bodies_. There were bodies, but they were the beautiful sleeping bodies of two blonde women—well, succubae—who were snuggled in around him on either side of him in the bed.

Slowly, the panic eased away as Sam realized he had only been dreaming. He checked Epica anyway, the covers low enough on her to reveal her arms that were smooth and unmarred by burns. He looked to Attoinette too just to be safe, but she was equally unharmed. He noticed then since she was on her stomach, her head on his chest and an arm thrown over him so that her hand rested on top of her sister's, that she had a none-natural tattoo too. Other than her markings, like how Epica had that little blue star, Attoinette had a large tree that spanned almost her entire back. It started at the beltline and rose up like the Tree of Life, the branches eventually fading to the marking of her wings.

For a moment Sam just laid there, holding the women close against him while they slept, feeling their warmth and the life pulsing in them so strongly. He could feel it, the energy they had fed off from him that was surging through their veins now. In them he knew it was benign but in himself he wasn't so sure anymore.

Oh god, he thought, choking on fear he had so foolishly forgotten, he wasn't sure of anything.

THE END...unless I do another Sam POV sometimes.

A/N: There you are Ann, my dear. Short, but just a bonus. Wow, did Sam surprise me with alot of that. Thoughts, comments? New REAL chapter up soon, begining the morning after. Love you all!

And for the record not only is this the only het I've ever written other than the previous Ellen scene, this is also the only threesome. Phew. Excuse me while I drag my honey into the shower...

Crim


	54. Part 3: Partners

Part 3: Partners

--

There was a ball of warmth in Dean's stomach that seemed to fill every part of him as he slept. Sasha's arms around him, Sasha's even breathing against his neck, Sasha's too soft skin touching him in more places than should be possible without turning uncomfortable. It was still winter. Sort of. Dean liked the extra warmth. He liked the feeling of being encased, being…safe. He wouldn't admit that of course; he was the protector in this family, damn it. He doubted he would ever get that point across to the other two though.

It was only when that warmth was gone that Dean actually started to wake up, a cold spot growing behind him that made the glow in his stomach fade too. He was on the edge of waking, just about to open his eyes when he felt some of that heat return. There was pressure on the bed as it shifted with the weight of a second body, the covers lifting to let in cool air for a moment, and then fingers were padding lightly up Dean's thigh like tiptoes. He grinned in his half-sleep and something stirred inside of him making that ball of warmth grow hotter again.

"Can't get enough of me, eh, baby?" Dean sighed. His breath hitched as those fingers became the whole of one large, soft-skinned hand that gripped his hip and started to move inward. Dean smiled and rolled more fully onto his back to both allow that hand better access and to look at the person beside him. He opened his eyes and met the sobering sight of red on black.

"Good morning, Dean," Malak smirked.

"Holy fucking Christ!" Dean sputtered, the actual scream of it getting choked off somewhere because of how off guard he was. He clutched instinctively at the covers and scrunched his body as far into the other corner of the bed as he could. He would have gotten up but he didn't want to risk losing the sheets. He was buck naked for crying out loud and a fucking demon was in his bed!

Malak was spread out comfortably on top of the covers, his previously treacherous and hidden hand slithering back out from underneath them to rest casually in his lap. His. _He_. This was the male version, which for some reason just pissed Dean off more at the bedroom antics. He was wearing the same black suit and shirt with a red tie, his blonde hair neat but not too short, and his eyes that horrible red on black like a demon snake.

Typically, that insufferable smirk remained, Malak looking just so damn pleased with himself. It infuriated Dean because as much as he may 'belong' to Malak he was not a fucking toy.

"Hmm," Malak hummed thoughtfully as if he was thinking over Dean's harsh response, "Not the most accurate description of me," he said, clearly referring to the 'holy fucking _Christ'_ bit. Very funny.

Dean was all set to throw out some nasty comment when it suddenly hit him that Malak was in bed with him. Which meant Sasha _wasn't_. He imagined his eyes grew into panicked saucers, the sheets becoming gnarled and tangled in his wringing hands as he fought for words.

"He's fine," Malak said with a dismissive roll of his eyes and then nodded to the other side of the room, "In the bathroom. I haven't touched him, I can assure you."

Relief washed through Dean immediately; he could see the bathroom light on from underneath the door, assuming Malak wasn't lying. "Right. Haven't touched him. Wish you could say the same about me," Dean grumbled. His thigh and hip, and a couple areas a little too close to home, still burned a little hotter than the rest of him. "What do you want this time, other than to make my life a living Hell _before_ you whisk me away to the real one? I could have sworn you said you probably wouldn't even come when I _called_. Now it's what, hello sunshine every morning? No thanks, I think I'll stick to alarm clocks."

And damn it if Malak didn't just smile wider, looking so damn comfortable with his legs stretched out and his back leaning against the headboard. "I like to be inconsistent. Try calling sometime and I'll be sure to snub you if that makes you feel better," he said, "But honestly, Dean, I no longer need the ruse. We know each other _personally_ now. It's nice to be able to check up on my investments from time to time. Though to be honest the real reason I'm here is to be sure you've thought about what I said last night."

"What, the 'nothing is as it seems' schtick?" Dean all but grimaced, feeling tense all over since he had practically a whole butt cheek off the mattress and was curled into the tightest ball of naked Winchester he could manage, "Is there something besides cryptic bullshit hidden in there somewhere?"

Then to Dean's relief, Malak swung his legs over the side of the mattress and got up. "That's for you to discover yourself. I just had to abide by the rules and mention it."

"Rules?" Dean prompted.

Malak dusted off his lapels, as if they _weren't_ pristine, and straightened his tie. "Remember, I don't particularly like chaos. Order can do so much more damage. So yes, even I follow the rules, Dean Winchester."

"But what—?"

A perfectly manicured hand rose sharply into the air, halting Dean's words without any powers to aid it; Dean just knew it would be better to hold his tongue. "As I said, some things you will have to figure out for yourself. And do work on that, will you? I have such high hopes for you, Dean. So far you're…right on schedule."

No matter how you looked at it, those were not words you wanted spoken to you by a demon. "And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped. He had at least managed to better situate himself on the bed, the covers pulled in tight around him to cover as much of him as possible.

Just then Sasha came back out of the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and looking as though he hadn't slept at all. He glanced up at Dean and smiled weakly, not seeming to notice Malak beside the bed. "Oh," the incubus said, "You're up. Sorry if I woke you. My head is splitting open, I swear to god. This must be what a hangover feels like. That energy high is not so nice on the other end, lemme tell ya." His smile was fatigued but genuine. He was too close to the bed to not be able to see Malak standing there.

Dean just gaped as Malak moved past Sasha, allowing the incubus to take his place beside the bed with a telling grin. Dean knew he wasn't crazy or imagining anything; Malak was there. Hell, Dean could _feel_ him.

"Dean?" Sasha questioned since Dean hadn't responded and wasn't really looking at him.

"He thinks you belong to him, you know?" Malak said, sounding amused as he looked Sasha up and down from only a dangerous foot away, "Keep in mind, Dean, that you belong to _me_ first. And I don't like to share." Malak walked purposely closer to Sasha then, intent, threatening.

"No!" Dean cried, halfway across the bed in a panic before Malak suddenly stopped right behind Sasha's back. He wasn't as tall as the incubus, being only slightly taller than Dean in his male form, so he had to peer around Sasha's shoulders to meet Dean's gaze.

By now Sasha was understandably worried but not for his own sake. He remained standing beside the bed—naked, Dean realized, and he hated that because Malak didn't deserve to see the redhead bare. "Dean, what's wrong?" Sasha was saying, not realizing that Dean wasn't looking _at_ him but _behind_ him at the crazy, mother-fucking _demon_.

"Imagine the things I could do to him, Dean," Malak grinned over the top of Sasha's shoulder, raising his hands and ghosting them over Sasha's bare skin just a hair's breath from touching him, "Right now…I could do anything…and he couldn't stop me. Neither could you. Imagine it. _Really_, go ahead. In fact, allow me. It'll help put things in perspective for you."

Horror assaulted Dean's eyes like a flash bomb, planted right into his head by Malak's malignant hand. Dean couldn't feel his own body as the images took him but he knew he had to be trembling. The visions he saw, it was awful. It was just…_carnage_. And the whole of it was Sasha.

The incubus, once so beautiful and glorious, was completely shredded. There was blood everywhere. His wings had been torn from his body like a butterfly's. His eyes stared, dull and open, just _open_ looking at nothing because there was nothing for them to see anymore.

Dean knew it wasn't real but the images were persistent and so damn vivid. He tried to cover his eyes but when he brought his hands up he saw that they were filthy with blood and gore, with remnants of Sasha.

It was because of him. He had done it. It was his fault. He always knew it would be his fault.

"Stop it…" Dean shook his head, trying to close his eyes and maybe they already were but he could still see it, "Stop it. _Stop it_. Stop it, stop it, _stop it!"_

"Dean!"

Strong hands gripped Dean's shoulders hard and shook him, breaking him from that awful sight, from the horrific illusion that had appeared so real he could smell the tang of blood in the air still.

But then there was just skin, Sasha's pale chest, whole, not bleeding or broken, and he was pulling Dean against him to try and calm him amidst this unexplainable fit. Dean was shaking, just as he knew he would be, but Sasha was on the bed now. It was easy to burry his face in that chest, smooth and perfect with a scar that no longer bled.

"Dean, it's okay," Sasha said, "It's okay. Oh god, it's _okay_, please stop shaking. You're just having a bad dream." A dream. Dean wished that was all, and in a way it was just a bad dream, only the dream was real. It always had been.

"I don't wish to hurt him, Dean," came Malak's voice from right where Dean knew the demon was still standing, though he wouldn't look, he wouldn't, "I find the incubus quite…pleasing, in fact. So please, don't make me do that again. You see, I can be very reasonable. Just bear in mind…it is always better to do what I ask. For their sake as well as yours."

Dean didn't have to ask who 'they' referred to other than Sasha. Of course it was Sam. The two of them were all he had, the heart of everything he was. He tried to calm in Sasha's arms as the incubus held him, cooing out soothing words and believing Dean was simply caught in some waking nightmare. He was. But he couldn't just abandon himself to it.

Looking up from where he had dug his face into Sasha's chest, Dean sunk into an actual embrace so he could glare over the incubus' shoulder at the demon beside the bed. Dean didn't want to worry Sasha any further or he might have said something nasty. But when had it ever been necessary to speak aloud for Malak to hear him? He said everything he needed to with that glare, staring unflinching into red on black with the most potent hatred.

Malak smiled. "That's why it's you, Dean. In all my time here and below no one has ever looked me in the eyes like that without fear. You'll do me proud." And then it was like smoke fading from a blown out candle, rippling Malak's image and fading him away into nothing.

A sob nearly broke out of Dean's throat but he wouldn't let it. He couldn't even begin to understand what Malak wanted, what the demon really wanted, but he knew that the very path he was on was for that damn demon's sake and it wasn't fair. Sam and Sasha were on that same path with him and he didn't know if it was them saving him or him condemning them. Forever.

Sasha was still holding him so tight, still whispering and speaking like he was terrified Dean was somehow lost. Dean didn't have time to be lost.

"It's okay," Dean managed, parroting what Sasha kept chanting to him. He clung to Sasha tighter, not because he needed it, even though he did, but because the incubus needed to be reassured that Dean wasn't lost. He wasn't broken. He wasn't _weak_. "It's okay," he said again, "Just…a bad dream."

"Dean," Sasha responded in a voice so soft it trembled, "Was it…Malak?"

Damn it. Why did Dean's companions have to be so damn smart? Dean squeezed Sasha once more and then pulled back. He was half on his knees and so was Sasha in a tangled mess of covers on the bed. "Doesn't matter," Dean said, "Gone now. Just popped in to feed me a little crazy on this fine winter morning." The smirk he threw at Sasha was feeble, he knew that. "You okay?"

Sasha gaped and hung onto Dean by the shoulders. "Am I okay? Dean, you were shaking and screaming and…" Sasha shook his head, "What the hell does it matter if _I'm_ okay?"

"You said…worst hangover ever, right?" Dean shrugged, "Just wanna be sure you're not gonna puke all over me suddenly." Dean gave a little push at Sasha's chest and a small bit of the tension drained away from them.

"I'm fine," Sasha replied, "I can handle a little nausea. Now why don't we get you into a hot shower or something, okay? You're still shaking and your skin is freezing, Dean. Guess the Hellfire's mostly talk, huh?" he smirked.

Dean was so thankful that an answering smile still came easily. "Trying to get me into the shower already, are ya? Horny freak," Dean said, entirely loving. Sex was actually the last thing on his mind right now.

"Dean," Sasha prompted in a gauging, tender voice, "Do you want to…tell me about it? What he said? What he…did to you to make you react like that?"

It sounded to Dean like Sasha was trying to coax out a confession of being violated or something, though Dean supposed on several levels that was exactly what had happened. Still, he said, "Not really," hoping he could get across that he just _couldn't_ right now, even though he didn't want to hurt Sasha's feelings by keeping quiet.

"Okay."

_Okay_. When Sam said that it was always startling because Sam rarely left things alone. But Sasha could be just as stubborn so it was just as much a relief to hear that simple word said by him. Dean looked up into those cobalt eyes and smiled gratefully. "I'll never let him touch you," he promised with the sharpness of both love and anger on his tongue. Saying that allowed for too many questions but Dean had to say it anyway, had to make himself believe it.

And it didn't bother him at all that Sasha's reply bordered on patronizing. "I know," the incubus said, cupping Dean's cheek, "Now come on. I need that hot shower too and we want an early start, don't we?"

Yes. Definitely. "And hey," Dean couldn't help grinning, this time for real, "Somebody's gonna have to go wake up Sammy."

--

It would have been such an insult to injury if Sasha had made good on his threat to not allow Dean to go bother Sam. It was his brotherly duty after all. It was also still ridiculously early—6:30 only—when Dean walked up to Sam's motel room door. Breakfast had just started in the little nook that served continental and Sasha had grudgingly gone ahead to make sure there was actually some coffee brewing.

Nothing could wipe the smirk from Dean's face as he raised a hand to knock, not even the lingering shuddery feeling left over from Malak's morning visit. Dean was quite surprised though that after only two swift knocks a couple moments was all it took before Sam opened the door.

He looked much as Sasha had, worn and drawn like he hadn't really slept. And yet he was half dressed already in one of his more common pairs of jeans. "Dean," Sam said, maybe mildly surprised, "If this is my wake-up call I'll be down in a couple minutes." Sam then moved to promptly shut the door.

Dean wedged his foot just enough to keep the door open, much to Sam's obvious annoyance. Dean couldn't see around Jumbo's oversized body into the room, which still seemed to be dark, but he could tell by Sam's demeanor that the twins had to still be in there. "Not so fast, Quick Draw, I'm just checking up on you. Sasha's got one hell of an energy hangover. You?"

That hazel gaze eyed Dean for a minute, unreadable and guarded. "Uhhh…yeah, I guess. Sure," he finally said.

'_Yeah, I guess, sure'?_ Dean frowned. "What's going on? You better not have ditched the girls and slept alone or I might just have to kick your ass for being the biggest damn idiot on the planet," he half joked. He knew when there was something off with his brother, and either Sam didn't have the same hangover as Sasha, which was possible, or he was too preoccupied with something else.

The truth was that Sam was a much better liar than Dean and sometimes he could even fool Dean right along with everybody else. Those times were rare though because Sam had to _want_ to lie to Dean for it to work, and, bless the kid, he usually just wanted to be found out.

"Sammy," Dean pressed, pushing on the door to get Sam to stop hiding behind it.

Sam allowed the simple action but he still scowled, still looked invaded for the sake of his pride. "No, Dean. I didn't sleep alone," Sam all but growled even as the unmistakable sight of the twins still in bed materialized behind Sam in the darkness when the door swung open a little, "Not that it's any of your business if you just came here to tease me."

Defensive. He was being defensive to better hide something _else_. "Actually," Dean started a little smugly, "It was going to be more like me giving you a big pat on the back. But now I gotta wonder what else happened since something else obviously did happen or you wouldn't be being such a bitch the morning after a righteously hot threesome with a couple of succubus _twins_."

A grimace crossed Sam's face, partially because Dean was so clearly on the mark but also because Sam couldn't keep his good boy nature from getting embarrassed at Dean articulating last night out loud.

But then the expression broke, dropped, and suddenly there went the puppy dogs.

"Nothing…happened. Well, obviously _that_ happened," Sam indicated behind him, "And that was, ya know…fine."

Dean raised both eyebrows skeptically. Only his walking oak tree of a brother would describe a threesome as _fine_.

"Damn it, Dean," Sam said in a harsh whisper, pulling the door halfway closed again so that his bare chest was the only thing visible, "It was ridiculously hot and awesome, alright? Now will you shut up about it?"

It didn't need to be mentioned that Dean hadn't actually _said_ anything. "So…the thing that has you spazzing and grumpy _after_ all that hot and awesome is…what exactly?"

"Nothing!" Sam said a little too quickly. All Dean had to do was give Sam Dad's _'you really think I'm gonna buy that'_ look and the kid crumbled. He scrubbed his face the way Dean often did when the world just wasn't making sense. "It was…it was just this stupid dream, okay, it wasn't a big deal."

"Dream? You mean a vision?"

"No!" Sam countered just as quick and loud as before, which made Dean doubt how much Sam actually believed that, "I…don't know," Sam admitted with something like anguish, "I don't think so. God, it couldn't have been." He got lost in his head for a moment but when he looked up at Dean again he quickly steeled himself. "It's nothing. Really, don't worry about it. Just that energy working its course or something. We should…get on the road. Coffee and some food sounds great about now so I'll…just…umm…" he looked behind him a little lost.

"You gotta wake 'em up, Sammy. Coz ya know, it'd be mighty ungentlemanly of you to fuck and run," Dean grinned.

Sam whipped around with an exasperated, angry expression, utterly offended, which of course was the whole point.

"Maybe they'll share some crappy hotel breakfast with us before we go," Dean said, patting Sam on the arm.

And because Dean was just Dean and Sam knew how to accept that, the anger melted into mild annoyance which then quickly morphed into a look of something like gratefulness, because, after all, Dean wasn't pushing for anymore than what Sam had already given. This time. "Yeah," Sam said, "I'm sure they'd really like that."

In fact the twins were practically too bouncy and energized to contain. Dean couldn't understand at first how they had gone from being totally out on Sam's bed to being awake and raring to go—granted, in the clothes from last night—like they couldn't wait to start the day. Then Dean had to remind himself that said twins had fed off of his uber-powerful brother while Sam was on a power kick anyway, so it really shouldn't be a surprise that they had, uh, gotten their fill.

He said as much to them aloud at the breakfast table if only to see Sam blush the color of Sasha's hair.

"You boys are a bunch of laughs," Attoinette giggled, "I wouldn't want to get all caught up in a hunt or anything like the others, but joining you for the after party's great. Course don't you think for one second we wouldn't come running if you called and needed our help some time. We still pack a pretty mean punch for chicks, you know," she winked.

"Keep the network going, Sash," Epica added, sitting between Sasha and Sam and giving Sasha a firm smack on the back, "Meanwhile, we'll get to working on those elders about getting you un-banished. Either way, maybe we can do this again some time."

Dean noticed quite blatantly the way the succubus glanced to her other side at Sam as she said that, who of course was fully back to his senses and utterly mortified by the entire situation. Not that the kid had any regrets; Sam had made it quite plain to Dean that everyone got what they wanted last night and there would be no point in thinking otherwise. Sometimes the kid did know how to use that oversized brain of his.

They saw the twins off, saying quick but thoughtful goodbyes that included kisses all around—to the lips, Dean noted, though chaste and sweet. Well, except for Epica's goodbye kiss to Sam. The tall hunter actually looked a little breathless when they were finally waving at the twins' retreating car.

"Where to?" Dean said, more than ready to hit open road even though the sun had barely risen. He shifted into drive and took off out of the parking lot.

Sasha was already kicked back and lying down in the backseat, hoping to wait out his pounding head and slightly upset stomach—though food had helped. Sam looked maybe a little less worse for the wear but he still leaned the front seat back as far as he could and closed his eyes.

"So I'm chauffeuring the living dead today, is that it?" Dean snarked.

"Colorado," Sam said, eyes still closed and voice oddly even, "Head for Colorado."

"Uhh, okay, psychic boy," Dean said as his baby hit the highway and purred in appreciation, "And what are we gonna find in Colorado? Demons obviously, but—"

"I'm not sure. Just…a feeling. Maybe we'll even run into some other demons along the way. I'll let you know if we get close to anything."

It was cool, Dean could admit it, the way Sam could just do that, just know where the baddies were, bring them there and then bam, team effort to take care of it. Well, sometimes a team effort. Usually Sam handled things fairly well on his own what with being able to exorcize the damn things without even speaking. But as awesome as the superpowers could be it was still kind of unsettling, especially since Sam was just so casual about it lately.

"I know where the line is, Dean," Sam went on, as if he was right inside Dean's head even though he swore he would never do that again without permission, "And I'm not about to cross it. Malak doesn't own me. He's never gonna get me. Yellow Eyes might have triggered the powers but their mine now and I know how to use them. I refuse to let that bastard change that."

A shiver ran down Dean's spine to hear Sam's words and the familiarity of that conviction. It was familiar because it was also his own. "Colorado then," Dean said, taking stock of how he needed to change coarse. He knew the US roads so well it wasn't even a challenge half the time and often he never even used the map in his glovebox.

"Hey, if we're heading to Colorado I can think of something already that we might run into," Sasha called from his reclined position in the backseat. In the rearview mirror all Dean could see was Sasha's torso and the way his shirt hitched up as he stretched back, showing off those damn sexy tattoos. "The Roadhouse," Sasha said, "We could detour a little. Should be able to make it there for a late lunch and stretch our legs before moving on. I'm sure Ellen and Jo would appreciate it. I can't remember that last time we talked to them."

Dean couldn't either, though admittedly they had been sort of busy. Jo had called a few times when they first left the Roadhouse after New Years, but then things sort of came to a halt. They had just assumed the Roadhouse had started to pick up. It had been over two months since they talked to a Harvelle.

"I know we can't afford to slow down," Sasha continued, "And I'm not suggesting we do. Just a couple hours to rest, eat, see Ellen and Jo, and maybe even pick up some info. Some other hunters might have a few demon leads outside your radius, Sam."

Hazel eyes turned to the side, looking at Dean but including Sasha in the back as well. "That's actually a pretty good idea. Dean?"

"Hell, you know I'm game," Dean said.

"Good," Sasha replied, "Then…there's something else I think we need to talk about. Well, a couple things." Dean did not like that tone of voice, too serious and foreboding, especially since Sasha was only a torso right now. "I haven't wanted to say anything but…but, hell, it's hard enough just trying to pretend we're not all panicking half the time, so…"

"_Dude_," Dean interrupted, "You cannot play Devil's Advocate if I can't see your face. Sit up, will ya?" It was code of conduct. And it would make Dean feel better.

An exasperated but amused laugh filtered up from behind Sam's seat and then Sasha was suddenly more than a torso—he was eyes and a tense smile and that shocking red hair. "Just bear with me," he said, leaning forward with a hand on either of their seats, "First thing, and just let me say it…are we really going to keep doing what Malak told us to do without trying to figure out what he's really after? And before we even get into that discussion," Sasha moved on to be sure Dean and Sam couldn't interrupt, "There's the other thing. How do we even know we're getting rid of the right demons?"

"What do you mean?" Dean had to ask, "We find a demon, we exorcize it, we move onto the next one."

"Yeah, but…Malak said we need to get rid of the demons that came through the Devil's Gate. He said that specifically."

"So you're saying, what if we waste all of our time on demons that were already here and miss some of the ones we actually need?" Sam prompted. It was a sobering thought.

"Or worse," Sasha went on—great, it could get worse, "What if one of those demons jumped in a body…and got on a plane? Our playing field would be massive. We wouldn't even know where to start."

Dean unconsciously gripped the steering wheel tighter, feeling his throat go suddenly dry. This was not what he wanted to hear right now. "Thanks for the words of comfort, baby," he said a little more harshly than intended, "I feel all warm and fuzzy now."

The pained expression Dean was awarded made him instantly regret his harsh words. "Dean, I'm sorry," Sasha said, "But I want to be sure we know as much as we can so we do this right. No matter what Malak says we all know we can't trust him. Err, her." Sasha grimaced. "She, he, him, they, _it_, whatever. He's planning something bigger and I don't like it."

Something about the way Dean and Sam tried so hard not to look at each other right then made it obvious to Dean that they were thinking the same thing. Neither of them wanted to admit it. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud. And they both knew they could have a hundred arguments about the issue and they would still end up on the same road.

Dean tried to tell himself that that was a good thing, that it meant they were strong because they would not be taken in. They would fight. They would prove that bastard wrong. They would win, somehow they would win. All Dean wanted in the whole world was to live out the rest of his life with these two men beside him. He just kind of wanted that life to be a little bit longer than a couple of months.

"The Devil's Gate was unprecedented," Sam said, trying so hard to sound detached and to the point, "There couldn't have been more than a handful of demons in the States, maybe less, before it opened. And as for one getting on a plane? I just don't think so. Not to get out of the country. There's too much right here, the heart of the world, the best place to reign chaos. No, the demons didn't leave. They're here. All of them. And we're going to find every last one of them and it's going to be every last one that matters."

There was that conviction again, so sure, so strong.

"Whatever Malak thinks he can do to me, to _us_," Sam quickly amended, looking sharply at Sasha and Dean in turn, "We have each other to make sure he never gets what he really wants."

For a moment the car was too quiet after that; there were too many unanswered questions. In the end it was true that all they had was each other and that conviction that continued to run between them.

Then Sasha was leaning forward, and Dean had to gape a little when he saw that the reason was so that the incubus could kiss Sam firmly on the side of his head.

Sam was gaping a little too when Sasha pulled away from him. "What was that for?"

Sasha smiled, all genuine and loving. "For making me feel better," he shrugged, "I believe in you, Sam. No matter what happens. You too," he grinned at Dean and swiftly placed a matching smooch on Dean's temple, "Ya know, in case I made you feel left out or anything."

"Hey, personal space," Dean said, swerving his head away and swatting at Sasha half-heartedly, "Ya big freak," Dean added, as lovingly as Sasha had spoken to Sam.

Bright laughter bounced back at Dean, loud and glorious within the confines of the car. Sasha patted the brothers' shoulders and sat back. "Well, this freak is a gonna take a nap, see if I can sleep off any more of this demonic hangover. We'll be fine. Long as we know where we're headed."

The real meaning of 'long as we know what we're _doing'_, which really involved a lot more than just knowing they were going to the Roadhouse, resounded around them like an echo. They could only hope that they were doing the right thing.

After Sasha had resettled in the backseat, Dean tried to just drive and not think too hard about what they had talked about. He was surprised though when Sam broke first because to be honest he had been just waiting to cave.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam's head turn to look at him, felt those warm-hued eyes just staring. He knew that they were pleading with him for something he just didn't know for what. When Dean finally dared glance, finally dared look and meet his brother's gaze, there was no doubt in him at all that the man sitting next to him was his brother, wholly and completely. And Dean would do anything to make sure it stayed that way.

For a brief moment Dean reached over to Sam's knee and squeezed reassurance. Then he gave Sam's leg a firm push and said, "Dude. Read a book or something, you're creeping me out."

And Sam laughed.

After the laughter had faded and it was quiet in the Impala again, Dean became lulled by the soft snores of his companions as they drifted to sleep. He'd wake one of them up to take a driving shift before they got to Missouri. Maybe. For now he just enjoyed knowing that the things he loved most were safe and with him. Even when they were Sasha the torso and Sam the sleeping giant, they were still his.

--

They pulled up to the Roadhouse a little after one o'clock and Dean was famished. It seemed word had spread fast too that the one place hunters were sure to get a good meal, a strong drink, and a place to sleep was back, because there were several other cars parked around the renovated B&B. There was little else for miles around so one might almost think it was tourist season.

Dean could feel the tension radiating off of Sasha as they got out of the car. Even though the incubus had been the one to suggest this stopping point it was still difficult for him to be around other hunters. There was always that chance that one of them would find out what he really was and most hunters wouldn't be as open-minded as Bobby and Ellen and Jo.

"I'd never let any of them hurt you," Dean heard Sam say to Sasha. It was said in that low, dangerous voice of Sam's that Dean often tried to pretend his brother didn't have.

"Don't say that so much like a threat," Dean said, bucking Sam with his shoulder as they headed for the door.

"I'm just saying," Sam defended, looking both at Dean's concerned expression and at Sasha's grateful but wide eyes, "If there was ever any trouble I could handle it."

Despite everything they had talked about earlier, Dean just didn't like the sound of that. "For all we know you're the one who might stir up that trouble, Sammy, not Sasha," Dean said, "So cool those jets, Rocket Boy. We're just here for a meal and Ellen and Jo's good company. I'm sure any demon info we need they'll know about as much as any of the recluses in there."

"Dean, wait," Sasha said, grabbing Dean's shoulder with a little more incubus strength than Dean usually liked. Dean had been about to open the main door into the Roadhouse, which left them hovering just outside. "Ellen and Jo don't know. About the deal. They don't know. What are we gonna tell them?"

Dean really didn't see how that was an issue. "Uhh, that we're hunting demons. Since when is that not a normal activity for hunters?" That seemed obvious enough, but Sam and Sasha looked at Dean with matching furrowed brows, _expectant_. "Oh for fuck's sake, no. Don't even start with me. We do not need to tell them."

"But, Dean—"

"_Sammy_."

"Dean, listen for a second," Sasha said over the other two, "The people you know you can trust the most are us, Bobby, and the Harvelles. We're already here and Bobby's going to join us as soon as he can. Maybe, if things get down to the wire, it'll be good to have Ellen and Jo with us too."

"I'm with Sasha," Sam said, not surprisingly, "You know they'll understand, Dean, and we should be as prepared as we can be. My powers aren't full proof."

Ha! Dean had to huff at that. "Sure, say that now. But a moment ago you were all 'bring on the trouble'!" Oh how Dean longed for the day when making a good point would be enough for these guys to back down. Unfortunately, while it was one thing when they double-teamed him because they thought they were right, it was entirely different when they actually were. "Damn it," Dean grumbled, even as he was pushing open the door, "One of these days we are so having a serious talk about all these fucking coups of yours."

It was probably a good thing Dean couldn't see Sam and Sasha's faces as they walked into the main bar area of the Roadhouse because he was almost certain they were smirking. Bitches.

There was no one immediately visible behind the bar as they entered but Ellen had obviously set out several more tables than they remembered and a number of them were occupied with one or more hunters—usually just one doing his own thing. It was customary that they pretty much all glanced up to gauge the newcomers but their gazes didn't remain long. Dean didn't recognize anyone, not that they knew many hunters outside their small circle anymore. But he did note that there was one woman among the men, older with short dark hair, reading tarot.

By the time they reached the empty bar Ellen appeared out of one of the doorways carrying a couple of boxes. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw them. "Well, I'll be. Been awhile since you boys came calling. Don't look too dead I see. You don't know how to use a phone?" She went straight for behind the bar and set her boxes down beneath the counter. Her expression was trapped somewhere between amused and annoyed so they could tell she was happy to see them.

"Good to see you too, Ellen," Sasha said, sliding onto a stool, "Place looks like it's back to normal. Good crowd."

"Hn," Ellen huffed, "And I'm barely keeping up. Sure coulda used Jo's help lately. I don't suppose my daughter's been keeping in touch with you boys better than she has with me. That girl always was bad at picking up a phone."

That information hit them all at the same time and they all simultaneously fell into responses.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Jo's not here?"

"Since when?"

"What's she gotten herself into now?"

And then they all realized, also simultaneously, how much they had just sounded like worried older brothers.

Ellen barked a laugh and started to fill three glasses without asking what the boys would like. "Guess I guessed wrong. She called a bit ago and said she'd be through this afternoon. Seeing you boys I thought maybe you were in on it. 'Bout time I'll get to meet this hunter she's partnered herself with."

And again.

"What hunter?"

"Jo's out hunting?"

"What's she thinking?"

"Who is this guy?"

"Does she know what she's doing?"

"I thought she was gonna stick around here for awhile."

Ellen's eyes danced a little like maybe she would laugh for real she was so amused by their antics. "I haven't seen my little girl face to face since a week after you boys left in January," Ellen explained, passing out the unrequested drinks. They all immediately took a gulp. "And I can't say much about this hunter because Jo ain't telling me much. All she's given away is that this gal is new to the trade but knows her stuff, and they've been getting on pretty well these past couple 'a months."

Dean was fairly certain that he caught the important part of that sentence before either of the others because he was the first to say, "Wait. _Gal_? You mean it's a chick?"

It was as if some unified male tension had been building up and suddenly it released. A chick they could handle.

"Figured she might head off to hunt again some time, but I didn't think it'd be so quick," Dean admitted, "But I guess if she's at least got someone to watch her back."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"It's not like she isn't capable," Sasha added with a shrug.

Ellen's eyebrows got lost up into her hairline again, just staring at them for a moment, eyes darting between the three of them, and then she was shaking her head like she should have expected this reaction and really, why was she surprised. "So you boys are here on your own then, I take it," she said, "Anything I can help you with? I'm sure you'll wanna stick around at least long enough to see Jo and this new girl she's got with her. They shouldn't be too far behind you."

"We've actually been tracking the demons from the Devil's Gate," Sasha started right in, taking another drink from whatever concoction Ellen had made for them that had just the right kick without being too much for mid afternoon, "Figure it's where our attention's best focused. You haven't heard anything about any demon activity, have you?" Sasha briefly glanced at Dean as if to say, yeah, we should still tell her, but when we get her and Jo alone later.

For a moment Ellen disappeared to where she had set those boxes. She opened one, which they could see had a bunch of new glasses, and started taking them out and setting them on the bar. As she talked, she carefully wiped off each one before putting it with the other glasses she already used. "Well, not too much to be honest. Lord knows there's gotta still be well over a hundred out there even though some hunters have gotten lucky and I know you boys have taken out a few. Seems the most activity's happening on the coasts. Not sure why. Bigger populations in some cases, I suppose. Maybe their finally catching wise and trying to blend in with the crowd. But I don't imagine that's too much trouble for you, is it?" Ellen said with a look at Sam.

It was a discreet way of asking how Sam's power were coming along since really they hadn't let Ellen know all that much about them and she certainly didn't know how powerful he was now. Sam just smiled and said, "We do what we can, and we've been doing pretty well lately. Right now we're heading to Colorado but if there seems to be more action on the coast, we'll probably continue on after that. Thanks."

Ellen nodded, seemingly satisfied with their exchange. "Can I get you boys anything to eat? Missed the lunch rush but I can whip up something. Gets pretty slow in the afternoons. Usually when the hunters hit the books if they don't just head right out. Why don't you grab that one lounge off that way," she said, pointing through one of the doors that Dean remembered eventually led to the lounge with the TV that he had rested in while recovering from that damn shotgun wound.

It was understood that she was telling them where they could have a little privacy so she could come in later and get the real low-down without any eager ears overhearing.

"Oh," Ellen said before they could get too far from their stools, "And if you see an old friend in there, tell her to keep to the back of the couch if she can. Thing's been shedding something awful and it's not even warm out yet."

A smile stretched on Sasha's face immediately and when Dean saw it he couldn't help following suit. He had almost forgotten.

They made their way through to the lounge, passing few other hunters in this particular part of the building, and found the room not only vacant but dark. Dean remembered where the light was and groped along the wall to flick it on. There were no windows back here so it got pretty dark even in daylight.

The second the light filled the room Dean heard a telling 'prrrp' sound from the couch. Sasha was already reaching over the back of it by the time Dean was looking the right direction and a second later the incubus had a large, fluffy grey tabby cat in his arms.

"Wally, you're so big," he said, his smile beaming as the 'cat' continued to chirp and squirm in his arms so she could better rub her face up against his. She made a beautiful cat, the only real strange thing being the blue eyes that wasn't usually common for a tabby. Sasha laughed as he stroked her fur, enjoying the love of one of the few animals that actually gave him a chance.

"Geez, man, you're making me jealous with all that," Dean grinned, approaching the pair so he could reach out and pet Wally himself. She bucked up into his hand. "Remember me, do ya? You been behaving?"

Wally chirped as if to say, 'of course'. And since there wasn't any great smell of cat about the place, or any wrecked furniture, and all Ellen had said was that she was shedding a bit much, they figured they could probably believe her.

"I don't think it'd be too risky to pop back to your real self for awhile," Dean said, since as much as he loved cats he really did like Wally's real look more, like a baby Ewok or something with her tiny little human hands.

The chimera immediately chirped again and wriggled in Sasha's arms. Then suddenly she was a fluffy little gremlin looking thing with floppy ears. She definitely looked bigger.

Deciding to sit themselves down and relax a little while they waited for food and the arrival of Jo, Dean stretched back in the reclining chair and Sasha sat down on the couch with Wally. Sam had been fairly silent, not quite as overjoyed as the other two but still a fan of Wally of course. He sat down next to Sasha and held out his hand for her to sniff, but when he got close to her she actually jumped back a little.

"Whoa, it's okay, girl," Sasha immediately cooed, "It's just Sam. Remember?"

Sam looked hurt, as startled as the creature in Sasha's arms. He started to lower his hand but before he could Wally ventured out a little again, crawling out of Sasha's arms so she could sniff Sam properly. She cocked her head at him, maybe a little timid still, and then looked back at Sasha again.

"It's really Sam, Wally," Sasha said like he could understand that big-eyed look of hers, "He probably just smells a little…different is all. You've been using you powers so much more since we were last here," Sasha said to Sam, "I'm sure that's all it is. Go ahead, Wally."

The chimera, so smart with that human part of her, actually gave a little head bob like a nod and turned back to Sam. She inched closer and closer, sniffing the air, gauging if she trusted her senses, and when she finally reached Sam's hand and he moved it to pet her back, she sank into his touch. A few 'prrrps' later and Sam didn't look so devastated anymore.

He had always been the St. Francis of the family, unlike Dean who was hit or miss.

"I think the day she's actually afraid of me, we might have to start worrying," he said, half serious. She crawled into his lap, purring like the cat she pretended to be, and Dean could tell Sam enjoyed the calming effect of an animal's acceptance. She was a supernatural animal, granted, but animals of any kind were still one of the best watchmen for knowing if something otherworldly was going on.

For a few minutes the hunters just sat there, enjoying a little time to relax and maybe not think so much, which was made easier by the steady rhythm of Wally's purring. Ellen came in with a plate of sandwiches for them after awhile and Dean resisted the urge to make some kind of June Cleaver comment. That would more than likely have gotten him smacked.

She disappeared again, saying she'd be in when she could since she wanted to hear, as she put it, what was _really_ going on, and they started to scarf down their food. Dean was actually surprised how good Wally was about not trying to get into their food while they ate. Though she did sit on the coffee table and watch them with mournful eyes that eventually got Sasha to sneak her a piece of turkey.

"So, Colorado," Dean started off, "Any more clues as to what's waiting for us there, Sammy, now that we're closer, or still just going off instinct?"

Sam made a face, though not because he was annoyed with Dean's way of questioning. "I think a small gathering again but not like what we saw before. And…something else. I just can't put my finger on it. It's demonic, definitely, but I don't know if it's…_demons_. Which I realize makes no sense," he said in response to Sasha and Dean's questioning gazes. He took a large bit of his second sandwich, looking kind of sheepish.

"Just make sure you keep us in the loop," Sasha said, smiling so it was obvious he was teasing, "Don't go thinking we just know what you're thinking coz you can see what _we're_ thinking. If you sense anything or get any ideas about this mess you better fill us in. Never know what might be important."

It was meant to be lighthearted not a lecture, but somehow it didn't seem that way judging by Sam's reaction—like he had just been given one of Dad's bullshit lectures about god knows what and now Sam was just sort of crumbled.

Sasha immediately became worried; Dean could see it written all over the incubus' face. "Sam, I…I'm just goofing around. I mean, sure, we want you to keep us in the know if you catch wind of anything but I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," Sam said right away, "I'm not…upset." The way his face was scrunched up said the exact opposite. He set his sandwich down on the plate in front of him like he had lost his appetite. He stared at it, not looking at Sam and Dean as he said, "You're…right. You're right, Sasha, I have to make sure I tell you everything. And…well…last night, I had this—"

"Well if my eyes don't deceive me," interrupted a confident female voice with the slightest drawl, "I do believe I'm seeing Winchesters."

All three of the boys turned to the doorway where Jo was walking in with a grin and a sure stride. She looked good, better than good, _great_. She had a certain glow about her like she was on top of the world. Her hair even bounced a little more than usual, curled at the ends as always, and Dean would swear she was wearing a new leather jacket, dark grey and vintage looking even though these days it was probably trendy.

Jo stopped at the side of the couch, which the boys were all sharing at the moment so they could eat their sandwiches over the coffee table, and propped a hand on her hip. She smiled at Sasha. "Unless you don't like being called _Mrs_. Winchester, that is," she winked.

If that had been the other way around Dean probably would have pounced on her, but since it was directed at Sasha the joke went off without fists flying. Sasha just laughed and getting up from the couch he immediately pulled Jo in for a hug. "Now you're just asking for it," he said as he held her.

Of course one hug could only lead to another—the damn evil things—so Sam and Dean were soon up embracing Jo too. Dean couldn't help noticing that there was a fair bit more muscle to the girl, but if she had been hunting regularly that wasn't really surprising.

"So where is she?" Sasha asked first, looking back out the door expectantly, "Your Mom told us you've been hunting with a partner. Some girl new to hunting but pretty damn sharp otherwise, something like that?"

Jo broke into a grin, standing amazingly tall even amongst three men who towered fairly well over her. "Not so new she still needs her diapers changed," she said, "She's been hunting for about two years now. It's all probably a longer story than you'll want to sit through. Mom's got a hold of her right now but I'm sure she'll be back. Had to come see you guys myself first."

"But who is she?" Sam pressed, "Someone you knew before? Sounds like you two just sort of fell in together."

"Actually," Jo said with a sly grin, "Apparently she's someone _you've_ known before. She said she met you guys way back on a hunt. One of _your_ hunts, not hers. Says she can credit even considering it to you guys saving her life." It was obvious Jo was speaking to Sam and Dean, not Sasha, so it had to have been from at least before the Devil's Gate.

The very idea had Dean bursting with curiosity. "Some chick we saved turned hunter coz of us?" he said, breaking into a wider grin, "That's totally awesome."

"Wow," Sam agreed, "With the way most hunts turn out that's kind of hard to believe. But I guess if she's suited for it."

"And then some," Jo said, "You can rest assured we're suited for each other too. We've had over a dozen hunts so far and no slip ups or close calls. Clock work perfection. I think I'm grateful you guys never let me stick around too long. Working with another girl is much easier."

Dean chuckled. "I'd take that as a slam if it didn't make a whole lotta sense," he said, "So I gotta know, what's this mystery girl's name anyway?"

"Sarah…" came a breathy reply, but it wasn't from Jo. It was somewhat unsettling actually that that softly shocked reply came from Sam.

Once again Dean turned to the entrance of the lounge to see who had entered. His eyes fell upon a very beautiful young woman, long dark hair, darker complexion and dark eyes, with that kind of glow about her skin like she stayed out in the sun just the right amount. She was curvier than average but obviously fit, dressed much like Jo, very 'slayer chic' as Dean liked to call it.

Dean recognized her immediately. The details filled in more slowly.

Sarah.

Sarah…_Blake_.

Upstate New York.

Haunted painting.

Little girl psycho killer.

'_Sam, marry that girl.'_

Sarah smiled and Dean couldn't be sure if the expression she threw at his brother was pleased or dangerous. "Hi, Sam."

tbc...

A/N: Huh. I was going to warn you about this but then...I didn't. Anyway, if you don't remember, Sarah Blake is from "Provenence" Season One. If you didn't like her, tough. I think she is hot and awesome and would make a good hunter. And this is the Sam arc after all. Don't think I'm going to make anything easy for him.

AND, ATTENTION! Here begins a Sasha Drabble Contest. That's right, 100 words or less, please submit to me, whether in your review or sent to me through email, which you can get to at the website, a Sasha focused drabble. Your prompt, ironically enough, is 'Sam' in honor of the Sam arc. Go nuts. I expect most of you guys to do this because drabbles can be so fun and are short. Not that I'll get upset if I only get one submission, but come on, folks, give it a shot. Winner can request. As an example, here is one from deangirl1 who suggested the contest:

Dean Winchester: Last Will and Testament

To Sasha, I leave my most valuable possession:

Small graspy hands reaching for comfort.

Small warm hand slipping into mine.

Medium hand clutching my jacket, first day of school.

How to hold a knife, shoot a gun.

Bigger hands clasping a letter.

Missing and missed, reunited.

Brothers first, last, and always.

Fingers madly typing. Chewing on a hangnail.

Geek boy. Prankster.

Big hand comforting on chest.

Grounding me.

Puppy eyes, floppy hair, bitch face.

Samantha, Scully, Sasquatch, Bitch.

Everything, all I have.

Sammy. Sam.

Sasha sighed and a single tear tracked down his cheek.


	55. DRABBLE: Sam

Incubus Drabble: Sam

--

If things had played out differently Sasha might have fallen in love with Sam. The thought crossed the incubus' mind and he had to smile. He loved Sam. Found him attractive. Even appreciated the way Sam's hip bones were just slightly more defined than Dean's, something he noticed when the taller hunter came out of the bathroom in just a towel.

SMACK.

"Hey! Knock that off!" yelled Dean.

Things could have turned out differently…

Sasha looked up, grabbed the collar of Dean's T-shirt and pulled. Kissing. Claiming.

…but damn was he glad they turned out just the way they did.

--

A/N: I know, you're all going, what! I thought we were getting whole extra CHAPTERS. Well, maybe next week after my honey starts his new job. I'm sure I'll be writing alot, and missing my honey. Normal chapter up no later than Thursday. My boss is gone this week so lots of extra work. Drabble contest still on until Thursday, so get 'em in! Here is my addition.

Crimson


	56. Part 4: Sarah Blake

Part 4: Sarah Blake

--

Awkward was too nice a word for the situation. Disaster may have been too harsh. And yet Dean felt like was he was witnessing a potential train wreck and there were only so many ways it could be avoided. He was pretty damn sure that Sam standing there gaping and staring at Sarah, his face filled with apprehension and mute shock, was not the way to go. Something about that smile of hers seemed too much like a challenge and Sammy was not up for it. Dean considered it his brotherly duty to step in as proxy.

"Well, I'll be. Sarah Blake—that was it, right? Butt-ugly painting in New York and a few too close shaves if I remember," Dean grinned, walking around the couch towards Sarah to give Sam a little more buffer room, "You seemed pretty cozy working with all that estate crap for Daddy last we saw. Gotta admit, much as you already had the kick-ass part down, I didn't exactly expect this change in vocation. Guess we must have left a lasting impression."

For a few moments Sarah didn't even break eye contact with Sam. Then she turned to Dean and her smile shifted. "Guess you did," Sarah said, "Hi, Dean. Been a long time. And from what I hear I'm not the only one who's made a few changes in their life." Her smile quirked a little as she turned to Sasha—who was actually the closest to her—and she held out a hand in greeting. "Sasha, right? It's nice to meet you. Jo has only good things to say about you."

Sasha broke into an answering grin, accepting her hand. "I'm glad only good things. It's the 'how many things' that worries me," the incubus said. His glance at Jo was subtle but still severe. Her easy smile in reply and Sarah's equally easy laugh told the boys that the incubus bombshell was not one of the 'many things' Jo had divulged.

"I suppose the biggest thing is how you've become an addition to the Winchester duo," Sarah explained, doing that whole 'I'm watching you with my peripheral vision for a reaction' thing that Dean thought was so evil of girls, "I'd ask how you managed that but I guess it just came down to choosing the right brother." Her teeth flashed again in a smile.

_Snap_. "Eheh," Dean tried to laugh that off for Sammy's sake; the train was barreling forward and the damn crossing arms hadn't even moved, "Yeah, what can I say. I'm incorrigible right? So," this conversation really needed a heading, "How'd you get from auctioning haunted paintings to _Thelma & Louise_? Way I remember you were brave as hell but not exactly the throw me into the action type. Jo said you've been hunting for two years. That'd be right after we last saw you."

"Pretty much," Sarah agreed, turning back to Dean. There seemed to be this wall between her and Sam—the couch being there helped—that she was now avoiding looking at after having stared him down. Jo was just sort of watching and Dean could imagine a bag of popcorn in her hands only too well. "I tried going back to work, back to the way things had been before, but…lasting impression, yeah, that's a fairly accurate way to say it. It's hard to go on doing something that seems so pointless after knowing what's really out there. It took awhile at first to even find someone who would talk to me but eventually I met this woman in the city. A detective, helps keep things under wraps when hunters need to blow through. Didn't know you two but she was able to point me in a few directions."

Okay, so they were from the same state and all but Dean still had to laugh at the coincidence. "Well we know her now. Detective McBain, right? Got her network of supernaturally knowledgeable cops going? We met her a while back. I guess once you get in the loop there's really a crazy number of contacts. Not too many are friendly though or likely to tell a pretty girl how to hunt. Bet most of the real thing you met up with told you to go on home."

"And then some," Sarah chuckled, "Apparently if I'd have had a close friend or relative brutally murdered they would have been more hospitable. Try and do this job just because you want to help and you might as well teach yourself. For the most part I did. Helps that my mom was a card-carrying member of the NRA. Dad never cared for it but in this country house of ours when I was a little girl I used to shoot pop cans off the fence from forty yards."

"Sarah is a mean shot," Jo jumped in, "Better than me, I'll admit, and most other sharpshooters I've seen. Couple hunts ago she sniped a squonk in Pennsylvania before I'd even spotted the damn thing. Can't dissolve if it gets blindsided," she chuckled.

Dean made a face; he hated squonks—ugly-ass things and annoying as hell. If they see you coming they can dissolve into a puddle faster than you'll ever get a shot off and they can stay that way for as long as it takes. Dean remembered the first one he ever hunted. Took him all night before he finally got the jump on the thing. "I don't remember you sounding too Annie Oakley back when we met," Dean had to mention. One of the things he liked most about Sarah was that she could admit when she was scared but wouldn't let that stand in her way or hold her back if something needed to get done. Still, she hadn't exactly asked for a firearm.

"And how much help would a sharp aim be against a ghost?" Sarah shot right back, "Unless you were ready to hand over one of your sawed-offs, and with those it's not so much a matter of aim as it is timing. But then I'm sure you know that." Another flash of teeth. She was being coy and cute and a little devious but Dean didn't sense any ill-intent. She was only partially scorned after all—she and Sam hadn't been a real item, but he had still promised to stop back some time. Two years later that had to sting.

Sam gave a few faltering steps forward finally, as he was the last one still around the front of the couch, and even though it was obvious that whatever subtle pain Sarah wanted to inflict upon Sam was right on target, the kid still found some semblance of his pitiable puppy eyes and said, "It's good to know you've been doing so well. I have to agree with Dean that I wouldn't have imagined you here, but…you couldn't have a more capable partner." He smiled feebly.

In almost twenty-five years Dean had yet to meet a human being—or sex demon it would seem—other than their father who could resist that look. Sarah held firm but Dean saw her expression soften. Some of the tension in her shoulders faded and her smile was significantly more genuine. "I am good. Have been good," she said, "And for all I've learned the last couple of years, I think I have to agree that Jo and I are a good match."

"But not _too_ good a match, boys," Jo snarked, "Keep those heads out of the gutter please." Her hip was still cocked to the side with a hand resting just at the start of her jeans. Dean was reminded of when she had teased him about finding out about him and Sasha even though she had already known. He had to chuckle at the comment though and Sasha and Sarah chuckled too. Sam just sort of smiled sideways, his eyes on Sarah so constant that one would think it would have to make the girl uncomfortable.

"I'm sure there's plenty for us to catch up about," Sarah went on, holding that steady gaze of Sam's easily, "But I think I'm more interested in what you boys have been up to." Her eyes danced a little over to Sasha, knowing obviously that most of the tale would involve the redhead who hadn't been apart of the team when she first met the Winchesters back in 2006.

There really wasn't a quick way to answer that question—what they had been up to—since the responses were basically about being dead, being an incubus, and selling one's soul. Not to mention Sam's powers. All of the above, for the most part, were on the boys list of things to discuss with Ellen and Jo anyway. They probably would have liked a little side-chat about how to handle things now that Sarah was involved, but time didn't allow for that.

Ellen walked into the little lounge, this time without the accompanying sight of refreshments, and immediately stopped in the doorway to survey the group of younger hunters with a hand—much like Jo—propped on her hip.

"Now then," Ellen started right in, "I'm thinking there are at least five different things circling the brains of the people in this room that I don't know. Who wants to go first?"

The lounge had one of those hidden sliding doors that could seal it off from the rest of the building, which Ellen closed behind her when she came in and they all settled on the couch and in the various chairs around the room. By the time things got rolling, Wally had opted to curl up in Sarah's lap, who she seemed determined to make love her since the huntress was new to the 'okay to be your real self around' list. Sarah didn't mind at all and had obviously been told about the chimera beforehand.

The boys claimed the couch, unintentionally segregating themselves from the women, although Dean had to wonder if it was on purpose subconsciously. Most of what needed to be told was about them after all. Therefore they were more than willing to let Sarah and Jo divulge their story first.

The girls had actually run into each other on accident. Jo had left the Roadhouse hoping for a little mild action to get back into the swing of hunting and had initially planned to return to the Roadhouse after a couple of cases. It was after a successful salt and burn that Jo stumbled upon a case Sarah was already tracking. Thankfully neither of them had mistaken the other for the rawhead they were hunting and they ended up finishing the hunt together. Seeing how well they had worked as a team the girls decided to roll with their success and hadn't had a problem since.

Knowing women as Dean did—and Dean liked to think he knew women pretty well—he shuddered to think what Jo and Sarah might have discussed over the past two months. He didn't like that the girls hadn't contacted them until this chance meeting either. At least Dean could be sure that Sam had to have been up for more scrutiny than him.

When the conversation turned to Dean and the others finally it was Sam who spoke up first. He explained the growing extent of his powers—without being too blatant about a few things, Dean noticed—ensuring the women that he had a strong handle on things and knew what he was doing. Ellen and Jo had known before about the visions but Sarah hadn't even known that. After hearing about how much more Sam was capable of, Ellen looked rightly skeptical that the younger Winchester knew what he was getting himself into, she being a hunter at heart and more the traditional kind. Jo just seemed a little awed.

Sarah didn't look surprised at all. "Two years is a long time," she said, "I caught a few grapevines here and there. A while back a few hunters were circulating stories about these 'special kids'. I'm sure you'll be glad to know that your name didn't come up every time, Sam, but I think hearing it once would have been enough for me to wonder. I suppose that might also explain a few other things." She lowered her eyes and then glanced up at him from beneath her lashes.

Actually those facts would explain the biggest thing, because of course Sam's powers were one of the main reasons Sam had never thought to go paying a visit to upstate New York, much as he may have wanted to or thought about it. The other even bigger reason was because of Dean.

That part was a little bit more difficult to explain.

"You did _what_ now?"

Dean had expected pretty much that exact maternal response from Ellen, along with the glare and posture that threatened to smack him. He doubted he had made things much better by explaining the deal the same way he had to Shiarra—blunt and unrepentant. He brought up Cold Oak, said, "Yeah, remember how we told you Sammy got real hurt? Well hurt was more like _dead_. And he wouldn't be sitting here now if I hadn't sold my soul to bring him back," among other things.

"_Dean_. Of all the damn fool things I have ever heard, and believe me I have heard them all," Ellen snarled, "Rule number one is no hunter makes a deal with a devil. You know better than that. Your father taught you better than that."

Oh it was only too easy to summon up a remnant of that old cynical laugh. "Yeah," Dean said, staring back at Ellen directly, "Well apparently he taught me to do just what I did because _he_ did it first. Or did you really think a heart attack took out John Winchester?" His words came out cynical too. Dean hated this conversation; he hated how many times he had already had it.

He had to give Sarah some credit though. She didn't look pitying or angry, just sort of thoughtful and concerned for all those involved, not only Dean. Jo, on the other hand, was only a slightly muted and damper sounding version of her mother. "God, Dean, you were here months ago and you didn't even say anything," she accused.

"Coz I was so looking forward to _this_," Dean shot right back, gesturing flippantly to the Harvelle women and their similar expressions, "I don't need pity and I don't need you telling me what an idiot I am. Deed's done. Nothing you or anyone can do about it. 'Cept…well, maybe there is. And that's what we've been working on the past couple of weeks, why we're hunting down as many demons as we can. Contract holder gave me a way out."

If possible Ellen looked even more enraged. "You're working with a demon?"

"It's not that simple," Sam broke in, quick on the defensive, "There's no other way to get Dean out of going to Hell. The contract holder gave us our only chance, renegotiation of the details. If we can send all of the demons that broke out of the Devil's Gate back to Hell than Dean's out. Free. I'd say that's a fair enough trade and worth the risk of doing what this demon wants."

"But why would a demon want you to do that?" Sarah asked before Ellen or Jo could retaliate again, "Sort of a conflict of interest, isn't it?"

They had had this discussion already too, that night when they first met Malak and it all seemed too go to be true. "We think…maybe…" they hadn't said this out loud, not since Dean first told Malak to stuff it, "We think he wants to get Sam to use his powers too much, to make him…hell, I don't know, turn on us, I guess. Live up to Old Yellow Eyes'…plan." It stung something awful to actually say that and to see how all three women looked to Sam like maybe they weren't sure whether or not that darkside possibility was already happening.

"It's not gonna happen like that," Sam said with quiet conviction, "Even if that's really what he wants, what he thinks he can do to me, I won't let it happen. This is about Dean. Not power. Not me wanting power. I'm using them because I have to not because I want it. I don't feel any less like me. And maybe you don't believe that, but whatever I have to do to save Dean I'll risk it. You know as much as we know now. If you don't trust me then…I guess you can't help us," he said, not condemning or judging of whatever they might think, just understanding that this wasn't easy, "Don't think Bobby hasn't expressed more than enough disapproval but without my powers we don't stand a chance. I exorcized twenty-five demons in under five minutes on our last hunt. Tell me how that would ever be possible another way?"

Dean could see the dissention rising in Ellen, see the fear so obvious on Jo's face. This was dark stuff, unknown and, damn it, usually the kind of thing they would hunt. Sam, some guy with demonic powers, if they didn't know him it might not even be a question. They would hunt him.

But it was Sammy. And when Dean looked into his brother's eyes he believed him. He believed that they could do this and not lose anybody, not him to Hell or Sam to Hell's plans.

"I believe you," said Sarah amidst the quiet of the other more experienced hunters. Even if that was the only reason, because she didn't yet know how horrible all the monsters in the world could really be, Dean didn't care. It was enough. It was enough that she smiled, honest, without any thought left for what might lie unresolved between them. "I can't imagine a less likely person to be evil. That's something you have to choose and you would never choose that, Sam. And there is no less deserving person to go to Hell," she said with sympathetic but still not pitying eyes on Dean, "What do you need us to do?"

It was bold to include the Harvelle women like that without asking, but Dean well remembered how Sarah had a way about her that just made everyone want to follow after, a quiet strength Dean had admired and liked immediately.

Jo still looked frightened, unsure, but she nodded, steeling herself for the sake of her friends. Ellen was less convinced that this was a good idea, much like it had been when they first explained to Bobby. And yet the older huntress lost her anger even though her eyes remained narrowed. She stared at Sam, and Dean knew as sure as he knew when it was him looking at his brother that hard as Ellen may try she couldn't find a reason to distrust him.

"You better have a damn good plan for finishing what you've started," she said, "Because this is tricky business, no two ways about it. The demons you've gotten rid of so far, I'm sure they've been easier than what lies ahead. Just the way it works. But regardless of how absolutely idiotic you boys may be, you're right that there is no other way to help Dean. Don't think I'm not livid at the idea of helping a devil though. There's about a million different ways this could all end badly."

One of course being that they weren't entirely sure, nor had they said aloud, that they might not be dealing with 'a' devil so much as…'_the'_.

Dean decided not to mention that.

"Thank you," Sam said on their behalf, "We know how dangerous this is. _I_ know. And to tell you the truth if we thought we could, we'd rather handle this mostly on our own, but Bobby's already said he'll be on our tail as soon as he finishes up this case he's on. What we'll really need your help for is when things start to get closer to the end."

"Most devil deals they'll give you ten years," Dean explained, "I got one. We only got til May before it's up. Not a lot a time."

Jo scoffed, "No shit. Well where you headed now?"

"We were going to continue on to Colorado," Sasha said, "Sam…senses something that way and…that's usually how we track them down. Might be demons there."

Now it was Sarah and Jo both who looked a little stunned though not at all fearful this time. "Where in Colorado?" Jo pressed, "Coz Sarah and I were passing through going that way too. Been watching for demonic signs, usually to stay away from them to be honest, using Ash's database. Castle Rock's been ripe with electrical storms, cattle death—granted this is winter in Colorado—and a ton of missing persons too."

"Only thing we haven't pinpointed is where to start," Sarah continued, "But if you can…sense it…maybe we can help each other out." She smiled warmly at Sam and Dean both.

Dean had been hoping that this would be more of a meet and greet, here's the low down, please don't hate us, and we'll call you sometimes later kind of thing. But Sarah and Jo were ready to hook up today and Ellen wasn't too far behind them. Dean was almost certain that if it wasn't for the Roadhouse and the help it gave to so many hunters, Ellen would have dropped everything to help out now too. She didn't seem too happy that her little girl would be going off on a hunt for demons but that was another surprise—Ellen didn't give any sharp warning or try to talk Jo out of it. She just said that when they needed her all they had to do was call and she would be there.

Later, after Ellen had returned to her duties as the runner of the Roadhouse, the group had dispersed to prepare themselves—stretch their legs, gather supplies—and then they would leave for Colorado. They could discuss further details about what they knew about this case once they got there, since the most they would be able to do after they arrived was hit the hay.

Dean had just come from the bathroom when he spotted Sam down one of the narrower and more out of the way hallways talking with Sarah. He had suggested the break in hopes that the two of them would get the chance to work their way through a few things. Last he and Sam had seen of Sarah before today she was smiling after Sam had kissed her crazy and left her wondering. Now she was a hunter and teaming up with them on the mission to save Dean's soul. It was all a little much for about a half hour's time frame.

"Even if I wasn't an incubus," came Sasha's voice from behind Dean, soft and thoughtful, "It would be pretty obvious there's something between those two."

Turning around, Dean came fairly well face to face with Sasha and had to wonder how up in his head he had been not to notice the redhead sneaking up on him.

"That hunt you did that saved Sarah's life," Sasha went on, "What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "Baddie wasn't after her actually. Haunted painting. Vicious little girl with Daddy's razer blade. Sarah worked with her father selling estate art and furniture and all that. Sort of got tangled up in it. Had a soft spot for Sammy right off the bat. I…may have tried to help things along there."

"I'm sure," Sasha grinned. They were standing close at the mouth of the hallway, voices hushed. They were too far away from Sam and Sarah to hear what they were saying.

"She could have freaked when she found out what was really going on," Dean continued, "She didn't. She wanted to help. Now I was off doing the salting and burning when Sam did the saving her life bit, but out of all our damsels in distress she was definitely the least actually in need of rescuing. Sam even got a date out of the deal. Hadn't seen her since though. Things got sort of…complicated."

"To say the least."

"And it's hard ya know, doing this job and trying to have a real relationship." Dean realized too late how that had sounded and it pained him to see Sasha's tight smile. "Hey, hard doesn't mean I'm not happy we're doing it," he immediately reassured the incubus, "You being a hunter makes a whole world of difference. I don't have to hide anything from you or worry about you not being able to handle yourself. Course I worry anyway but that's just me." Dean grinned, knowing it would be enough for Sasha to grin with him.

He was right. "Maybe this is a good thing then," Sasha said, nodding down the hallway, "Sarah's a hunter now. She knows things and how to take care of herself. She's also not even a little scared of Sam. Which I can't say is true for Ellen and Jo."

"You can feel that?" Dean asked.

Sasha nodded.

Looking down the hallway at Sam and Sarah, Dean could tell that too; there was awkwardness and halting words going on to be sure, but none of it had to do with Sarah being afraid. "Maybe she can sense something we can't," Dean said offhandedly, not meaning the comment in any way supernatural.

"Woman's intuition?" Sasha prompted.

"Figures this would happen now…" Dean said a little bitterly, more to himself than for Sasha to hear. He was still staring at Sam and Sarah, with Sasha half behind him just out of his vision. "Sam finally loosens a little, has his first good time in…shit, a year? Then he has to get all this serious crap thrown at him. I mean there's nothing I'd want more than for Sam to hook up with someone that meant more than a night, but there's a lot of baggage here."

A strong hand squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe they can work it out. Sarah being here and helping us isn't a guarantee or a mandate that she and Sam have to hook up for better or worse. Neither of them might even be thinking that."

Dean turned back to Sasha skeptically. "You're an incubus and you actually think I'm gonna buy that when I know you know what's going on with their emotions? Besides, I'm not so blind myself. A person never forget the 'if onlys'. And Sarah was a big one. Only other time Sam got something even close to her was…well it may have had a hotter storyline…but not so nice an ending."

"Dean?"

A sigh fell from Dean's lips. Sasha hadn't heard about that either. Much as they had told their friend about cases and crazy happenings, there were certain things that always went unsaid. What Dean was about to tell Sasha was one of them. "After Sarah, and probably more from good old fashioned human pheromones buzzing than anything else, Sam hooked up with this chick we were protecting from a werewolf. Turned out she was the werewolf we were hunting. We couldn't help her. She didn't even…know what she was. She wanted us to…free her from it. Asked us. I told Sammy I'd do it, but…" Dean glanced up, his suddenly damp eyes having drifted downward, and the look on Sasha's face was pure heartbreak. The incubus was such an empathetic person and not only because he could literally feel what people felt but because he cared about the emotions he picked up on.

"God, Dean…that must have been horrible. No wonder Sam cut himself off. After Jessica and then this other girl…shit, that's why after all this with his powers he thinks he's too dangerous to be with anyone. I was surprised even the energy high was enough to get him to relax with the twins. It's like waves rolling off of him all the time," Sasha confessed, like it was something he had been keeping from Dean until now, "Need and guilt and loneliness. He needs to stop thinking everything he touches turns to dust. It doesn't have to be that way. He deserves more than that."

No one knew that better than Dean. "Was a time I thought Sarah was as close a perfect match for Sam as anyone, but we never went back to see her," he said.

"What do you think lit the fire under her ass to become a hunter?" came Jo's voice suddenly as she appeared behind them from inside the bar. Dean and Sasha turned to her and she glanced down the hallway, seeing Sam and Sarah still talking. Jo's eyes remained on them as she spoke. "_Boys_," she said with a touch of disgust, "You know how rare it is to actually feel that kind of spark for someone and to _know_ they feel it too? Doesn't matter how short a time you have together. Sam said he'd come back. He never did. Sarah joined ranks to find him." Jo turned her steady gaze onto Dean.

He couldn't believe it. "What?" Dean gaped, "She spent two years looking for him and we're just now crossing paths? She had to have tracked us down sooner than that."

"Probably did," Jo shrugged, "But if he wasn't looking for her then she wanted to be ready when she finally went searching for him. She can take care of herself. Believe me. I think more than anything she just wanted to know why a good guy like Sam, who she knew had feelings for her, just up and disappeared and never came back. Course she wanted to help people too, do more than just sell art and work for her dad. Gotta want that a little or you can't hunt, plain and simple. But she also wanted to prove that she can handle living this life. She certainly has to me."

Wow. That was a little more than going above and beyond. Dean felt a swell of affection for Sarah that she would go to such lengths to prove to herself and to Sam that she could handle this life and wanted it. Sasha had given Dean that and he loved the incubus for it.

"She already knew about Sam's powers, about the…'special kids'," Jo said a little more hesitantly, "Sure I knew about the visions before but…sensing demons? TK? Super strength? Exorcizing demons with his _mind_? I mean…it's some pretty crazy shit. Freaks me out a little. Psychics I can handle, but Sam's stuff seems so wrapped up in demons now…"

"My powers are demonic," Sasha offered quietly, "For the most part. You trust me, don't you?"

Dean could tell by the hurt expression that filled Jo's face that she hated hearing that wounded tone of Sasha's just as much as he did. "You know I do. But I've known you for years, Sasha, and you've had the same powers since day one, it's what you are. Sam…what's in him isn't natural. You both know that."

"I still maintain it's about choice, just like Sarah said too," Sasha affirmed. His eyes were blue determination as he looked down the hallway again at Sam, "Sam's more powerful than me but I have to believe that what I feel from him is genuine. He just wants to help. There's nothing more important to him than saving Dean."

Unfortunately, that's what Dean was afraid of.

They let Sam and Sarah continue talking a little while longer and just when they were finally going to break things up and insist that they really needed to get going, it was Sam and Sarah who came to get them.

Wally wasn't very happy that they were leaving so soon after getting there and she followed them all the way to the door—in cat form—mewing mournfully. Ellen nodded to them as they left maybe a little too gravely and once again they were leaving the Roadhouse behind.

The girls had been using Sarah's car, not Jo's, so Dean was tempted to 'suggest' that maybe Jo should ride with them and Sam with Sarah. Sam was a little too quick to get into the Impala though, much as it appeared that he and Sarah had ended their conversation on friendly terms, so Dean decided to leave it alone.

Dean was actually the last of his crew to get into the car as he had to ogle what he discovered was Sarah's car. Sarah's 1968 red Camaro—vintage. He about pissed his pants because he was certain that that uptight prick of a father Sarah had did not have this kind of good taste. Sarah smiled at him like she had this wonderful little secret she wasn't going to share as she climbed into the driver's seat. Dean would have to grill her about that later.

They weren't two minutes onto I-70 before Dean had to ask, tactful or not. "Dude, so what's the story? You two talked for like half an hour back there."

Sam had been unnaturally quiet since they got in the car, which didn't match up at all with how he had been smiling when they left. "Sarah's…been good," Sam said, like he hadn't been thinking about her at all, "Told her dad she wanted to pursue more non-profit art ventures around the country. He's got money to burn and she's always been daddy's little girl so he's been footing the bill. Doesn't know she's actually hunting monsters for a day job." He turned to Dean with a grin but Dean could still tell there was something else on Sam's mind.

"So then…what's with the spacing?" Dean asked, "You two come to terms? You explain the whole sorry I didn't write but I had superpowers and was dead for awhile and now my big brother's on the express route to Hell? Coz that's all gotta give you at least a few extra points. There wasn't exactly a good time to come calling."

"She gets all that," Sam nodded, "She just wanted to know. She really wants to help, Dean. She wants to know what's happening. And there's a part of me that wants to let her, really let her in and know, and I know that's kind of what we're doing but…" He turned away with anguish dusting his features and stared out the window. Sasha was silent in the backseat but Dean could see that the incubus was sitting up to better overhear, watching the brothers intently. "That whole hunt when we met her…I kept waiting for something bad to happen to her, like…like it had to be pre-ordained that if I care about it something bad has to happen to it eventually. Yellow Eyes needed Mom out of the way. Needed…Jess out of the way."

"Yellow Eyes is dead, Sam," Dean said firmly.

And really he should have expected that Sam would turn and bare the yellow eyes that were now apart of him. "Yellow Eyes is _me_, Dean. Some hybrid thing between a demon and a human, stronger than either and more dangerous. Maybe next time it doesn't have to be some outside force taking what I love away from me. Maybe it's just _me_."

"Sammy…"

"I haven't told you everything," Sam said suddenly, his yellow eyes fading back to hazel as he stared straight ahead at the open road before them. Jo and Sarah were following behind. "I was about to tell you when Jo came in before, but…" he sighed, "I want you to understand even before I tell you this that it doesn't change anything. I'm still going to want to do this because it's the only way to save you and I don't care what that means for me." It was a vicious promise that made Dean pause and remain silent as Sam turned to him again. "Sarah doesn't change things either, even if it makes me more afraid. Okay?"

Dean just nodded, his eyes seeing out of their periphery that Sasha had leaned forward in between the seats. Sam looked at both of them, breaths coming slow to calm himself.

"Last night…I had this dream."

Throughout the whole span of Sam telling them about his nightmare Dean squeezed the steering wheel so tight his knuckled were white by the end of it. Sam didn't have nightmares. Sam had visions. Okay, so Sam hadn't had an honest to god vision since before the Devil's Gate, and he had more than likely had some form of normal nightmare in between, but this was too close to home. It was the future Dean feared too.

His own dreams were such similar echoes—a demon Sam wanting Dean to join him and Sasha in a Hell on Earth. Was that what they were preparing unwittingly, with Sam the Boy King and Dean and Sasha his perfect generals? Dean thought maybe he was shaking.

"But then there's the proof right there," Sasha said from the backseat, "It's all gotta be okay."

How any of what Sam had just said was proof it would all be okay, Dean couldn't even begin to imagine. "Were you listening to the same story?" Dean practically snapped.

Sasha was completely between the seats now, nearly crawled up in front with them as he smiled and said, "Yeah, I was, and I'm telling you it's a good thing. Sam, think of it," he said, turning to the other Winchester, "When you got visions before they were so you could prevent something, so you could help someone. If the powers themselves were evil then why would they give you an out, a warning like that? They wouldn't. They'd try to lead you to that future not away from it."

"So…what are you saying?" Sam asked.

As always, Sasha's smile was blinding and filled with affection. "It's not ordained and it's not a future guaranteed just because you use your powers. It's something we can stop. You using your powers is not what's going to condemn you, Sam. Now I don't know what is, but if we can be warned than we can beat it. And don't you dare think for one second that being something other than human means you don't get the chance for a happy ending." Blue eyes danced over Dean's face, not at all subtle, before turning back to Sam. "If Sarah's spent all this time waiting for you than being what you are isn't reason enough to push her away. I hope you haven't done that?"

Dean hoped that too because he had been praying for Sam to find something like what he had with Sasha. Really praying. It was too soon to assume Sarah was going to be that but it hadn't taken them more than a couple days to know there was something between them the first time. When Sam said, "No, we didn't really talk about that. More like…everything but," and smiled shyly, Dean had hope that there was light at the end of the tunnel that did not include Hellfire.

He listened only halfway as Sasha prodded for more, just enough to make it clear to all of them that Sam's heart was fluttering at the mere presence of Sarah, scared as he was. But Dean only half listened because the other half of his attention was still on the dream.

Sasha had a point, he did, but Dean had interpreted the dream a little differently, differently enough that he didn't want to tell the others. He focused on what Sam had seen of _him_. Black demon eyes. Black demon eyes that flared red on black.

Choice was a dangerous thing. Now Dean had to wonder if it wasn't going to be a choice of Sam's that condemned the younger hunter but a choice of Dean's instead.

--

They arrived in Castle Rock after midnight, having stopped briefly for dinner at a diner on the way that was surprisingly not as awkward as Dean had expected it to be. They were able to shoot the shit, talk about the case, and even joke a little. Dean could see Jo's unease towards Sam fading quickly. It was just so hard to distrust the kid when he had those puppy eyes and so much genuine concern in everything he did. Sasha was the same way.

When Sarah excused herself to the bathroom while they were waiting for their food, Dean gave Jo's shin a gentle kick to be sure she didn't follow the usual girl rule and go along. Jo glared at him after Sarah had gone. "What?" she asked.

"Just want to be sure. She knows about Sasha and me. No problem there. Not something I mind sharing. But I'm right to assume you didn't mention the whole, oh, and he's also an incubus part, right?" That had been bothering Dean even though it had seemed clear before that Sarah didn't know.

Jo looked a little affronted. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I like her. I trust her. I enjoyed the fact that she already knew you guys and we could have some…interesting conversations about that. But I am not so stupid or so low a person as to casually hand out information that could be dangerous for my friends." She looked to Sasha sincerely. "I'd never tell anyone without getting the okay from you first. But I can vouch for her, and I'm sure Sam and Dean can too, that if you wanted to tell her yourself before we get started on this hunt and it ends up coming up anyway, I think she'll be okay with it. She didn't even bat an eyelash finding out about Sam. Though she might be a little bias on that front," Jo tossed Sam a slight smirk, to which Sam tried valiantly to look like he had no idea what she was talking about.

In the end Sasha just smiled back at Jo and explained that it wasn't that he didn't trust Sarah but that he didn't know her yet. Besides, there had been enough things for everyone to digest for one day. Dean couldn't blame the incubus for deciding that either. As fortunate as he had been with most of his hunter friends discovering his secret, he had also been brutally tortured by one.

It still burned Dean to think about that. Kubrick. Gordon too. Intolerance for race, color, or creed was bad enough, but intolerance over species seemed somehow worse.

They checked into the nearest Motel 6 in Castle Rock, the girls in one and all three boys in another. Sam had requested it and Dean was hard-pressed to refuse his brother anything he actually asked for. It was as if Sam didn't trust himself to be alone, as if the dream and recent events were enough to make him doubt himself even though everyone was being supportive. It made Dean feel selfish that they were doing all this to get him out of the deal when Sam's plight seemed so much greater.

"Hey," Sasha said, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face. He had been sitting at the little table in their room, staring out the window at the dark, empty streets while Sasha unpacked. Sam was in the shower.

When they first arrived, they had briefly discussed with the girls that they would get up early and head over to the county library first thing. Being in Castle Rock had Sam more and more on edge as he could feel that whatever presence was pulling at him was close. He seemed certain that it wasn't mere demons but he still couldn't pin down what he was really sensing. They needed to do some local research.

"Are you okay?" Sasha pressed, slipping into the other chair.

Lately, that question was really starting to grate on Dean. "I got a bad feeling about this," he admitted, which was more than his usual response of 'I'm fine'.

"About the case?"

"About everything." Dean shuddered, feeling the cold seeping in from the window since he was sitting so close to it. He allowed Sasha to scoot the other chair closer so he could pull Dean into his side and that wonderful warmth the incubus always seemed so full of. Dean hated being the one taken care of but he had to admit that it felt good from time to time.

"You're not starting to doubt Sam, are you?" Sasha asked.

Dean couldn't shake his head fast enough. "It's not Sam. It's…just something Malak said about…things not being how they seem. Maybe he meant this case. Hell, maybe he meant the whole damn demon hunting, but I just feel like one wrong move on my part and the whole thing'll crash down around us. Hell's not the worst thing he can do to me." Dean thought unfairly of that morning when Malak had forced images of Sasha torn apart into his mind and he couldn't escape them.

Then Sasha did something amazing; he smiled and rested his head on Dean's shoulder like Dean was the one holding him. "Things can't go bad, Dean. Not with the girls along. They'll keep us in line." And maybe it was because Sasha said that so lighthearted and used 'us' instead of 'you' that Dean actually felt a little better.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm not having anymore late night pillow fights with you two," Sam said teasingly as he came out of the bathroom. He was damp and tired looking and hadn't brought any clothes in with him when he went to take his shower, so he came out in just a towel and started scrounging through his duffle.

Sasha chuckled from his place against Dean's side but when he looked over at Sam, Dean couldn't help noticing that the incubus' gaze drifted a little too far south down Sam's chest to his hips. Where the gaze lingered.

"Hey, knock that off," Dean growled, half-serious as he pulled away from Sasha and smacked his shoulder.

The incubus chuckled again and turned back to Dean. There was something sparkling in his eyes that had nothing to do with Sam in a towel. Sasha grabbed the front of Dean's T-shirt and pulled, claiming a swift but deeply loving kiss. Dean forgave and forgot immediately. Almost. "Mmm…okay, you're off the hook this time. But I don't like your thoughts going there. _Ever_," Dean warned.

Sasha looked at him with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "Am I only half in trouble if you're included in those thoughts too?" he asked with a quirked smile.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam said before Dean had time to get angry over Sasha's inappropriate teasing, "I can hear you, ya know." Sam had pulled out clean shorts and a T-shirt to change into. He made a little turn around gesture with his hand at Sasha even though there was a smile on his lips too, playing along since he knew the comment was harmless and only meant to ruffle Dean.

At least Dean hoped that's all it was. He promptly did the job of covering Sasha's eyes for the incubus, holding his whole hand tightly over those bright blues so Sam could change. "I like it better when you're agreeing with us that that is never going to happen," Dean griped, "The twins can do what they please but you better knock that fantasy right out of your head. Never. Going. To. Happen."

The incubus laughed heartily, allowing Dean to cover his eyes. "I'm not saying it would. Or that I want it to. Though it did cross my mind as funny that, for whatever reason, the only person I would ever feel comfortable sharing you with is, well…Sam. Anyone else and I'd have to kill them. Guess threesome's are out for us then," he grinned cheekily.

Dean was having a real tough time not breaking into like laughter. He could tell Sam was in the same boat. But really, Dean didn't need those kinds of images playing through his mind right now, thought it seemed that since they didn't carry anything even remotely frightening he could at least enjoy the fact that he wasn't thinking about how doomed they were anymore.

The tension that had been following them all day finally started to break and was gone completely by the time Sam had finished changing and Dean removed his hand from covering Sasha's eyes. Dean was too tired to want to shower as well. He'd wait and do it in the morning. He smacked Sasha in the arm one more time for good measure before getting up to find his own clothing to sleep in.

"I don't know if all that should be flattering or disturbing," Sam was saying as he climbed into bed.

"Aw, can't it be both," Sasha snarked. He opted for shimmying out of his jeans and tossing his shirt over by his already open duffle on the floor. Since Dean had a tendency to take the bed closest to the door—old habit—that always put Sasha on the side closer to Sam's bed. In a weird way the Winchester brothers already shared the incubus. And not in a way that was anything but right.

Dean climbed under the covers, pleased that Sasha's warmth had already spread to the sheets, and nudged the incubus to turn off the lamp on the nightstand between the beds. In the dark Dean said, "So…any idea what we're gonna find tomorrow?" It was a question for either of them but really more for Sam.

And Sam answered. "If it's demons, or even one demon, then it's something powerful. I can't sense it as anything individual. I just sort of…feel like this is where we're supposed to be. I don't know if I like that or not."

Dean didn't either, especially since the girls were involved now too. He shook those thoughts off; he didn't want to lose the sense of everything being okay. "Well then," he said more lightly, "Sarah's looking pretty good, huh? Can't wait to see some of those mad skills she's sporting, what with her being so wicked with a _gun_ apparently."

"Dean," Sam said in warning.

"I'm just saying."

"Dean," Sasha said in support of Sam even though he was half laughing.

"Well we better get Sam hooked up fast, baby, or we're at risk of you trying to get us drunk and compliant some night. Crazy perv," Dean said lovingly as he rolled closer to Sasha and pulled the incubus to him.

Sasha cupped Dean's face and kissed him, soft and slowly on the lips. "Mmm…now there's an idea."

"Can _still_ hear you," Sam said, sounding both mortified and amused.

"See, Sammy," Dean called even as he was staring into Sasha's eyes that glowed back at him in the dark of the room, "Guess we're gonna have to get you crazy kids together."

"I marvel at your logic, Dean."

"Damn straight."

"Good _night_, Dean."

Dean kissed Sasha again, a tight connection, deep, with a slow twirl of his tongue just along the inside of the incubus' lips. It made Sasha shiver and Dean grinned before pushing on the incubus chest. "Night, Sammy." Dean would hold on to what he could until his last breath, would fight and struggle and joke with cocky remarks until there was nothing left. If nothing else at least it always kept Sam smiling.

tbc...

A/N: Yes, I know this is shorter, but this chapter HAD to be. The next part gets things rolling and into what I am really excited for. As I have posted a little earlier than mentioned, the contest will continue until tomorrow if you want to still send it to me. Let's say all the way up until the new episode starts. I'll post on the website the winner and all the entries compiled, and then again when I post the new chapter next week. Oh, and Sasha was TEASING. Do not expect any threesome with Sasha and the brothers any time soon. Although, I suppose there is that one thing that...oops, wouldn't want to spoil that. ;-) Til next time.

Crimson


	57. Part 5: The Pressure Is Rising

Part 5: The Pressure Is Rising

--

Dean slept well. He always sleeps well now, whether they get to bed slowly after a long day's drive, or fall onto used mattresses in exhausted heaps without so much as a goodnight. Malak wasn't haunting his dreams anymore. Well, at least the damn demon had left him alone for the past few nights. Of course that had been replaced with actual physical appearances that Dean did not consider much better. He also didn't like that Sam had begun to pick up the nightmare slack.

Dean awoke earlier than they had planned to get up to the sounds of Sam whimpering. Just as it would have been when they were twelve and eight years old, Dean was up and out of bed immediately.

Sasha had been roused as well but didn't say anything, just sort of sat up and watched as Dean went to Sam's bed, grabbed his brother's shoulder and gently shook him. Sam awoke almost right away, a hand shooting out to grip Dean's outstretched arm so tightly that it made Dean grimace. Sam's eyes became instantly apologetic.

"Save your sex dreams for when you have your own room, eh, Samantha," Dean joked, even though he knew—they all knew—that those whimpers had nothing to do with anything pleasant, "Go back to sleep." Dean moved his now sore arm and reached to brush away some of Sam's tousled hair. At the last moment he messed it up instead.

The gratitude Sam looked up at him with was more than Dean could handle this early in the morning. He could feel the weight bearing down on him of this burden, this life. He gladly went back to bed, around to the other side where he could curl in against Sasha for another hour or so. As he moved through the room he saw that Sam and Sasha were looking at each other, heard whispers for a moment that he couldn't quite make out, and then Sam's eyes were closed and Sasha was turning in towards Dean as he climbed back under the covers.

Another dream. Another dark premonition maybe. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know. Somehow he felt that everything was connected and he was just missing a few of the larger pieces to see how it all fit together. It took him too long to get back to sleep because all he could think about was getting up and finishing the hunt. Some deep down sense inside of him was telling him that this one was important. By the time he did fall asleep it felt as though only moments had passed before the alarm was going off between the beds.

They got ready quietly. When Dean came out of the shower Sam was on the phone with the girls, planning their day and how it would be easier for all of them to just squeeze into the Impala for the trip to the library. Both sides seemed to have plenty to go on for beginning research. They didn't make any plans for grabbing breakfast and for once Dean didn't complain.

Of course he was still eternally grateful when Jo made a quick run across the street to a bagel shop and returned with coffee and food for all of them. They were in a study room, the one place food and drink was allowed in the library, though it was obviously still frowned upon by the older librarian who Dean saw give Jo a nasty look as she walked by the main desk.

Sam returned from somewhere in the stacks about the same time, carrying digital copy print-offs of old microfiche. He laid them out on the table and they all looked up from their reading. "I may have something here. Like we thought there does seem to be a pattern," Sam began, spreading out the print-offs. Most seemed to be accounts of a mining accident in the 20s. "This was one of the gold mines from back then, not too far from town now what with expansion over the years."

"It still active?" Dean asked, noticing with a slight knot in his gut the high number of deaths associated with the accident—it had to have been pretty much every miner down there.

"Cripple Creek's the only active gold mind in Colorado anymore, southeast of here," Sam explained, "This one shut down after the accident. Listen here," Sam picked up one of the print-offs and began to read aloud, "Prior to the Castle Rock mining accident, several miners and people living near the mine shaft had gone missing. Other reports were being made against certain miners who had begun acting strangely in the few days just before. The one miner to get out alive, Harold Autry, admitted to having purposely set mining explosives near a non-zoned area to rid the town of, and this is quoted, 'the evil that had seeped up from the very gates of Hell'." Sam gave each of his companions a pointed look. "Autry was hung for mass murder. No one ever contracted to mine in those caves again though, so I guess he was successful. Whole town thought he was crazy. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as they thought."

"And maybe whatever started seeping out then is getting a little closer to home these days," Jo put in, "Do we know where the mine is in relation to the homes of the current missing people?"

It was Sarah who had a cumulative list she and Jo had been working on. "We don't have addresses for all these people," she said as she looked at it, "We'll want to cross-check that first. There haven't been any reports of good citizens acting out of character though. Unless that's where the cattle deaths are coming in, the other signs seem to be just generally demonic."

"Better look into that," Sam agreed, "We should also keep checking further back, see if there is anything about those caves before they were used to mine gold."

"Jo and I can handle the missing people," Sarah volunteered, "Since we've already been looking into that. If you boys check out the history of the town more we should be able to get through this pretty quickly."

Sam smiled again in agreement, enjoying sharing the control of their research session with Sarah, which Dean couldn't help noticing Sasha had graciously given up. The incubus shot Dean a look, bobbing his eyebrows playfully. Apparently, Dean wasn't the only one wanting to play matchmaker.

While the girls got on the internet to first get addresses of the missing people and check more local police reports, the boys started digging into the town's history for other demonic signs or occult connections. This wasn't _Buffy_ after all. There weren't Hellmouths hiding beneath small towns all across America. There had to be some other explanation.

"I think we're going to need to go further back than this," Sasha mentioned to Sam and Dean. He had handed Dean one of the books they already had but now he took it back. "Dean, will you go up to the desk and see if they have anything that pre-dates the town's founding? Pioneer stuff. People who may have lived in this area before it became a town. Native Americans even. We could be dealing with anything."

Dean would always rather do the 'please find this book' task than 'please look this up'. Besides, he felt a little useless being just one more pair of eyes when there were so many of them right now. "Gladly," Dean said, taking a long gulp of coffee before getting up since he wouldn't be able to bring it with him. He gave Sasha a wink, noticing how close Sarah was leaning over Sam as she explained a little of what her and Jo were finding out. It wasn't overeager, purposeful flirting, just very telling body language that even she might not be aware of.

Leaving the study room, Dean headed left. Having caught the head librarian giving Jo that glare earlier, Dean decided to try out the Help Desk in the middle of the library rather than the one up front. It appeared unoccupied as he approached but he could have sworn someone had been there earlier. There was a little bell on the counter so Dean gave it a little ding. The first thing he heard after the sound of the bell was a dull thud followed by a much more audible "Shit!" and then a brown head was peaking up from underneath the counter.

"Oops," Dean grinned down at the guy who was slowly making himself visible from beneath the desk, "Sorry, man, didn't know you were undergoing some covert operation down there."

The guy immediately snorted and broke into an easy but obviously embarrassed laugh. "Dropped the damn pen," he said, standing up tall finally and rubbing the part of his scalp he had smacked into the desk, "This thing has crevices I don't even wanna know the uses for. Stupid piece a shit." Brown eyes went wide suddenly and the guy grimaced. "Uh, forget I said that. Any of that. At least around Ms. Grim-bitch up at the front. I'm kinda already on probation for my bad habit of cursing in front of customers." His grin was a little lopsided but wide and comfortable like he rarely went without a smile on his face.

Dean smiled back, thinking for a brief, humorous moment that this guy was kind of like a less ginormous version of Sam. Brown floppy hair that fell a little into his eyes. The wide, smiling mouth. And he was tall. Maybe not as tall as Sammy but taller than Dean. He had a young face but Dean got the feeling he was at least as old as his brother. "I swear I won't turn you in," Dean said, looking down at the nameplate on the desk and drawing an immediate blank on how to pronounce the guy's name.

"Like Ian," the guy helped, used to this probably, "Just with an extra 'I'. Iain Wilde," he introduced himself more formally, that smile wide and toothy and a little less crooked now, "Resident Grad student and library bitch. Err, gopher," he grimaced again, "Pretend I said gopher."

This time it was Dean who laughed. "Grad student, huh? And what does being the library '_gopher'_ have to do with that?"

Brown eyes rolled slightly in distaste. They were a perfectly even brown, not like Sam's hazel. "Library Science Masters. If I work here I'm closer to home after classes in Denver. Believe me, knowing that after work I'd have to drive a half hour home would totally ruin my motivation to even show up. Not that I like admitting I still live with my mother at twenty-six but you do what you gotta do. Can I help you with something?"

"Right," Dean said, having lost track of himself while getting to know this guy, "Do you got any books about this area earlier 1800s and before? Ya know, pre 'this is our town' kinda stuff?"

Iain looked thoughtful a moment before saying, "Yeah, I think we have a section downstairs for older regional work. Might even be some original texts by pioneers. I'll show you," he offered, pulling out the little sign for his desk that said 'Be Back Soon', "It's a maze down there." Iain walked around the desk to slip out from behind it and motioned for Dean to follow him.

On their way to the stairs they passed the study room and Dean gave the glass window a quick tap. He gestured to Iain and Sam nodded. Dean thought it was kind of amusing the way Sasha's brow furrowed before he nodded as well. He hadn't often seen that look on the incubus' face—blatant jealousy.

Dean couldn't resist; he waggled an eyebrow and gave a smirk in Iain's direction, laughing to himself at the sudden scowl he caught on Sasha's face before the study room fell from view.

It couldn't be denied that Iain was interesting and that Dean had taken an immediate liking to the guy, but the fact that Sasha's mind would even go there made the redhead entirely deserving of wearing that scowl as far as Dean was concerned. Not that Dean was much better when Sasha was the one being friendly with strangers.

Dean forgot about all that as he followed Iain downstairs. The guy was dressed fairly casual in khakis, a dark burgundy T-shirt, and an earthy green zip-up. The Converse sneakers wouldn't have been surprising if not for the flash of bright socks covered in four-leaf clovers. It was around St. Patrick's Day, Dean supposed, but it still made him smirk.

"Is there anything in particular you're interested in about the area?" Iain looked back. It was a small library for one that represented the county. Iain was turning lights on as he went, taking Dean further and further into the deep stacks.

"You're not leading me into a horror movie down here, are you?" Dean joked.

A chuckle rose from Iain again; Dean liked people he could make laugh easily. "I make no promises," Iain said playfully with another glance over his shoulder. Mischief danced in the warm brown eyes but it wasn't at all sinister.

"Well, if it doesn't freak you out too much," Dean said, sure that if he didn't have Iain to lead him out of the stacks again he would be hopelessly lost down here, "I'm actually looking into…paranormal stuff." It was rare that Dean felt comfortable being honest with one of their friendly helpers on a hunt, but he had a feeling Iain wouldn't just dismiss him.

To the guy's credit, Iain didn't even flinch, just paused for a moment, turned to Dean and asked, "You mean like ghost sightings, Indian Witch Doctors, monsters in the Rockies kinda stuff?"

Dean grinned. "Exactly. Specifically around the town, maybe before its founding. Kind of a hobby of mine," Dean shrugged, which at least wasn't a complete lie.

That wide, toothy smile of Iain's beamed back at Dean. "Shit yeah, same here. Used to love all that supernatural stuff as a kid, especially local ghost stories. I always get back into it again when weird stuff like what's been happening lately starts up again. Not that I get a kick out of other people's misfortune's or anything. Unless it's TV. Here," he pushed right on, turning back where they had come from and taking a different hallway into further stacks, "We want to go this way for that."

"So you know about all the missing people and, uhh…other weird stuff that's been happening?" Dean asked, a little shocked at his luck for Iain being right in the know about this stuff. He fell into hunter interrogation mode only too easily.

"Five missing people in a month in a town this size?" Iain said, "Along with animals dropping dead and lightening storms in March? It's fucking ridiculous. Most years we'd get a few days of this maybe and one person would go missing, but _this_?"

_Ding, ding, ding!_

Most years?

"This has happened before?" Dean asked.

"Almost every year far back as I can remember," Iain nodded, "Just sort of happens, never any particular time. No one ever pays much mind since it's so spread out and usually not as severe. Freaks me out, sure, but I figure shit happens. Just gotta hope shit doesn't happen to you." Iain was grinning as he stopped finally at the shelf he had been looking for. He gave a grand gesture with his arm. "Regional supernatural galore," he said, "I've looked through most of them myself at some time or another. If you're interested because of what's been happening recently I'd say start with the mine. I've always believed this shit comes from there. Too much a coward myself to check it out though. Bad vibes, ya know?"

Yeah, Dean definitely knew. But he was starting to think he didn't need a book so much as some time alone with this guy. "Hey, ya know, I'm not really one for the book research to be honest, not to offend your science of libraries thing."

"Library Science," Iain chuckled, shoving his hands into his large pockets as he rocked a little back on his heels, "Basically means I'll have a Masters in being a librarian. I think it'd be kinda cool to get a job as a research librarian at a college somewhere. Ya know, be the guy all the students have to go to when they're writing papers and shit. Plus I love books. Even being back in the dusty stacks. Did you want a recommendation for one of these?" he asked, nodding up at the shelf.

"Actually, maybe I could pick your brain for awhile instead," Dean offered, "You got some time? To be perfectly honest with you, we're hoping we can maybe put an end to all of this."

"We?" Iain prompted, looking a little disappointed Dean thought, though he couldn't imagine why.

"Yeah, there's a group of us. Those others in the study room," Dean explained, "Might even head into that mine if all signs actually point there, but we like to be prepared, know what we're getting ourselves into. Can I steal you away for awhile?"

There was the slightest bit of color that flushed to Iain's face and he laughed again, like it was the way he responded to everything. "Ms. Grimmauld would notice I'm gone and I really can't risk losing this job. Part of the requirements for graduating. But I'd like to help. I probably know everything in these books anyway. Maybe when I get off?" he said, head lowered a little and eyes looking up from beneath long lashes, "I'm done after lunch around one. We could…meet somewhere."

"Perfect," Dean smiled, always pleased when he snagged a lead without having to read though line after line of text. He gave Iain's arm a friendly pat. "Better bring back one of these books anyway though or my brother'll bitch me out for wasting time. Anything on the caves of that mine?"

Iain actually gave Dean two books, one a more historical account and the other fiction written about Harold Autry that Iain had always suspected held more truth than most people would want to believe. On their way back up the stairs, Iain stopped Dean just at the landing, saying, "Hey, you never actually gave me your name."

Dean found that that happened more and more often as usually he didn't know what name he should give. "Dean Winchester," he said, moving the books to one hand so he could offer the other to Iain, which the brunette took and shook gratefully.

"Like the rifle," Iain laughed, "I'll remember that. But, uhh…I'm not gonna be swarmed by all of you come one o'clock, am I?" he asked with a nod towards the study room. They could see inside the large window from where they were and the four people that were inside the room. "You guys really a bunch of ghost hunters or something?" Iain asked seriously, even though he was forever smiling.

"Kinda," Dean admitted, "And don't worry about being swarmed. To tell you the truth I'm not used to working with so many others at once. Was a time it was just me and my brother. Anyway, I'm sure we'll be mostly split by then checking different leads. Wouldn't wanna crowd ya and scare ya off. Might just be me."

Iain's smile seemed to soften at its edges, warm like his eyes, and he laughed very lightly again. "Awesome," he said, his gaze lingering steady and centered on Dean. Then he looked away, grinned a little more crookedly, and said, "See you then," before sauntering with long shuffling strides back to the Help Desk.

Realization crept up on Dean slowly so that he had actually turned around and was on his way back to the study room before it hit him that what he had just experienced was not a simple friendly conversation between guys. He was pretty sure his face was sheet white by the time he sank back into his chair and reached for his now lukewarm coffee.

The girls were huddled around Jo's laptop while Sasha and Sam were reading. Sam looked up first in acknowledgement and noticed the new books Dean had set on the table. Then he must have noticed Dean's pale and probably wide-eyed expression because he immediately waved a hand in front of Dean's face to get his attention, looking concerned.

"Dean?" Sam prompted, which because of his worried tone got Sasha and both Sarah and Jo to look to Dean as well.

"Be honest," Dean said, not really focusing on any one of them in particular as he cradled his cooling coffee cup, "Nine times out of ten I'm the guy who's gonna notice what everybody else misses. Right? I mean, gimme some credit here, am I right?"

The others blinked at him for a moment. Then Sam answered, "Sure. Totally."

"Of course," Sasha greed.

And finally Jo rolled her eyes a little and said, "Annoyingly so but yes."

Dean didn't wait for Sarah to respond as well as she didn't have the same experience working with him. "Okay. So that other _one_ out of ten I'm…what? Denser than carbonite?"

Another brief silence passed. "Is this a trick question?" Sasha asked finally.

Dean groaned. He was such an idiot.

"What?" Sasha pressed. The others were all keenly looking at him.

"So the guy at the Help Desk who got me these books?" Dean began, really starting to be bothered by this whole group therapy thing they had going, "Apparently, he's sort of an amateur paranormal buff for regional stuff, knows everything that's in the books and probably more. I'm gonna meet up with him after he gets off work here so I can ask him a few things."

It was Sarah who smiled out of the corner of her mouth and said, "And…this is bad because…?"

Cooling or not, Dean took a long gulp of his coffee. "It's bad because…" Dean stared at the coffee cup, took another gulp, "I think I just made a date with him."

--

To say that Sasha was acting surly was the nice way of putting it.

After the initial aftermath of Sam and the girls laughing at him for his mistake while Sasha glared, the incubus had insisted that he tag along on Dean's 'date'. His 'it wasn't supposed to be a date but the poor guy probably thought it was' with Iain the helpful librarian. Sasha had been consistently chiding Dean for not being more sensitive to what was going on when he was alone with Iain earlier.

"How many times do I have to apologize?" Dean nearly snapped as they walked towards the front of the library. They had gone back to the hotel to regroup and go over what they knew for awhile and then Sam and the girls had left to check out the addresses of the missing people. "I didn't know he was into me," Dean said, stopping just in front of the door since he had told Iain before they left that he would meet him there, "Just because I start sleeping with guys suddenly every potentially gay guy wants to get into my pants? And he didn't even come off that gay."

"What's with the plural?" Sasha said shortly, focusing on the part where Dean had said 'sleeping with _guys'_, "And you should be able to tell the difference between friendly conversation and flirting. Not that you ever do," he huffed, "You flirt with male and female waiters just the same, long as it gets you your food."

"_Hey_." Dean did not understand why he had to come under attack just because of a simple mistake. Okay, so he hadn't done anything to correct the mistake but had instead decided to just let Sasha come along and hope Iain sort of got the picture. He liked the guy but he was very taken, and by a newly discovered jealous as all Hell incubus. Dean really should have been able to have fun with that.

Sasha leaned back against the wall beside the main entrance to the library and crossed his arms tightly in front of him. It wasn't exactly warm enough to hang out outside but the incubus remained annoyingly unaffected by the cold. "Not every gay guy. Leven didn't count," he grumbled, "He was just a kid. But this guy…" Sasha shook his head. "You really don't realize how you affect the people around you? I doubt this is the first time a guy has been into you. You're just more akin to notice now."

"And that's my fault?" Dean shot back, "Seems to me it's more _your_ fault if you're gonna say it like that. And I thought the argument was over how I _didn't_ notice. Why are you getting so upset about this? You know I don't want anybody else. Haven't I proved that enough?"

The anger on Sasha's face shifted slightly, enough to show that he did feel slightly ashamed but he still wasn't willing to let their argument go quite yet. "I could feel it from inside the study room. I'm used to it by now, feeling when others…want you. But I also felt how much you were enjoying the attention. Maybe you didn't realize it but the flirting wasn't entirely one-sided."

Dean stood a little frozen. He definitely hadn't realized that if it was actually true. "How…how could you feel anything? We were downstairs most the time."

Rather than simply explain, Sasha reached out first, steady but unthreatening with a hand to Dean's chest. "The circuit doesn't only go one way, you know. With you marked we're connected. I could probably feel you from the next town over. I know it's just from attraction. And that's gonna happen all the time. I guess…I can dismiss it when it's a girl but for some reason…feeling it this time from you for another guy…"

"Whoa," Dean said, gripping Sasha's hand that was still planted on his chest, "Some brief passing attraction for this guy went through my subconscious and that's why you're freaking out? Baby, there is no chick or dude on earth who's gonna steal me away from you. Especially a dude. I mean seriously. For starters, there's no guy in existence who could even be half as pretty as you. Hell, there ain't many chicks." Dean grinned, bringing Sasha's hand down from his chest so he could warm it in both of his. Even if Sasha didn't mind the cold the incubus' skin still felt icy to Dean. "And the other more important thing that's pretty damn hard to beat is that, oh, I don't know, little part where _I love you_. No one's changing that. Certainly not some nice librarian who just thinks I'm hot. So. You gonna stop being a bitch now?" Dean smirked.

Sasha sighed heavily, smiling despite himself and looking entirely ashamed now and not at all angry. "Sorry. I've told you before I can be kind of intense. I don't mean to get this way."

"I think the word you're looking for is _possessive_," Dean replied.

"Yeah, well," Sasha smiled crookedly, "Maybe I am. I just like knowing that you're mine. I like having someone…that's just for me. I realize that comes off a little—"

"Stalker-ish?"

That cold hand pulled out of Dean's hold and smacked him in the arm. "Anyway," Sasha pressed on, "I'll behave, I swear. Just keep the flirting down a little if you can help it. I don't think you fully realize the magnitude of your sex appeal, something I admit at great risk to inflating your already oversized ego—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean had to grin, "Are you—an incubus—actually saying this to _me_—Dean Winchester? Coz shouldn't that be more the other way around?"

Sasha huffed. "Yeah coz you're never jealous when I'm being nice to someone," he snarked.

"Dean?"

Dean and Sasha both turned to see Iain coming from around the building, having apparently exited a side door instead of the main ones. He had on a deep brown jacket over his T-shirt and zip-up that looked like he had bought it at the same place as his khakis. He also had a tote bag over his shoulder that was covered in buttons. It made Dean think more co-ed than grad student.

Approaching with that same easy smile, Iain walked over to Sasha and extended a hand. "Iain Wilde," he introduced himself, "Saw you before with the rest of the group. Dean's brother?" The incorrect assumption sounded more hopeful than anything.

Sasha had been attempting to be congenial, even to the point of smiling like usual and accepting Iain's offered hand. Now, however, his friendliness faltered and he strained to hold back another scowl. "No," he said shortly. Dean just hoped the incubus wasn't about to give away his supernatural origins by squeezing the poor guy's hand so hard he broke bones.

Thankfully, Sasha released Iain's hand soon after that, although the guy definitely worked his fingers afterwards as if they had been squeezed beyond the comfort level. "Eheh…well, umm, nice to meet you anyway," Iain managed, his smile wavering a little as he looked between Dean and Sasha, who hadn't actually introduced himself, "So…there's this place just down the street," he said to Dean, pointing a ways down the main road in front of the library, "We can grab some coffee or whatever and you can ask me anything you want. I can definitely give you more straightforward answers than any of those books. Lived here my whole damn life; I should know a thing or two." He tried to stretch his smile again but when he looked over at Sasha he was immediately cowed by the redhead's intense blue stare.

It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes and smack Sasha upside the head. "His name's Sasha," Dean said on the incubus' behalf, "And that place down the way sounds perfect. Why don't we go grab ourselves a booth or something? I'll buy since you're being such a good sport about all this." Dean patted Iain's shoulder and bodily turned the guy around to start leading him away from the library down the street. There was tension Dean could feel in Iain's body that quickly began to ease away.

With a warning glare tossed over his shoulder at Sasha, Dean very pointedly said 'stop being such a dick' with his eyes. Sasha just shrugged at him, his expression a turmoil of varied emotions that went a little beyond mere intensity. Possessive indeed. The idea of the green-eyed monster for envy and greed was much more suited for plain old jealousy in Dean's opinion.

Well, blue-eyed monster in this case.

Dean fell into casual conversation with Iain as Sasha caught up to them. Just before they reached the café that Iain had pointed out the incubus said, "Hey," reaching ahead to grab the door and push it open for the other two, "Sorry, I…uhhh…" Sasha flashed an embarrassed smile, "Just been a stressful day trying to figure all this out. We don't want those missing person's numbers to climb any higher. Hopefully you can shed some light on a few things."

That sounded much more like the rational Sasha that Dean was used to. He patted Iain on the shoulder again and shot Sasha a grateful smile.

Iain looked admittedly flustered and Dean got the feeling that the guy understood more about what hadn't been blatantly said about Dean and Sasha's relationship than he was letting on.

"Hey, sure," Iain said, letting the awkwardness of the situation roll right off his back, "Nice to have someone actually interested in some of the crazy random shit running through my head. Most people think it's a waste of time to even look into the supernatural side of things. But you can't deny what's been happening now." Iain walked on past Sasha into the café and the hunters followed him. It was mid-afternoon in the middle of the week so the place was fairly cleared out and it wasn't difficult for them to grab a booth, order a couple coffees, and dive right in.

With a somewhat hesitant smile now, Iain had very obviously sat himself down in the middle of one side of the booth so that Dean and Sasha would sit together. Dean was pretty sure his mistake earlier had been made understood. He couldn't help feeling a little bad about that. Besides, much as Dean hated getting into rows with Sasha, it was kind of nice knowing the incubus could get that jealous.

"So I started really noticing the missing person's thing a few years ago," Iain was saying, "Sure, a crap-ton a people go missing all sorts of places every year. But these were always kinda the came. I started looking into it, just side stuff, and it seemed like every missing person I was able to find out stuff about started acting weird right before they disappeared. Just like old Autry said before they hanged him over blowing up the mine. You knew about that right?"

Sasha and Dean both nodded; Sam and the girls had already found out that much. "But with these new disappearances there haven't been those same reports far as we can tell," Sasha supplied, "More suddenly missing people than other years but no one's said anything about them acting strange beforehand."

"See that's where I'm thinking things are getting more interesting these days," Iain said in a more hushed voice, leaning over the table between them. He was grinning a little mischievous again like this was the best of games. "If you really look at the people who went missing, starting with the miners, the amount of time beforehand gets shorter every year after that. Autry noticed people acting strange weeks before he blew the place. Every year there seems to be less time though. Okay, so I haven't traced back all the way, but the last person who went missing before this new mess started was a neighbor of mine about six months ago. I saw him practically everyday and hadn't noticed anything weird. Then the day right before he disappeared he was…fuck, not like himself at all. Kind of freaked the shit outta me to be honest. Maybe whatever's happening is happening so fast that the people who get taken or whatever go right away before anyone can notice that something's off." Iain leaned back again, satisfied that he had blown the case wide open with that assessment.

There wasn't a doubt in Dean's mind that that was true. This time he was the one who leaned over the table, close to Iain with his voice low. "Iain, my brother and the others were going to check out some of the houses of the people that have gone missing, see if there's any connection. You said the guy from before was your neighbor? Did you know any of the others?"

Iain's smile stretched and he chuckled to himself a little. Dean was starting to recognize that reacting that way was more how Iain dealt with nerves than anything. "Used to only be people who went of hiking or something near the mine. With the new ones though, most of them are from the same few stretch of blocks near the edge of town. Hell, I probably knew all of those people to some extent. I live right in that area too. Been trying to convince my mom to move forever but she just thinks I'm making shit up."

The sounds of Black Sabbath's 'Iron Man' rose up from Dean's jeans as his phone started to go off. Dean was feeling a little antsy now but managed an apologetic smile to Iain before he reached into his pocket and answered the call. "What's up, Sammy?" he said, having glanced quickly at the caller ID.

"We've hit every house, Dean," Sam said on the other line, "They're all—"

"Within the same few blocks. Yeah, we…we got that."

"From the library guy?"

"Yeah," Dean said a little impatiently, "What else?"

"Definitely looks like the radius of the missing people points to the mine as the source. You?"

"We're thinking that whatever's seeping out of there has been affecting the people around for years, makes 'em act weird right before and then, I don't know, lures them there or something. We're gonna have to be careful with this one. Might start affecting us once we get close. Seems it's been picking up the pace of victims and luring them off sooner, that's why no one's noticed people acting weird."

"Well we did get one report," Sam countered.

Sasha and Iain were carefully listening in. Normally, Dean wouldn't like having a civilian overhearing so much, but since Iain had come to the same conclusions on his own Dean didn't think it made much of a difference. "What happened?" Dean pressed.

"Last house we stopped at, the Kranes? Daughter went missing last week. Her mother said that she noticed her neighbor take off out of the house on foot like a bat outta hell less than an hour ago. Never seen her look so fierce, she said. I'm guessing that's missing person number six now, right along the same row of houses."

Dean knew that Sasha could hear most of what Sam was saying but he didn't think Iain had picked up on that last bit. It made Dean feel a cold chill like icy breath on the back of his neck. Sasha had tensed beside him as well. "Sammy," Dean said evenly, staring across the table at Iain, "You got a name from the mailbox of that new victim's house?"

"Yeah," Sam said, and Dean knew his brother was calling from outside, probably looking right at it, "It says Wilde."

--

"For the last time, _no_," Dean ground out, "You aren't going anywhere. You are gonna sit on your ass, stay calm, and wait until you hear from us. You are not coming out to that mine and that's final." Dean sort of felt like he was chastising a small child instead of a grown twenty-six year old man.

The five hunters had met up at Iain's house with the near hysterical librarian in tow. Dean hadn't thought the otherwise laid back guy could get so riled up, but he had been pacing back and forth in his living room since they arrived, ranting about how they had to let him come with, how he had to find out what was going on, he had to find his mother.

Dean could sympathize but there was no way that was going to happen.

"Iain, listen to us," Sarah said in a much more friendly and patient tone than Dean had been using, "This is what we do, okay, it's our job. We'll do everything we can to find out what's going on but you have to accept that there might not be a happy ending here. Either way, I can guarantee that you following after us will only make a bad outcome more likely."

At first Dean had expected Sarah to give the usual 'we promise we'll bring your mother back safe' speech, the one Sam usually gave whenever there was someone to save, however impossible the rescue. It actually soothed Dean a little that Sarah thought more like he did, that you shouldn't make promises you didn't know for sure you could keep.

"If we can bring her back to you, we will, but you're going to have to stay here," Sarah insisted.

"But it's my mom," Iain dissented, still pacing madly across the shag carpeting while a misplaced smile touched his face like he was halfway crazed with the knowledge of what was going on, "It's been just us practically my whole fucking life. God damn, shit fucking, sonuva—" SLAM. Iain's curses broke off as he banged a fist angrily against the wall of the living room. His brown eyes were bright and shimmering as he looked out at the hunters sitting and standing around him. "How can you tell me to stay calm? You don't know what this is _like_."

Dean's teeth clenched tight and he reached up to grab Sasha's arm before the incubus could make any angry comments about the cumulative loss of mothers and fathers in the room. He knew the others wouldn't bother saying anything but Sasha had been increasingly on edge since they arrived. Dean could tell that Sam was also more fidgety than usual and he had to wonder if they could feel the demonic resonance of the mine since it was only a few miles away.

"I just…don't know what to do," Iain finally sighed in defeat, sinking straight to the floor against the wall rather than finding an empty chair. He let out a humorless laugh and scrubbed a hand down his face much as Dean usually did in situations that seemed hopeless.

"The doing's what we're here for," Jo offered, "All you have to do is sit tight. But if we're gonna be of any help we gotta go now. Might get dark before we're through but I doubt we'll be any better off if we wait til tomorrow morning."

Sarah frowned and stood up from where she had been seated on the couch. "But maybe we _should_ wait. I don't like that we don't know anything about what's really happening out there."

"We have to go to the caves," Sasha said suddenly, having let Iain off the hook for his uneducated comment but still showing signs of being significantly more agitated as time went on and they remained inside the house.

"We have to," Sam echoed. He was sitting down, unlike Sasha who was pacing nearly as bad as Iain had before. Sam's left leg bounced anxiously. "If we wait it'll just get worse, more people will be drawn there. Something's going on in that mine and we have to stop it. I can…I can feel the dark energy like it's…like it's—"

"Taunting us." Sasha finished. It was clear to Dean now that simply being in this house so close to where the demonic activity was happening was affecting his companions more than he had first thought.

"Okay, I'm not feeling all that better about going with you two looking like you're about ready to scale the walls," Dean said to them, thankful that he could speak fairly freely what with how Iain was in his own little world of wallowing at the moment, "Besides, this place lures people, we're thinking, right? For whatever reason. Just because none of us normal human folk don't feel too lured at the moment doesn't mean that won't change once we're right in the mouth of this thing. Iain," Dean turned to the young man on the floor, who's eyes were distant and red around their edges.

Slowly, those eyes looked up at him. The tall brunette with a wide, smiling mouth and a tendency to swear too much was hollow looking and pale now.

"Iain," Dean said again, walking over to the other man and crouching down in front of him, "We never got to really ask you. What was at the site before it was a mine? The books didn't mention much more than we already knew and that there were settlers here before it became a town. If there's anything you can tell us it might be more help than you'd think."

At first Iain still looked distant, like he was up in his head and hadn't really heard Dean. Then he blinked up at the hunter before him, nodded and said, "There's this…hill above the cave system, above the entrance to the mine. Some of the settlers…before…built a church up there. Others tore it down when they found gold in the caves."

"A church?" Jo repeated, drawing closer to the two on the floor, "Like satanic rituals and virgin sacrifices kind of—"

"No," Iain shook his head, cutting her off. He sat up a little straighter against the wall, his head clearing now that he had a focus. "A Christian church. Those settlers were separate from some of the others. They were insistent about building their church on top of that hill. The other settlers had stories that it was a church filled with blasphemers calling themselves monster hunters. The ones in the church were outnumbered when gold was found in the mine. The church was destroyed and they were all run off. There aren't many records of it, that's why most of the books don't mention anything. History gets written by the winners, ya know." A small semblance of his usual, jovial smile cracked onto his face.

Dean smiled back at Iain and gave the guy's knee a firm, thankful pat. He wasn't surprised at all to find a room full of wide eyes looking at him when he turned to gauge his companions. A church full of hunters guarding over that cave was definitely more than a coincidence. The cave-in that guy Autry caused was probably the only thing that had kept whatever was in there from getting out sooner. It had been decades upon decades since then; the evil of that place was spreading.

Standing and walking back towards the others, Dean took note of how Sasha and Sam were staring at him, eager to leave. Jo was right there with them too but Sarah's expression proved she was still hesitant, much like Dean was too.

"I know we need to get to that mine," Dean admitted, holding Sarah's gaze before continuing, "But we can't just rush in there without any kind of equipment. I know this wouldn't exactly be spelunking but we have no idea what condition this thing is in. It was blown up once remember?"

"We have to go," Sam said again, standing finally and looking too tall and large for the small, crowded room, "Something's happening there that's luring people to it, people who, _so far_," he said for Iain's sake, "Haven't been heard from ever again. If hunters were guarding this place we could be dealing with anything. A creature that feeds, a demonic hot spot…"

"I hate this feeling," Sasha broke in, shivering visibly, "Like I can pick up on all the malevolent feelings it's giving off even from here. We have to stop it, Dean. I know we don't have the equipment, but…"

Suddenly, Iain was getting up, his face like stone, strange without a smile but determined. He was done wallowing. "My father used to cave and climb. We still have all of his equipment in the basement, enough hardhats and lights for all of us. Grappling hooks and tools if you think we'll need it, rope, gloves—"

"Wait," Dean stepped in with a held out hand, "There is no us to this equation, pal. Get that through your head. I already told you, you're staying here."

Iain's face flashed indignancy and he opened his mouth to protest.

"You'll just slow us down," Sarah said before he could, "If we're going to do this then our best chance is for it to be just us, with your dad's equipment if you'll let us use it. Please understand," she added with sincere dark eyes, stepping past Dean to approach Iain more closely. It was Dean's insistence combined with Sam's sentimentality, which was probably why neither brother thought to add anything.

For a moment it wasn't clear what Iain's choice would be, his face still hard and unreadable, his eyes vibrant with indecision. Finally, after a breath Iain nodded and looked to each of the hunters like he was putting every ounce of faith he had in the world in them. "Okay. But you better come back. If whatever's happened…if you can't save Mom then…I won't blame you for that. But you better come back," he said again.

It was an organized basement thankfully, making it easy to find what they were looking for and gather supplies. Iain even let them take food just in case. They didn't know how long they would be down there and caving was the same as climbing when it came to how quickly you could become dehydrated. They took as much water as they could too.

Dean managed to talk to Iain alone briefly when the distressed young man pushed a small guidebook into his hands that looked at least fifty years old.

"It has a map of the caves and the mine. Not that it will help you much with all the cave-ins since but," Iain shrugged, his eyes a little shy and downcast again like they had been when Dean had unintentionally flirted with him in the library. There was also still a remnant of that smile, much as it was marred by frustration and feelings of futility.

"Thanks," Dean said, taking the guidebook, "And, look, ya know, about our…miscommunication before," Dean grimaced. He wasn't really sure how to explain himself.

Iain just laughed, maybe a little emptier than usual, and gave Dean's shoulder a nudge. "Hey, don't even think about it. Probably just me being a wishful thinker. Not every day some hot guy saunters up with a smirk and a swagger and asks for a book in the basement." He laughed again and then flushed like he was embarrassed over what he had just said. "Shit, I crack myself up. Anyway, just…be careful. I won't follow you guys, I promise, but I doubt I'm gonna sleep tonight."

This was another of those moments when Dean wished he had that same comforting turn of phrase that Sam and Sasha, and also Sarah he was realizing, had in so much abundance. Dean wanted to reassure Iain but not falsely. "I don't know what we're gonna find out there, man," he admitted, "You gotta be prepared…that you're mom's already gone."

Even though Iain nodded Dean could see how his lip trembled a little trying to maintain a smile. "I know. But giving up hope before you know the truth…that's worse than if I was the reason she got taken. The world may be shit, people may suck, but there are individuals and things that are worth being happy about and standing up for. My dad….he used to say that…all the time and I try to believe it. I don't really get what's going on. All these ghost stories I used to love suddenly feel real and here you guys are going off to fight it like demon warriors or something. I mean, fuck, this is messed up. But whatever's out there…I think maybe you can beat it."

Dean was instantly filled with even more desire to somehow be able to bring Iain's mother back to him. The guy was already being kind enough to hand out keepsakes of his father's and allow both the Impala and Sarah's Camaro to sit in his driveway. They would walk to the cave; it wasn't far. But Iain would have to stay here and wait. Dean gave the guy's shoulder a firm squeeze, knowing it wasn't enough, before he walked away.

While they were gathering up the last of what they were taking with them and it was getting close to three o'clock, Dean spotted Sam just outside looking deeply troubled and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was about to go out onto the porch and see what was wrong when he noticed that Sarah was already out there. They were talking and Dean could tell by the way Sam smiled out of the corner of his mouth and Sarah looked at him with those beautiful eyes that she was reassuring him as best she could. Maybe she didn't have the same knack for getting Sam to relax as Dean did but he wasn't about to grudge her the chance to learn.

"Dean?" came Sasha's voice, shaky and uncertain. When Dean turned behind him he saw the incubus standing inside the door between the living room and entryway. He was bouncing much as Sam was, also looking troubled and Dean would almost say terrified. "Are we ready to go? We need to go. It's really getting to me. I don't think I can…stand another minute. It's like….like—"

"Hey," Dean was across the small space between them and at Sasha's side in an instant, "Baby, come on. What is this place doing to you guys? We're still a couple miles away. I figured it was going to be me, Sarah, and Jo we'd have to worry about, being the full humans. You and Sammy gotta be sharp, make sure nothing starts luring us in. We don't have any reason to think there's purpose behind who gets chosen."

"I know," Sasha nodded, sinking into the touch of Dean's hand on his cheek—a favored gesture, "It's just…under my skin or something. Like before, with that barn full of demons and all that…awful power. Only it's worse. Sam can't even tell if it's demons."

Which was one of the reasons Dean still hated the idea of going in, but for now it was still light out even if they might be down there for hours, so if they were quick about things they still might have a chance to take care of whatever was going on and get back before sundown.

Dean was almost about to pull Sasha in for a swift embrace, just to make the incubus feel better, and maybe for Dean to feel a little better too since nothing soothed him like the smell and comforting warmth of his incubus, but just then Jo came into view behind Sasha with the last of their things.

"Time to hit the road," she said, serious as Dean had ever seen her.

Not a minute later they were all outside on the porch with Sam and Sarah, and soon after that they were headed out on foot for the caves with Iain looking out after them. It felt a little awkward at first, getting through the last neighborhoods of town before they reached woods and varied terrain. It wasn't long though before they were out of sight of anything urban as Sam led them through the scattered trees further out of town.

When they had asked Iain the quickest way to the old mine, Sam had interrupted saying that he would know how to get there. That seemed to be entirely true as the tallest hunter plowed onward, never looking unsure of his footing or where he was going. Dean couldn't help feeling relieved that the closer they got to wherever this cave system was, the less antsy and inconsolable Sam and Sasha became. In fact both of them seemed perfectly confident and relaxed when that hill Iain had told them about came into view.

"We should scout as many areas of this place as we can before we go inside," Jo said. They had come right upon the main entrance of the mine, sporting old worn signs stating 'keep out' and 'danger'. As far as they knew there was no other way into the cave systems other than the original mine shaft but there was no telling what had changed in the area recently.

"Everyone feeling…normal?" Dean asked before they split to look around. He himself didn't feel any different than usual. Certainly not like he wanted to go barreling on ahead into the mine without the others.

Everyone looked to one another, gauging each others' answers it seemed, but eventually they all nodded. "We should go in two groups so no one's alone," Sam suggested, "The area's not big, just what's around the hill. We can go opposite directions, cross each other, and then meet back here to make sure no one missed anything."

"Works for me," Dean said, "Sasha, why don't you take the girls. Sarah can come with me," Dean said with a smirk.

Sasha and Jo immediately chuckled while Sam glowered at Dean and Sarah grinned with a roll of her eyes before making her way over to him. "Keeping an eye on the rookie or just playing matchmaker, Winchester?" Sarah said as she passed by Dean and went straight on towards one side of the hill. She had spoken soft enough so that only Dean had heard her.

Dean winked over at the others before following. "Cells are useless out here so no stopping the first time," he said, "If you find anything wait until we meet up to check it out." There were no other visible signs of activity right around the entrance to the cave, but Dean had a feeling that there was definitely something more than missing persons going on. The demonic signs were more than enough to believe that. At least today was a nice day.

The entire crew was equipped with hardhats they were currently keeping in the tote Sam was carrying, along with the food. Sarah had claimed the other pack, much as it seemed more sensible to give it to Sasha who would fatigue less quickly, which carried extra flashlights, rope, climbing hooks, and extra odds and ends. Dean really hoped that they weren't going to have to do any actual climbing.

Sarah maintained a tight path along the hill and he at first had to trot to catch back up with her. Once he did he came up right beside her and purposefully bumped her arm. "Hey, you sure you can handle this once we go inside. Not exactly routine hunt stuff in case you're a little squeamish." He grinned sideways at her, even though he was mainly being serious and needed to know if she was really going to be able to handle herself if things got dangerous. Jo may have vouched for her but Dean hadn't ever seen Jo in rare hunter form either.

"Because of course you've gone cave diving for the source of unexplainable demonic disappearances tons of times," Sarah shot right back. He certainly didn't read any anxiety from her which he couldn't say was true of himself right now.

"You amaze me. Thought you were too much a well-bred city girl for all this. I mean, you're clearly not against getting down and dirty, but this may be some serious shit we're up against. You haven't even broken a sweat."

Much as Sarah was watching her surroundings carefully as they continued to do their reconnaissance, Dean still caught the slight smirk that caught her features. "I think I gave you this speech before. It's not that I'm not scared, Dean. But this is something that needs to be done, maybe another part of saving your soul even. The way I see it, if I'm going to die, it's going to happen sometime anyway, so I'd rather it was for a good reason." Suddenly, Sarah's arm shot out and she stopped Dean from taking another step.

Dean looked down and saw an old rusted bar trap that was still armed. Funny how those things always managed to pop up around him.

"Of course that doesn't mean I intend to die any time soon," Sarah grinned.

Dean watched after her a moment as she moved ahead, once again impressed. He took a look around. Whatever Sam and Sasha were sensing, Dean wasn't picking up on any of it. Okay, so the area was a little too quiet, like that time with the Wendigo—not even a cricket. But there weren't exactly dead trees all around the area like Dean would have expected from a demonic hot spot.

He and Sarah reached the halfway point around the hill before the others and waited, having found nothing but grass, trees, and fallen branches, no extra way in. When Sam and the others caught up to them Sam mentioned having found a very small opening that might lead into the cave system, but it was apparently too small for any of them. They parted ways and continued around again to check over each other's work. After, of course, Dean had mentioned that the others needed to watch out for that bear trap.

"Hey, Dean," Sarah said after a couple more minutes of hiking their new side of the hill.

"Yeah?"

"Just because…I don't know the next time I'm going to get you alone, I wanted to say…thank you," she said, stopping so she could say it directly and catch his eyes.

Dean frowned a little. "Uh, sure, but I think you thanked me and Sammy plenty the first time."

Sarah broke into a somewhat bashful smile. "Not for that, not that I'm not still grateful for what you both did back then. No…I mean thank you for Sam." Her eyes were bright and honest and her face seemed that much prettier for how her hair was pulled back and Dean could see that much more of it. She was one of those girls that didn't need makeup to be beautiful.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean?" Dean admitted.

"What you did," she went on, "What you gave up to bring him back? Everyone just yells at you for being stupid enough to make a devil deal, for making that sacrifice. But you did what you had to do to save Sam's life. I don't think anyone, not even Sam, has thanked you for that. So…thank you. If there's any part I can play in saving you in return, I'll gladly do it."

The silence of the woods started to get to Dean because it suddenly seemed that much quieter. Sarah was thanking him for bringing Sam back. She was right that no one had ever done that, they always just got angry, yelled, yeah, and usually those conversations ended with him having to apologize. But he shouldn't have to apologize for doing his job. He had to save Sam. It had never been a question. And he knew he would do it all over again if he had the chance.

"Better keep going," Sarah said with a renewed, more jovial smile, "We want to get through as much as we can while the sun's still up. Not that it'll help much down there." Her teeth flashed and then she was continuing on, not waiting for Dean to follow.

Dean took a few good breaths before he even could. He didn't think he knew what to say in reply to that so he was kind of glad she hadn't given him the chance. So instead he just followed after her eventually, smiling to himself and noting that he really did like that girl a helluva lot.

This time when they met up with the others, Sam's group had gotten back to the entrance first. Dean and Sarah had paused at the little opening Sam mentioned, but they agreed that there was no way any of them were getting in through there.

"Down the trench then?" Jo suggested, gesturing to the opening to the mine. A few signs had fallen down or maybe been pulled off to get them out of the way because there was a clear path into the dark of the mine shaft.

Sam and Sarah opened up their duffle bags and everyone took out one of the hardhats and an extra flashlight, even though the hats had lights on them too. The flashlights were for backup, but they didn't want to have to go searching for anything in the dark, so everyone took one in hand right away. The food was only for if they needed it. Sarah passed out water bottles though and the few more roundabout charms they had.

"Might not protect against everything," she shrugged, "But it's better than going in blind. Hopefully, Sam, you can point us in the right direction." She smiled.

It was obvious that Sam should lead the way as he was their resident demon detector. Sasha took the rear, being the next most powerful among them, not that they had bothered explaining any of that to Sarah. If she had noticed Sasha's behavior matching up a little more with Sam's, she wasn't saying anything about it.

Dean stayed up front behind Sam with the girls behind him. It was sort of like going to a cheap haunted house at first, dark and damp and winding, but not really scary since they were traveling in a group. Besides, they were also armed. Sam had the Colt, something he had clung to even after his failure with shooting Malak, and the others all had variously loaded guns and blades. They were ready for pretty much anything, and that was good since they had no idea what they were going to find.

A few minutes in, Jo whispered from the middle of their train.

"So since we didn't find any signs of anyone outside, we can assume all the missing people came in here, right?" she said.

"I don't think it's fair to assume anything," Sam whispered back from the front. They all had their hardhat lights on but because the shaft was so narrow all any of them could see was the person in front of them, leaving Sam to actually see what lay ahead.

"Assuming they did come in here," Jo pushed on, "What are we thinking happened to them? Because at this point stumbling upon a bunch of bones and bodies would be more comforting than finding nothing."

In some morbid way Dean had to agree. An explanation they could see, hunt, and kill was always better than 'and then they just went poof'.

No one said anything for several minutes. Dean had an EMF meter out instead of his gun at the moment, scanning the cave walls for readings as they went. It blipped only slightly, which usually meant there were spirits but not the kind that could cause any real damage. Considering how many miners had died down here it wasn't all that surprising that there would be a few spooks.

"What if we hit a dead end from a cave-in?" Sasha called faintly from the back, "Are we just going to call it quits?"

Suddenly, Sam stopped, which meant Dean almost ran right into him and the pattern continued all the way to the back of the line. "What gives?" Dean hissed.

"Fork," Sam said loud enough to be sure all of them heard him, "Right or left?"

"We should keep a consistent pattern," said Sarah, "Always one or the other, so we know how to get back. Hopefully there'll be an opening soon."

In the meantime Dean suggested left and they headed that way. The corridor widened after awhile so that they could pair up, Sam still in the lead with Dean and Jo together and then Sasha and Sarah behind them. It made it easier to see ahead of them with their combined light and after awhile they could definitely see what looked like an opening up ahead.

"Are you alright?" Dean heard Sarah whisper behind him, which made Dean immediately turn and look back at Sasha. The incubus was holding a hand to his head and squinting his eyes like he had a headache. Dean had never known Sasha to ever get a headache.

"Sam?" Dean heard from Jo next, which made him look just as quickly front again. Sam was holding his head the same way even though he hadn't stopped walking towards the clearing ahead.

"It's nothing," Sam said.

"Let's keep going," Sasha echoed.

Dean was starting to feel that familiar chill again. After all, the girls seemed fine and Dean didn't feel any different. That didn't make sense though. This place was supposed to lure in humans. Unless Jo and Sarah's charms just worked that well. Sam and Sasha were probably just picking up on all that demonic energy more.

As that thought hit him, Dean immediately put the EMF meter away and pulled out his gun instead. Something was up ahead in that open part of the caves.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, having slipped up close to speak right next to Sam's ear, "Sense anything you can pin-point yet?"

Sam's steps were starting to falter and he was holding his head more tightly. "Too much…interference from…whatever's really down here. But there's something. I know there's something else. Get ready."

Quickly, Dean passed that warning back to the others, worried since being so close to the source was affecting Sam and Sasha so strongly. It seemed like they were in pain but neither of them were willing to stop.

It didn't feel like they had gone that far into the mine, but then it was hard to tell any passage of time. It might have been fifteen minutes or an hour. Dean also had to take into account that demonic influence might be affecting them without their knowledge. They might have been walking deeper into the cave for even longer than that.

Soon the opening was almost upon them. It wasn't until they had almost reached the mouth of it that Dean realized it wasn't only their lights illuminating the area but a light from within as well. Someone was in there.

"Dean!"

Sam's call came too late. Before Dean could think to act, Sam had already been propelled into the cave wall by an unseen force and the lights on their hardhats were flickering. "Sam!" He called, trying to rush forward, see what was inside the opening and get to Sam, but Sam was up a second later and charging into the room. "Wait!" Dean followed right after him, hearing the running feet of the others behind him even as their lights flickered further and went out.

This had gotten bad way too quickly. Dean knew he was right at the mouth now where Sam had run in but he couldn't see anything. A moment later he felt Jo and Sarah bump into him from behind, recognizing their smaller bodies. But he didn't feel Sasha.

The next second, Dean and the girls had been pushed roughly aside against the opening wall as Sasha dove past them, apparently knowing something they didn't. Dean only got the briefest glimpse of flashing red eyes that told him what was happening. He still couldn't see more than an inch in front of his face.

"Stay here!" Dean called to the girls, taking two very different feeling hands and moving them together to be sure the girls hung onto each other and stayed put.

They protested loudly after him but he didn't have time to sit in the dark and wait. He only took a few steps anyway and started pounding on his hardhat to get the light to come back. Nothing happened. Dean knew one thing that made lights flicker like that more than any ghost ever did—a demon.

"Sammy!" Dean called, hearing signs of struggle from a distance that seemed too far away. He hadn't gotten enough of a glimpse inside the cavern to know how large it was. Sam and Sasha could be anywhere.

Then, miracle of miracles, Sam signaled to him, shooting off a spark of electricity into the air and lighting up an area several yards away for just a moment. It was all the time Dean needed to see that Sasha, half transformed, and Sam were fighting off what appeared to be a possessed woman. But only that one woman. With the amount of missing people and how suddenly the attack had come, Dean had expected to be swarmed.

He ran ahead, judging the amount of space he had from that one moment of visuals. He stopped then and called again, "Sam!" and again Sam shot out lightening from the melting power.

This time Dean's eyes caught sight of something else. The Colt. Sam had dropped it and the gun was lying only a few feet in front of Dean. It was always a last resort, but they couldn't fucking see and Sam and Sasha seemed too disoriented to easily defeat this demon like they have been able to normally.

Dean dove for the Colt, feeling it in his hands just as the light went out again. Distantly, he heard the girls calling after all of them. They had probably seen the fight as well, illuminated by Sam's powers, and wanted to help. Dean knew he could end this before it would come to that.

"Sam!" he called one last time. It took a moment longer, enough that Dean was holding his breath when sparks finally flew, but it was all Dean needed. Sasha, with his monstrous claws, pushed at the possessed woman just enough to give Dean a clear shot and he took it. The Colt went off with a deafening resonance throughout the cave and struck the woman somewhere in her midsection. She didn't call out, just spasmed with electricity that made the grizzly sight as visible as Sam's sparks and then fell down dead in the dark.

Immediately, all of the lights on their hardhats flickered back on, Sasha and Sam's hats on the floor now from their struggle. But in that same moment the sound of the Colt's gunshot echoing down the corridor they had come from turned suddenly into dangerous, daunting sounding rumblings. It was like a supernatural aftershock, creating an avalanche of rock that began falling down near the entrance and around them in the cavern as well.

The girls scrambled away from their spot by the opening and met the boys in the center of the room, all of them quickly huddling together to shield themselves from the falling rocks. Where they were seemed to be the safest place, safer than where they had come from anyway. Still, Sasha unfurled his wings with a great whoosh of air and blanketed them over the top of the group to better protect them. Dean heard the incubus hiss as debris struck him but already the rumbling was starting to stabilize. A few breathless moments more and it was back to being deathly quiet.

They sat for several minutes, waiting out any possible aftershocks. Slowly, Sasha brought his wings down again and allowed them to fade back into the glamour. As the group sat up from their huddle, it was quite blatant that Sarah stared for a minute at the incubus who although he looked human now had very much given himself away.

"No!" Jo hissed in an angry whisper, moving in a sudden dash towards where they had come from. The entire way was blocked now, by how much fallen rock they couldn't be sure.

Dean took stock of their new surroundings now that they had light again. This seemed to be the central point to the caving system because there were several other passageways that led off different directions. That gave him a little hope that they would be able to find some other way out. Just because they hadn't found another entrance right outside didn't mean there wasn't one further out in the woods somewhere.

Sarah got up and went over to Jo, both of them inspecting what Dean could already tell was a hopeless situation. He looked down at Sam and Sasha who appeared out of breath but only slightly beaten. Sasha had a scratch on his cheek and Sam was moving his fingers like maybe he'd jammed one, but otherwise they looked okay for now. Dean could understand why they fell from the huddle into sitting positions after that fight.

Then Dean remembered the possessed woman—even in the dark with just a few spaced out sparks of light Dean had seen her black eyes, not that the slamming Sam into the wall without touching him part wasn't proof enough, as well as the flickering lights.

He looked at her now, still and lifeless on the ground a few yards away. Moving to her carefully and crouching down, Dean turned her body over to get a look at her. She was older, late 50s maybe, and dressed like she had just been inside enjoying a good read or something before the demon took her. As always Dean mourned having to kill an innocent but he hadn't had a choice.

Plucking her wallet from her pants to see if she matched with any of the missing persons, Dean's heart immediately plummeted to his stomach.

Gloria _Wilde_.

"God damn it," he cursed, clenching his teeth to keep from biting out his tongue, "Iain…"

"Dean…" filtered over a voice from the other side of the room. Jo's, Dean thought. The cavern made everything sound a little strange.

"It was Iain's mom," Dean ground out as he turned back around, "Why the hell was she…" but Dean quickly trailed off. Sam and Sasha were no longer checking over their wounds and catching their breaths. They were holding their heads as if they were in much more pain than they had been in before. "Hey!" Dean called, rushing to their sides as it seemed the girls had already, "What's up? What's wrong?"

Sam's pained eyes turned to Dean first, up on his knees cringing and gripping his hair tightly as if he might pull all of it out. "Iain's mother…?" Sam repeated, "Possessed?"

"Is this place…a devil's gate?" Sasha suggested, like they were trying to figure out why they were in such pain, thinking that maybe if they did the pain would go away.

Sam shook his head. "Wouldn't do this to us," he said, "Couldn't be that."

"But if it wasn't luring people here to posses them…" Dean started to say. He caught Sarah and Jo's eyes, then Sam and Sasha's. Sasha's eyes were already flashing red and as Dean looked into Sammy's, his little brother's began to turn yellow. "Then…they were already possessed when they got here," Dean finished, "This place wasn't luring humans. It was luring _demons_. The demons would possess people close to here and then…" And then they would come here. But for what?

_Things are not always what they seem to be, Dean._

"What does it do to demons…?" Dean asked the air. There weren't any other bodies in here. The demons that came in here with hosts must have come and gone, taking the bodies with them. But then what had become of them? What was the purpose?

"No…no, no…" Sasha started to chant. Jo was holding onto his shoulder, trying to steady him somehow but he was in too much pain. He pushed her away. "Sam," Sasha said beseechingly, reaching out for Sam and clutching at his arm after a desperate lunge, "You felt it too…didn't you…what was inside her? You felt it!" His eyes, his red eyes shimmered fearfully.

Sam was shaking as Sarah held onto him, but he too pushed the offered help away. He shook his head as he had before, not wanting to believe it. "Oh god…oh god…" he chanted just like Sasha, "There…there wasn't a human soul. She wasn't…possessed…she was replaced. This place…it burned her soul away…" He was like a frightened child, fighting with his own head and whatever was being done to him. Sasha was the same.

It made Dean tremble with fear to hear what Sam had said. This place, whatever it was, Devil's Gate or Hellmouth, lured demons to it so they could bring their possessed bodies and burn away the human soul inside, making the body truly and fully their own. Any demon would be more powerful like that because they would no longer need to expend energy keeping their host's will under foot.

Suddenly, Sasha roared at the ceiling, his fangs glistening and sharp in the light from the others' hardhats, his and Sam's hats being still off to the side on the ground. He back-peddled towards the nearest wall, his black claws scrapping against the stone and his eyes darting out at everyone like he was afraid to stay too close to any of them.

A moment later Sam was doing the same, pushing himself back against an opposing wall. They weren't clutching their heads anymore but their eyes glowed their demon color as Sasha morphed slowly into his incubus self. Dean heard Jo frantically explaining to Sarah that it was okay because Sasha was an incubus, he always looked like that. Sarah had already heard that Sam's eyes sometimes went yellow when he used his powers. But Dean knew this was about more.

Even if what he and Sam had realized was true, that this place was some horrible demon incubator, it couldn't do the same to Sam and Sasha, could it? It couldn't really burn their humanity away.

"No!" Sam screamed when Sarah moved to go near him again, "St-stay away from me. I…I don't want to hurt you. God, I…I can't stop it, you have to stay away."

"Stay away, please," Sasha said mournfully to Dean who had barely been able to move but tried to go to the incubus then, "Please," Sasha begged him, "You have…you have to get away from us."

"Go!" Sam yelled at them, "Find another way out. I…I can't…I can't _stop_." Sam keeled over onto his side like he was fighting every inch of his body. Sasha did the same, his wings already sprouting from his back again as he clawed and left angry white marks in the stone.

"Go!"

"Run!"

Dean felt frozen in place. This wasn't happening. He should have known. He should have seen it sooner. He had trapped them by firing the Colt. It was his fault. What did it matter if Iain's mother was already soulless and dead, he had still shot her. And now Sam and Sasha were…were what?

"Dean!"

There wasn't time to think. There wasn't time to mourn. The girls were both standing at a loss, frantic as they looked between the two men that were changing and howling in agony, just as Dean was looking between them, wanting to help, knowing he couldn't. He did the only thing possible. He listened. He grabbed Jo and Sarah by their wrists, pulled them against any protest or resistance towards the nearest open corridor, and ran.

tbc...

A/N: And the new longest chapter is! yes, this one, so no complaining! :-) This is all part of a grand master plan, by the way, that won't be fully revealed until much later. And...it may not be entirely Malak's master plan either. ;-) Please review, oh glorious readers! Iain, by the by, is in honor of reader windiain on livejournal who I believe also reads the story here on FF now, because he requested a cameo. How'd you come out? Of course I took liberty with the age. :-) Oh! And go to deviantart and search Castiel Sasha or just hit the website for a pic of the two fighting over Dean my hubby made for me. So Awesome!

Crim


	58. Part 6: Of Their Nature

Part 6: Of Their Nature

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If it hadn't been for the lights that were thankfully working again on his, Sarah, and Jo's hardhats, Dean wouldn't have been able to see anything. It didn't matter anyway; he had no idea where he was going. The passageway he had chosen was wider than the initial one they had come through, curving and varied as it took them deeper into the mine. Dean might have even been leading them away from any chance of escape but there hadn't been time to think logically about possible routes; he had to get the girls and himself away from Sam and Sasha.

That very thought made Dean shiver. He didn't even know for certain what was happening. This damn cave, this evil hot spot that pulsed with power he, as a human, couldn't feel was stripping the two people that meant the most in the world to him of every part of them that wasn't demonic. It was just a theory, it might not be true, but Dean had come to the same realization and Sam had sounded so sure as he and Sasha howled and changed. The only option Dean had been left with was to run.

He had long since released Jo and Sarah's wrists, unable to hang onto them in the passageway as it began to narrow. Still, he was constantly looking back behind him to be sure the two women were there and that they had no pursuers.

For several minutes they could still hear the cries of Sam and Sasha—pitiable wails. Dean wanted to turn around so badly, to turn around and be there with his brother and friend regardless of what was happening to them, but his better judgment kept him moving forward. It was only that, his forward momentum that kept him from hating himself. Later he would have more time to dwell on how this had all been his fault. He'd even been given a warning but he hadn't been sharp enough to figure things out until it was too late.

They reached another small cavern that led off into different passageways. Dean knew they couldn't afford to slow down or stop but as recent events caught up with him he couldn't run anymore. He keened loudly like an animal for a moment and pounded a fist against the nearest stone wall. He hadn't realized until just now, when he was stopped, that his eyes were damp.

"That fucking bastard set me up!" Dean yelled, pounding the wall again, "He knew…he knew we'd come here. He knew they'd be drawn here and I couldn't fucking figure it out!" Again Dean pounded the stone, turning his knuckles raw and bloody from scraping the harsh surface.

"Dean!" Sarah called to him, grabbing his arm to stop yet another blow. He wouldn't look at her, he knew they couldn't risk stopping, they couldn't risk him taking the time to break down. He heard Sarah's voice patient and determined beside his ear. "It doesn't matter now. We're here, this is happening, and we have to deal with it. Now what were you talking about? What was it they were saying? This place lured demons not humans? And it…burns away humanity to make the demon part stronger?"

Hearing that said aloud again made Dean's stomach clench like he might throw up. "There's…lore about places like this, pre-devil's gates, where there isn't an opening to Hell but it's like…like the curtain between the two is thinner," Dean explained. He hadn't thought about that in years. His father's journal mentioned it but there hadn't been a documented case since the 12th century.

Taking deep breaths and feeling the sting in his hand now, Dean turned around to look at Sarah. Jo was standing just behind her, brow knit.

"If hunters find places like this they try and seal it up. It draws demons to it, makes them stronger. Even they might not realize what it is at first but eventually they'll find their way to the place that's calling them. It's possession overdrive. They become so infused with the power from Hell, power they usually can't tap into when they're earthbound, and…the Hellfire burns the soul away. That's what…that's what all the old accounts would say. Sammy…he must have realized it too. And Sasha…they could feel it. That's why they told us to run."

"But Sam and Sasha aren't humans possessed by demons," Jo countered, "Sasha's an incubus and Sam's…demon inflected. It's in their blood. It couldn't…it couldn't do the same thing to them…could it?" Her wide brown eyes were fierce to hide her panic.

Dean didn't know how to respond with anything but the truth. He was glad none of them could really look at each other directly as it shot the beam of light from their hardhats into each other's eyes. "I don't know. Maybe it can. Maybe it's different. But even if it doesn't…burn anything away…it's still gonna amp their demon side. I don't…I don't think they'll be able to control themselves."

"But we don't know that for sure," said Sarah, "We can't just leave them down here."

There was no part of Dean that wanted to do that but right now he didn't see many other options. "We have to keep moving. They wanted us to go. How do you think they'd feel if this was just temporary, and after they find their own way out and return to their senses, they realize they tore us apart and left us to rot. They're stronger than us. They can last longer down here."

"Sam may have had the bag with the food," Sarah jumped in, shifting the bag that was still over her own shoulder, " But I have the hooks and rope. And anything else we might need. That should help. I dropped my flashlight though. If the ones on our hats go out again did either of you manage to hang onto yours?"

After a moment of searching, Jo produced hers. Dean checked himself too but couldn't find the flashlight. What he did discover and had nearly forgotten about was the Colt. He had tucked it into his jacket after using it on the demon. He swallowed thickly as he held it in his hand and stared at it. He knew it was a good thing that the only weapon that would do them any good was in their possession and not Sam and Sasha's. But part of Dean wished he had left it in the cavern anyway.

He sniffled and wiped a hand over his eyes. No time for tears or regret. No time for anything. They had to keep moving.

"If we can find a way out then so can they," Dean said as blandly as he could manage even though it was so hard not to let his voice catch on the words, "We have to get outta here. We get out, we make it to Iain's place…and we fortify the house against…"

"Demons?" Jo prompted with a huff. It felt like such a betrayal to even think that way.

Dean gripped the handle of the Colt tight for a minute and then put it away inside his jacket again. "If we get out of here and it's temporary, we can wait 'em out. If it's not…" Dean couldn't say it. He shook his head, his teeth grinding together painfully to keep his mouth from trembling.

None of them mentioned the possibility of Sam and Sasha not being able to find a way out. It was too much a guarantee that if they could find a way then their demon companions could as well.

It almost soothed Dean to see how Jo's eyes were growing damp now too, he could tell without having to look at her directly. If Sarah was the same she hid it by turning quickly towards the three possible exits out of the cavern.

"Which one?" Sarah asked, shining her light down each of them though that didn't tell them anything since the passageways were all too long to see all that far, "These are definitely man made so we're still inside the mine not just in other parts of the cave system. There have to be, well, basically emergency exits that lead up to the surface since we're so far from the main entrance."

Suddenly, Dean remembered the guidebook Iain had given him before they left. He dug it out of his back jean pocket where the small book had fit perfectly. It was old and worn but might actually save their asses if it gave them any indication as to where they should head. "Better than nothing," Dean shrugged as Sarah and Jo noticed the guidebook and gathered closely around him. Their combined light lit up the pages.

Dean flipped through quickly at first, looking for the map Iain had said was inside. He found it near the middle, a fairly detailed depiction of the many passageways. The main exit was clearly marked and also several side entryways. "There," Sarah pointed at a larger spot on the map, "That's the cavern we found the demon in. The main passageway leads right there if you take that left in the fork like we did. But which one did we take from there?"

"Must be this one," Dean said, trying to remember where he had led them in relation to the direction they had originally come in, "Feels the right distance to this cavern," he said as he pointed to another slightly larger opening, "So then…if these are our options…" He could clearly see the three passageways before them displayed on the map. Following each possible route with his finger he tried to find the one that led to the quickest way out. "This one," he said finally, pointing to the one on the far right on the map and then pointing to the real thing in front of them. "Looks like a way out's still a bit far, but faster than using any of the other ones."

Sarah and Jo met his gaze when he looked at each of them, hesitation and regret on all of their faces. "We don't have a choice," Sarah tried to shrug, wearing an impressive mask much as her eyes did indeed look wet like his and Jo's.

"Okay," Dean said, because he didn't really know what else to say. He didn't want to think too hard about what they were leaving behind and about the consequences sure to come later. "Stay close to me."

Dean didn't want to say out loud that there had been passageways leading out of that first larger cavern that weren't displayed on the map. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have also mentioned—even though the girls had probably already noticed themselves—that most of the passageways that were on the map eventually connected back together again. It meant they didn't only have to worry about what might be coming right behind them, but from all other directions too.

The first roar was already too close, animalistic and feral as it ricocheted after them through the passageways, bouncing easily over the stone walls and making it difficult to tell where it had come from. All of them flinched; Dean felt Jo's hand grip suddenly at the back of his jacket. It was easy to grip since it wasn't his leather.

The second roar seemed to come from a completely different direction, but it sounded clearly different than anything mindless. It was taunting, as if there was laughter hiding at its edges.

"Go," Dean said in a harsh whisper, pushing Sarah and Jo ahead of him towards their chosen passageway as he turned to look fearfully behind them, "_Now_."

He wasn't about to play martyr though; he was hot on their heels. The last thing he wanted was to face this alone. It made him feel like such a coward, that maybe he had been leaning so much on the presence of Sam and Sasha in the past few months he had grown weak. But it wasn't that he was weak, it's just that it was them.

God, it was _them_.

Panic caught in Dean's throat but he swallowed it down, racing after the girls down the passageway who thankfully weren't looking back. Dean noticed as they went along that places in the walls were crumbled away, opening up new passageways that also weren't on the map. Every one of them made him flinch as they ran past, waiting to be ambushed. If they continued straight through they should be able to reach a way out. They still had a chance. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't running for his life from his brother and his lover. That might not be who they were anymore.

Tears stung at Dean's eyes again. He had recognized the roar as Sasha's, reminding him more of when he had first heard it facing the Seven Deadly Sins. He tried to channel all his raging emotions into adrenaline, but there was only so much he could take. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest.

"Light!" Jo called after several minutes, first in line as they ran.

Dean couldn't see around the girls to be sure if that was true but he trusted Jo wasn't imagining things. Besides, it was possible. They should be coming up on the way out.

"No!" Dean heard soon after though, feeling an immediate burn in his chest.

He nearly ran into Sarah's back then because both girls had stopped. Dean soon saw why. They had found the opening but it was that too small hole to freedom that they had been able to see on the outside of the hill as well. If this exit had been bigger once, the various cave-ins had long since sealed it off over the years. Jo was clutching at the stone, trying to see if she could move any of it, but it wasn't loose debris. They couldn't get out this way.

Another roar that sounded cruelly touched by laughter sought after them, as close as before. Dean recognized now why that sound chilled him more than anything ever had—it wasn't only Sasha's voice. It was Sam's too. God damn it. They only had one direction they could go.

Seeing no other option, Dean pulled the Colt from his jacket. He held out his left arm as he began to move back the way they had come, keeping the girls guarded behind him whether they felt patronized by the machismo act or not. It wasn't that he didn't think they could defend themselves, it was that none of them could, and Dean couldn't help wanting to protect what remained of his family even if he doubted he could fire.

Another roar sounded as they moved slowly down the passageway. Dean clung to a small stray moment of hope, realizing that the growly echoes of laughter sounded further away this time. It was too risky to go all the way to the smaller cavern and take a different path. Dean moved instead for one of the newly formed openings. They had to lead somewhere, maybe they even connected back to one of the main passageways. It was their best chance right now.

The worst was in knowing that their hardhat lights gave them away, but without them they wouldn't be able to see where they were going. Feeling along the wall but keeping his eyes forward, Dean finally felt the rock give away on his left into one of the crumbled openings. He looked back at the girls and gestured his head at it, wanting to remain quiet. Looking tense and edgy, both of them nodded.

It was a difficult squeeze into the opening but the passage itself wasn't as narrow as Dean had feared. It seemed darker though and Dean felt the slow decline that told him they were heading deeper into the earth. Just as he was starting to think this hadn't been the best idea the passage opened up into the largest cavern they had yet come to. It was half a basketball court, maybe larger, and there was only one continuing passageway out of it. Dean took the chance to look at the map again since they hadn't heard another roar in several minutes.

"Shit," he cursed quietly, keeping his voice a whisper. He looked up at Jo and Sarah who were close beside him and shook his head. "Not on the map. We'll just have to hope we're heading a way that leads us out somewhere." That wasn't the most comforting thought, he knew, but both girls looked to him again with complete trust, allowing him to lead.

Dean knew from Jo it was genuine—she simply trusted that Dean was more experienced—but with Sarah he got the feeling that part of her compliance was more to appease him than anything, because she understood that taking control was one of the ways Dean _stayed_ in control. He was thankful for that, something Sam always understood too.

Dean's throat clenched.

_Sammy…_

"Come on," Dean said, shoving the map back in his pocket. He had put the Colt inside his jacket again while he looked at the map, but he was ready at a moment's notice to reach for it again as he moved for the passageway across the cavern. It was another wider corridor that seemed to curve off almost immediately; Dean couldn't really see inside even after his light was shining right on it.

Suddenly, there was a faint sound like crumbling rock somewhere behind them. Dean whipped around, seeing that Jo and Sarah were also looking back the way they had come. They stood frozen, listening, not daring to breathe. When no more sound came, Dean took a deep breath.

"Keep moving," he whispered. He turned back around but he hadn't taken more than a step before a low growl began to build from within the passageway before them.

With a great crunch a clawed hand smashed suddenly into the cave wall, the only thing visible coming around the curve that Dean knew had been there. Horrifying slow, the rest of the figure appeared as if it was climbing out of the rock itself, out of the very fissures of the earth like a hellbeast.

Dean trembled so hard his teeth chattered. It was Sasha. And God, he was magnificently terrible.

The incubus could barely fit his way out of the passageway into the cavern he was so large. He didn't look the way he should, not the way Dean knew. His coloring was the same, his hair longer and wild as always, but his red eyes glowed with a dreadful light. His horns were larger, sharper, Dean could tell. His fangs were not merely on his eyeteeth but the ones next to them seemed slightly pointed too, and the same pattern repeated on his lower teeth. Though more subtle than the length of his original fangs, these new additions made him that much more fearsome for his potential bite. His claws were larger and sharper too. He was taller, by another inch or two maybe, because of his now frighteningly monstrous raptor feet.

But most impressive were his wings. They were massive. At first pinched by the tight space, when Sasha stepped out into the cavern his wings shot out from his back with such force that Dean felt literally pushed.

Then Sasha's tongue was darting out over his lips and he grinned wide to show off his fierce new fangs. His gaze held an awful intensity that Dean could barely stomach to look at. "Dean…" Sasha said like a low rumble, saturating his words with a devious hunger, "Poor Dean. Should have run faster."

_Shit_.

Dean had both Sarah and Jo still guarded behind him. He didn't even take the time to blink as he turned and pushed them towards the way they had come from. "Go!" he screamed, but even as they broke into a fresh run their way out proved to be just as blocked.

That sound before of tumbling rocks hadn't been nothing. Sam stepped out of the other passageway with leisure steps. There were no other ways out of the cavern now; they were trapped.

Neither Sam nor Sasha was wearing their hardhat—not that Sasha would have been able to fit it over his large horns—but it didn't seem that either of them needed the extra light. Sam's eyes shone with power just like Sasha's, mottled yellow and menacing. Something else about him was different though, just not as visible as Sasha's more impressive appearance. The power emanating from Sam made him appear somehow larger, god-like and glowing.

"You even had a map," Sam scoffed, leaning frustratingly casual against the rock wall just inside the cavern, "And this is the best you could do?" He was grinning, dimples galore, like he did only when he was completely content. "Though I suppose we did have a bit of an advantage," he said, breaking into an easy laugh.

His laughter seemed so offhandedly cruel for how carefree it was. It was even worse when Sasha joined him, who in his even more monstrous form sounded halfway to a growl. The combination was exactly what they had been hearing in those warning roars. It brought Dean back so quickly to his old dreams that he felt rooted to the spot. All he could do was reach out for the girls and pull them in close against him, forming a tight huddle. Sasha and Sam were on either side of them, only yards away. Dean could feel the weight of the Colt in his jacket but he couldn't reach for it.

The wide smile on his brother's face was Sam at his most pleased, like he had been the other night, juiced on demonic energy and finally allowing himself to live. But with his eyes yellow like that and the way something curled at his lips, Sam just looked vicious. He threw his gaze past Dean and the others to Sasha on the other side, "Looking good, Sash," he called, appraising the incubus' new form as if he hadn't really been able to appreciate it yet, "How do you feel?"

The incubus' smile was so similar, just as menacing with fangs as Sam was without them. "How do I feel?" he repeated, flexing claws that for the first time in so long made Dean feel afraid, "Like nothing can touch me. Like I want to stretch my wings…and really let loose. Ya know?" He laughed again.

This time Sam echoed him and it made Dean shiver, having to grip the girls' arms that much tighter to keep from shaking visibly. He felt Jo clutch his wrist as he slowly tried to back them up towards one of the other walls so they could keep Sasha and Sam in their sights at the same time. It didn't help Dean's nerves though to see the two of them parallel.

Sasha cocked his head at Dean. "What's wrong?" he said in that new more resonating growl of a voice, "Don't you want to fly with me anymore, Dean?" It was such an obvious taunt with that same cruel laugh to follow it. Again Sam echoed him.

Then they were both moving to close in, taking the cue from Dean having backed himself and the girls up as far as they could against the cavern wall. Their combined hardhat lights lit up most of the cavern, spotlighting the glorious gargoyle that was Sasha and Sam, the yellow-eyed demi-god. Sasha had more than enough room for his wingspan. In fact the cavern was high enough that if the incubus wanted he could probably take to flight, though he wouldn't have many places to go.

It was then that Dean noticed Sasha was still wearing what remained of his jeans. He had been a little distracted before by the other details but now Dean noticed them. There was no T-shirt or jacket though, no destroyed shoes, meaning Sasha must have torn the offending items away. It also meant that Sasha wasn't holding any glamours and not just because he didn't want to but because he couldn't. Somewhere in the caves was yet another ruined leather jacket.

Even though Sam and Sasha were moving, leaving behind their guarding of the passages out, there was no way Dean and the girls could get past them. The two demonized versions of their friends came together, bookending the group from just a few feet away. Then they stopped. Sasha stretched back and extended his wings to their full breadth with a fresh roar at the ceiling while Sam lifted his head and closed his eyes, arms outstretched, as if they were both drinking in the new sensations running through their bodies and whatever it was that had become of them.

"It's…intoxicating," Sam said, his smile twitching with a sick kind of pleasure. His eyes opened again, shimmering. He looked to each of them, focusing finally on Dean as he laughed again like someone had told the most marvelous joke. "I don't think you've been this afraid in your entire life, Dean. You're practically…shaking." Sam said that as if he knew, and he probably did, that Dean had been thinking that very thing, trying so hard to get a hold of himself and _think_. "You're even more afraid right now than the girls. Pathetic," Sam laughed again.

Without having to say a word to each other, Sam and Sasha's eyes focused on the three huddled hunters and they began to move further forward.

Dean tugged the girls closer to him, feeling rock at his back as he pressed himself away from Sam and Sasha's advance. He had the girls around the waist now, an instinctual act whether they needed to be protected or not—the comfort was his as well. He could feel both their heartbeats vibrating against his own ribs, though Sarah's was admittedly steadier.

It was as if right when Dean thought that Sam took that much more notice of Sarah. He was closest to her while Sasha was closest to Jo. Sasha slammed his claws into the wall by Jo's head and loomed over them, making Jo tense and choke on a scream though her face showed only hatred and the resolve not to let any of this get to her.

Sam stepped up close as well, eyes on Sarah as he said, "Actually…you don't seem all that afraid. Jo, of course, it's understandable," he added with a crooked smile and tilt of his head to the blonde, "I did torture you once." Again came that awful laughter.

Sasha just smiled with his fangs, hovering over Jo and Dean as he blocked that side and Sam blocked the other.

"You know," Sam went on, returning his attention to Sarah, who as much as Dean was clinging to her, she wasn't really clinging back, "It's ironic. This is exactly the reason I didn't want to come see you. I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want you to think I was…a monster." His grin twitched as he said that.

All Dean could think about was keeping his breathing steady, his pulse stable, and his nerves sharp. There had to be some way around this that didn't involve going for the Colt. "Sammy…" he said, more like a breath than he intended, which may have been why Sarah didn't hear him.

"I don't think you're a monster, Sam," she said, her dark eyes unwavering as they returned Sam's piercing yellow stare.

"Hn," Sam regarded her closely, towering as Sasha was and leaning in so that his breath moved the strands of her hair that had fallen from being tied back. As he looked at her for one moment his smile faltered and his brow furrowed with confusion. "You're not even lying…"

A growl was building in Sasha again. Dean didn't know who he should be worried about more, but his eye was drawn to Sasha then and the incubus looked to him with rapt attention. Sasha's tongue darted out at his lips. "Sam…" the incubus said like a request even though he was looking at Dean.

"Not now," Dean heard Sam say.

The incubus growled impatiently, almost like a feral whine. "But you promised I could—" Sasha cut off with such a cowed expression that Dean had to turn back to Sam to see why.

Sam was looking at Sasha so fiercely that for a moment Dean would swear he saw sparks of electricity in his brother's eyes. "_Later_," Sam said warningly, a clear order. Then he smiled again, wide and ominous. He turned back to look Sarah up and down a moment, looked over at Jo with a tilt of his head, and then chuckled lightly as his eyes fell on Dean. "Well what is everyone waiting for? We really should be finding our way out of here."

Then Sasha was moving, his wings tucking in around him so he could lean back against the wall next to Jo, grinning sideways down the line of hunters. He and Sam both laughed, probably, Dean imagined, because all of them were gaping. Dean felt so stupid and useless for not saying anything but in the grand scheme of worst nightmares coming true this pretty much took the cake. Sam talking like they were all part of the same team still was not usually part of the script, however.

"What?" Sam said, a little mockingly. He was more in front of Dean than bookending the other side of Sarah anymore and he kept his gaze mostly focused on Dean as well. "Did you think I was going to sick him on you like a dog…to tear you to shreds? I'm sure he could." There was a sharp growl from Sasha as if to confirm that and then the incubus chuckled. "But really," Sam said, pulling back and regarding them all once again, "It's in all of our best interest to find a way out of here, isn't it?"

Part of Dean thought this must just be part of whatever plan Sam and Sasha had come up with and that whether or not they found a way out of these caves it wouldn't guarantee that Dean and the girls wouldn't be harmed. Dean's instincts told him not to trust Sam like this and Sasha was having way too much fun being imposing. If this wasn't temporary than Dean might have to find some way—God, he could barely stand to entertain such a thought without feeling his insides ache— to make sure that Sam and Sasha never got out of the mine.

Sam's hand slammed into the wall just above Dean's head as hard as Sasha's had struck the wall by Jo, forgetting the girls and looming over Dean only. "That wasn't a very nice thought you just had," Sam said darkly, a hot whisper against Dean's face.

There was no doubt Sam was right; Dean had never felt fear like this. He wasn't sure if it was just because this was Sam and Sasha he was dealing with or because Sam was planting fear inside his head—full and paralyzing.

"He was thinking," Sam went on, clearly to Sasha though his eyes remained on Dean, "That if we find a way out of here he may have to think of something to make sure the two of us don't get out with the rest of them." Sam's smile twitched, taunting and false as it stretched wider. With his hand propped over Dean's head, Sam leaned in even closer, his face brushing past Dean's so he could whisper, "Now, Dean…why would you want to do that?"

The fear wasn't _from_ Sam, it just _was_ Sam. Dean couldn't allow himself to be bested by it. He turned his head to Sam's ear that was so close to him and whispered back, "Because, Sam…if I don't stop you…it might be us that never gets out of here." The tears that had been stinging at Dean's eyes dried up as he said that and he felt some part of him go numb.

Sam turned into Dean, pulling back only enough so that they were sharing breath and all Dean could see was mottled yellow glowing. Then Sam was chuckling low and steady, a sound that rose and grew, becoming full-out laughter as Sam pulled fully back. It was infectious the way one's laughter always led to another's; Sasha joined in, stepping away as Sam had and releasing his wings once again. Sam backed up and stood centered before them while Sasha moved to stand just aside of him and slightly behind. A large black claw rose up and curled talons over Sam's right shoulder. Wings shot out behind Sasha and for a moment it looked as if the great mass of black skin belonged to both of them.

Words came like a gentle whisper into Dean's mind. _Don't be afraid. Trust me. Listen to me._ But it wasn't a full order like Dean knew Sam could give him. It was pressured suggestion that made him waver, made him wonder, and he knew that was dangerous enough.

A renewed smile stretched onto Sam's face, his dimples prominent and sweet like Dean had known their entire lives. "Don't you know, Dean, where the line is drawn between a man and a demon?" Sam said, "It's really just a matter of perspective. We're not…possessed. We're just us. I still want the same things. And you should know what the most important thing to me is right now."

Dean wasn't sure how to respond to that.

When no reply came, Sam's smile faltered again like he was disappointed. "I would never let Malak take you, Dean. How could you think I would hurt you? I want you here. _We_ want you here with us. Why would that change? I'd never hurt you, Dean…without a reason," his smile twitched, "You're my brother."

Dean was not oblivious to the important things Sam had mentioned and left out while saying all that. "And what about them?" he questioned, his grip on the girls firm and his gaze as steady on Sam as he could manage.

"Again. Why would I hurt them?" Sam shrugged, "How would hurting my…_friends_ benefit me? Of course I can't say the same for _him_," Sam smirked, looking up over his shoulder at Sasha whose tongue ran eagerly over his top fangs, "Sasha's nature is a little more…instinctual than mine. Be a good boy, will you, and behave yourself," he said like speaking to a naughty child.

In place of the usual growl Sasha made a sound more like his pleasured purrs. He looked at Sam with the same hungry stare he had given Dean. "Is that an order?" the incubus grinned.

Sam's smile went crooked as he chuckled in reply. "You know I could just force you to do what I want. This is simply…more entertaining."

Another purr and Sasha snapped at Sam, close at his neck, though clearly meaning no actual harm. It was disturbingly intimate. "Mmm…get me to call you 'Master', Sammy, and we'll be into a whole new kind of _kink_," his voice rumbled and he joined Sam in a dark laugh.

"Don't flatter yourself so much," Sam said, pushing on Sasha's chest to knock the incubus slightly back and remove that large claw from his shoulder. It was the first act that actually seemed reminiscent of how they really were with each other.

It kind of broke Dean's heart.

"But we really should go," Sam continued, turning back to Dean and the others, "Sasha can guard from behind and I'll lead. You never know what else might be lurking down here," he said a little smugly, "I don't know if any of the old openings other than the main one will still be clear, but if we can't find one we'll have to return to that first cavern. Having Sasha punch our way out would only risk another cave-in. If nothing else then the loose debris will be a better option." He sounded entirely succinct and well, nerdy—like Sam always did.

It broke Dean's heart a little more because this wasn't Sam, not really, and yet it also was. Dean feared this situation more because Sam and Sasha were still themselves at the core, not possessed by autonomous demons. Dean couldn't imagine anything worse than this being who they were now.

"Oh, I don't know. I think you've imagined worse things, Dean." Sam moved so swift then that Dean gave an audible gasp at his brother suddenly being closer, pressed in tight against him like the girls weren't even there. Dean felt a hand snake into his jacket and his stomach flipped.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Dean stammered, hating that his own hands were locked around Sarah and Jo so he couldn't push Sam away.

But despite the horror and nausea that filled Dean's gut, Sam simply pulled back, drawing the Colt out of Dean's jacket at the same time. He smirked and flicked his eyes over Dean as if he knew the one secret Dean never wanted revealed—and damn everything because Dean was pretty certain now that Sam did. "I better hang onto this," Sam said, "Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt." He promptly tucked the Colt into his own jacket and turned his gaze to Sarah. "I understand you all want to keep a close eye on us. Really, I do, I understand. Why don't you stay up by me, Sarah? I'm sure you can handle the responsibility," he said, holding out a hand to her in offering.

Part of Dean wanted to hang onto Sarah tighter and keep her from accepting that hand but their options were limited. She didn't hesitate either or show any sign of fear as she pulled immediately away from Dean and gripped Sam's hand with hers. "Of course," she said. It almost seemed hypnotic and yet Dean knew Sarah was under her own will. Sam could force them all to do anything he wanted but he seemed to prefer getting them to agree willingly, with Sasha too.

And now Sam had the Colt. Dean hadn't been able to lift a damn finger. He had barely moved since first backing the girls away from Sam and Sasha and now they were letting Sam lead them?

Sam pulled Sarah towards the passageway that lead back to the ones on the map. He glanced back at Dean and Jo, smiling as if his eyes weren't yellow and he wasn't so ridiculously dangerous.

"Hurry up," Sam called, "We don't know how long it's going to take us to check all of the old exits. Don't worry so much, Dean. Sasha will…protect you." His lips curled slightly as he said that and then he was leading Sarah by the hand again.

Dean hated having so few choices. Right now he only had one—to go along with it.

He looked to Sasha and saw that the incubus was pulling in close again. Sarah was gone but Jo was still at Dean's side, still clutching his wrist around her waist. Dean steeled himself as best he could.

"Always did look impressive, baby," Dean said, forcing his voice not to shake as he looked at Sasha, monstrous in a way Dean knew the incubus would hate if he was in his right mind, "You'd be something else flying like that. We better get a move on and get you outside. Some of these passageways can't be too easy for you to fit into."

The smile on Sasha's face brightened to hear Dean speak so normally to him, or at least Dean liked to think that was the reason. "Thanks for the concern," Sasha said, "But don't worry. I've squeezed into tighter places before. You know that." Sasha's claws flexed as he looked at Dean like they wanted to reach out and grab him.

Dean swallowed. "Sam told you to behave," Dean said lamely, "Better listen to him. He's a little out of sorts right now so…I don't know if he can be entirely trusted. Might turn on you." Dean didn't try to hide how he really meant for Sasha to take that. He pulled Jo along with him and moved to hurry after Sam and Sarah, not wanting them to get too far ahead. He felt something in the stone beneath their feet tremble as Sasha stomped after them.

"I wouldn't hurt you, Dean. Not you," Sasha said from behind them, "Well. Not just for the sake of hurting you. Of course…things happen sometimes. I think we both know how much you like it…_rough_ on occasion. Still have bruises from the other night, don't you?"

The side of Dean's jacket was getting crumpled mercilessly in Jo's hands as she clutched at it. Dean couldn't look at her while Sasha said those things. He was never embarrassed or ashamed of what he and Sasha were and what they did, but something about the way Sasha was saying it made Dean feel sick. "Shut up," Dean ground out beneath his breath.

Sasha was too supped up not to have near perfect hearing. "There's never a time I don't want you, Dean. And following Sam…I get everything I want," the incubus said as they approached the tunnel.

Quickly, Dean ducked inside of it, pushing Jo in front of him since it was too small for them to continue side by side. Dean got an idea. Sasha wouldn't be very mobile in the passageway. He waited until the incubus had folded his wings down and was climbing in after them. "Now you need Sam's permission to get me?" Dean asked, keeping his voice hushed and praying that Sam was too focused on Sarah to mentally overhear, "I thought we usually left him out of the equation." Dean knew his voice was a weak interpretation of his usual bravado and sarcasm but he hoped it was enough.

"Sam would never keep me away from you," Sasha said shortly.

"But you let him order you around," Dean pressed on, "If he wanted to, just like he said, he could _make_ you do what he wanted. He's just patronizing you letting you think you're in control. But why listen to him at all?" Dean stopped, saw Jo look curiously back at him and simply urged her onward with his eyes. He looked back at Sasha then, who filled the entire opening of the passageway with his larger form. "I've never seen you look so powerful," Dean said, knowing Sasha wouldn't be able to sense anything but sincerity in those words, "Half of me's pretty freaked, I'll admit. Those claws are mighty dangerous looking. New fangs too. But the other half of me, well, baby, you know me. I'm just a glutton for punishment sometimes," Dean grinned. He was playing with fire, a mistake he tried not to make when Sasha was sane, but he had to try something.

Unfortunately, today it wasn't worth the risk because suddenly Sasha was upon him, looming, grabbing for him and moving much faster than Dean had anticipated for inside the corridor.

A too strong taloned hand grabbed Dean by the forearm. He almost dropped right to his knees the grip was so tight.

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" Sasha growled at him, red eyes close now and vibrant, "Get the best of us by setting us against each other, making me think I have to choose you over Sam? Come on, Dean, is that really the best you can do? How do you think you'd get out of here then? You need us. Besides, you just don't get it yet. But you will. Sam'll show you."

Dean gasped when Sasha finally released his arm; it would be purple and blue tomorrow if he was lucky enough to see the new day dawn. Then he was flinching away because Sasha was reaching for him again and Dean knew he wasn't fast enough to avoid those talons. He tried to back up and nearly fell over, but Sasha caught him, a large claw beneath his back. The other claw rose up to Dean's face as if to caress him. Dean trembled. Even gentle those sharper claws would still break skin.

The surprise came when Sasha didn't actually touch him but merely ghosted over his cheek. "It's like an addiction…like _you_…the way Sam can make me feel. I'd follow him anywhere. I'd do anything he asked of me without it being an order. It's worth it for the prize, you see. He favors me because we're friends. He loves you most though, you know that. We just want to share the world with you, Dean. Sam can give it to us."

"Stop. Don't say that," Dean snapped, struggling to get away from Sasha and finding it surprisingly easy because the incubus didn't try to stop him. "Don't say that," he said again, stumbling backwards further up the passageway. Jo had come back for him, he knew it only because he felt her hand grip his arm right where Sasha had bruised him. He didn't flinch or push her away though, he held onto that pain, focused on it. "Come on," Dean said to her, turning around and pushing Jo on ahead again. He had to be angry, not afraid; he couldn't afford to be afraid anymore.

Sasha growled behind them but Dean didn't look back. Sasha could bruise him all he wanted. Hell, he could do worse. Dean believed it now that Sam and Sasha had no intentions of hurting any of them in any real way but it didn't make him feel better. He would not listen to Sasha talk about the very things he had feared at the beginning of all this. That Sasha would fall so willingly under Sam's sway without any powers involved, it was bewildering, but then again maybe it wasn't. The False Prophet was charismatic and made beautiful promises. Sam might even be able to keep his and that only made things worse.

They finally made it back into the passageway on the map, the one that led to that too small whole that would be too risky for Sasha to pound open larger. They were all squished but Dean could see everyone.

"We should split up," Sam suggested, looking them all over, "There's three other possible ways out of here. The…presence of this place makes it so I can navigate a little better, but I can't tell if the ways are open. We should check them first. We can meet back at the main cavern if we don't find anything."

"But…" Jo started in a kind of choke since she hadn't said anything in some time, "What if…we do find something? How do we contact each other?"

That joined growl-tinged laughter sounded from Sam and Sasha yet again. "I'll know," Sam promised, "I'll have Sasha bring you if Sarah and I find something first."

"You can just…do that?" Jo said a little disbelievingly. She had her arms crossed over her chest protectively though she tried to make her stance seem more defensive than fearful.

Sam grinned out of the side of his mouth, walked past Sarah closer to Jo, and said, "Yeah. I can just…do that. Among other things. Don't you remember? I told you all about it. Unless you want more of a…" Sam lifted a hand, looked at it a moment, and then shot it palm out towards Jo, "A demonstration?"

"Hey!" Dean moved in quickly, though nothing had actually happened to Jo, just a flinch and frightened look. Dean grabbed her shoulders and glared with his newfound strength in anger and indignancy at Sam. "You'll know or you'll send for us. Got ya. Let's get back to the next cavern so we can take the other passageways. We all…want to get out of here."

With a solid gaze, Sam nodded, lowered his arm and laughed a little at Jo's fearful expression. Then he turned and was moving to lead them again. Sarah cast a steady, sure look at Jo and Dean to tell them she was doing fine before she followed.

Dean pushed Jo ahead of him again as he did the same. "There's no point arguing," he said quiet but harsh at Jo's back as they made their way through, "We probably couldn't get out of here without their help anyway. So deal with it." It didn't matter if they spoke freely or kept certain things to themselves; Sam would figure out any plan before they could ever carry it out.

"Then just what the hell are we supposed to do?" Jo whispered just as harshly back, not turning around but pausing in her steps to be sure Dean heard her.

"We'll deal with it when we're out of here," Dean replied. So far it was the best he could come up with—to wait things out.

Sam took Sarah with him down one of the passageways and instructed Dean and the others to go down another one. There would still be one left after that besides the one that led back to the main cavern. Dean would have worried that Sam was keeping Sarah with him but he held onto one small, hopeful feeling that it was because he wanted to keep her safe and close, knowing that he didn't have to worry about Dean or Sasha, and that they could watch out for Jo. Maybe that was too human a thought process for this version of Sam but Dean held onto that thought anyway.

Jo would probably hate to hear him think like that, that she needed to be protected, but it wasn't anything against her capabilities. It was just a guy thing. An older brother thing.

A Dean thing.

Thankfully, their passageway wasn't quite as long as Dean had first feared—the mine hadn't been active for very long before it was blown up. There was rubble at their feet a lot of the way but the path seemed clear until they reached a sudden end. No more exit that way either.

Turing around to head back Dean saw Sasha's eyes give a sudden flash as he looked at them and said, "Sam and Sarah found the same thing and our headed back to the cavern. We'll have to go down the last one and check there," sounding almost as if Sam was controlling his speech for a moment instead of just, well, Dean could only assume they were somehow communicating mentally. It was a little unnerving.

Dean expected Sasha to lead the way back but instead the incubus waited for them to move past him. Dean tried to keep Jo in front of him but as they moved quickly through the sometimes narrow and sometimes wider tunnel Jo eventually fell a step behind. When Dean glanced back he saw Sasha come up right behind her, looking the kind of hungry he only did when he was frenzied.

Instinct. Right. Even if Sasha didn't need sex right now the incubus was still thinking about it. That made him more dangerous than Sam.

A visible shiver ran through Jo's body as she sensed Sasha behind her. Her steps faltered and she nearly stumbled. Like Sasha had caught Dean before, the incubus reached out and stopped Jo from falling. It was obvious he was trying to keep his claws from hurting her and was mostly successful since he hadn't grabbed any bare skin, so at least that was something. But he kept his claws clutching her arms, leaned forward and breathed in along her neckline.

"I can still remember how you taste…" the incubus whispered.

Jo's eyes shot open, not embarrassed just afraid—terror-stricken. She looked out pleadingly at Dean for help, unable to move.

"Hey," Dean immediately called, moving back towards them, "Leave her alone."

The figure of Sasha was all-consuming, his wings trying to find space, his head often ducked down, his white and black body filling up every inch behind Jo as he pulled her against him. "Oh, how you do like being the white knight. Don't spoil my fun now, Dean. I don't mean any harm. And you don't have to be jealous either. I was thinking we could…share her. Yes," he almost hissed, chuckling a little, "I think she'd like that." His breath and fangs skimmed along her ear and his tongue darted out to lap lightly at her neck, making Jo quiver and stare at Dean in increased panic.

"I don't share," Dean said firmly, eyes unwavering as they looked into Sasha's. This couldn't be a matter of strength. Only wills. "I'm not sharing you with anyone," Dean said to Sasha, not trying to move any closer just standing his ground where he was, "Don't think power means you can do who and what you want and still keep me. I don't work that way. I'll have Sam turn you into a god damn puppet and you'll never touch me again," he swore, "Now let her go." There was no hesitation in the threat, no gap of feeling, Dean couldn't risk it.

Sasha's eyes shimmered, his lips and fangs hovering over Jo's skin. There was the most awful pause and terrible silence. Then suddenly Sasha was shoving Jo into Dean's arms and standing up straight again.

"Good," Dean said after he had caught and steadied Jo, remaining resolute. He held her for a moment, looked her in the eyes to make sure she was okay, and although she was trembling she nodded to say she was. If he could take more time he would have but there wasn't time to spare. He gently guided Jo in front of him so they could continue on.

In a flash Dean was eating stone.

Pain blossomed in Dean's jaw that had smacked into the rock and sudden helplessness filled his limbs. He could feel Sasha's hot breath on the back of his neck, the claws pinning his wrists, the large well-muscled body that held him in place with barely any effort at all. Jo screamed Dean's name and it echoed down the corridor.

"You don't get to deny me," Sasha growled darkly, "You're mine. I can have you whenever I want. Jo…anyone else…would just be a bonus. I want _you_, and you belong to me," he snapped at Dean's neck and Dean flinched closer to the rock.

Dean's breaths came harshly; he could feel himself on the verge of hyperventilating. This position, the way Sasha was pressing into him, the knowledge that he couldn't get away by his own power, it all brought him instantly back to Indiana. But Dean couldn't think like that. He couldn't let what had happened that night ever become associated with Sasha.

"If you only want me…" Sasha said, "Then you can have. Only. Me."

Like a sudden wave, terror became awash in a strange haze, a powerful sensation that made Dean's skin tingle and his awareness go numb. _Pheromones_. Dean tried to fight them, tried to keep his head clear, but Sasha was saturating him with them. By the time Sasha turned him around and pressed insistently forward, Dean was entirely compliant.

Distantly, Dean thought he heard Jo screaming for him. But why would Jo be here? Dean was with Sasha.

He looked up and found that glorious red that always made him tremble with pleasure, the starkness of Sasha as an incubus that was just so beautiful. Sasha's face seemed completely lit up as his lips and fangs demanded, "Say you love me, Dean."

"I love you," Dean said without thought, wanting Sasha to stop talking, to just lean down already and kiss him. Dean pressed his hands to Sasha's marble chest—truly like marble with the perfect cracks of the scar—and tried to lean up on his tiptoes to move things along. Sasha seemed so much taller for some reason.

"Do you want me, Dean?" Sasha pressed on, his powerful claws holding Dean in place by the shoulders so Dean could only reach up in vain, unable to really move.

It was so frustrating. "I always want you," Dean insisted. Why was Sasha holding him back?

Then without warning Sasha was no longer holding Dean but pushing him, throwing him aside towards the sound of Jo's screams. Dean struck the rocky floor and his mind cleared enough to remember where he was and what was happening. He groaned into the jagged rock beneath him.

"Good," Sasha growled mockingly from above him, "Then feel how I feel for awhile."

Dean coughed for a few moments, his body feeling too hot, his head hazy and throbbing. But worse was the ache inside of him that begged to be filled. The ache, the need for Sasha stung him, amplified so much more than how he craved the incubus normally. Normally Dean could at least think about other things, forget Sasha for a few moments, and content himself with knowing that he would be with Sasha again soon. Now the feeling was inconsolable, like some dark version of the pheromones that didn't make him lustful for Sasha but merely hollow without him.

Jo was by Dean's side, trying to help him up, to make sure he was alright. He had to reassure her. The fear had to be stronger for her than for any of them as the odd one out. It didn't mean she wasn't cared for, it didn't even mean she wasn't safe, but he knew that was how she felt.

"I'm fine," Dean lied, pushing himself up from the ground and allowing Jo some small accomplishment in helping him up. For a moment he feared he would puke all over her—the passageway was spinning. He could already feel the hangover he would have from this tomorrow. Then he was steady, at least steady enough, and he pushed Jo ahead of him again down the corridor. "It's okay. Let's get back."

Fearful brown eyes looked at him, reading him and knowing he wasn't being wholly truthful, but Jo allowed Dean his secrecy in this and simply went on ahead. Dean glanced back only for a moment to find Sasha standing tall and smug behind him. He wasn't beautiful. Not like that.

How much Dean wanted him made him sick.

They arrived back at the cavern to find Sam and Sarah waiting for them. Dean was relieved to see Sarah was fine and he could easily read the same relief on her face as well. Sam gave Dean a swift, calculating once over. Dean wasn't exactly sure what that look was supposed to mean.

"Take the girls into the main cavern," Sam said to Sasha, "Dean and I can check the last passageway."

"What?" Dean said before he realized he was offering dissent. He didn't want Sasha where he couldn't keep an eye on him. He also recognized that part of him didn't want to lose sight of Sasha for fear of that ache growing worse.

Sam walked to Dean and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the last passageway without ceremony. "It's not that far," Sam said, not really responding, "We won't be long." Then Sam was dragging Dean along with him and there was no time for arguing.

Eventually, Dean had a hold of himself enough to think to wrench his arm out of Sam's grip. "Ya mind?" he shot at his brother. The truth was that Sasha had cut up Dean's wrists when he held him against the wall.

There was a mild huff from Sam but otherwise the taller—hunter? Demon? Dean didn't know what to call him now—continued down the passage in search of their last possible opening. It unnerved Dean that Sam walked on ahead of him into the dark, not having nor needing any light to see by. Of course the light from Dean's hat shown lightly upon Sam and filtered a little in front of him.

"How exactly do you plan to dig us out the way we came if we don't find a path out this way?" Dean asked after a moment, hating silence on principle but especially with a yellow-eyed Sam.

"I have an idea," Sam said simply.

"An idea? And were you planning on sharing this idea with the rest of the—" Dean flinched as Sam came to an abrupt stop and whipped around.

"You know you're pretty ungrateful," Sam snapped, "I could have let Sasha go further in that other passageway. I didn't. Keep in mind, my abilities are what's going to save your life, Dean, and yet you keep turning up your nose at them. Why? Because they make me _this_?"

Dean's eyes widened to learn that Sam had been aware of Sasha's stunt, but then really he should have known that of course Sam was aware of everything.

Reacting like this though, indignant and frustrated, was very human. Dean didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. He studied his brother, looking at the way Sam seemed to glow. Sure, there were the yellow eyes, but unlike Sasha, Sam was otherwise just Sam in appearance. It was what remained beneath the surface that scared Dean.

"Because I don't believe I can trust you," Dean admitted, "Can you really blame me for that? You and Sasha being all buddy-buddy in all your demonic glory. Yeah, that's comforting, so sorry I missed that. Come on, Sammy. This is the part you didn't want either, remember? You say you want the same things as you always have. Right. But do you really?"

Sam's eyes were so unreadable without a normal, human iris, so Dean focused on the way Sam's lips weren't at all smiling and his eyebrows were tightly knit. "Maybe I want _this_," Sam said, "Maybe a part of me has always wanted this, I was just too afraid to admit it to you. Is that what you're really afraid of, Dean? Do you think Sasha's going to kill them," he gestured back the way they had come, "Do you think I'm going to kill you?"

"No…" Dean said softly, realizing that truth at the same time he was saying it, "I know you won't. He won't. But the other things I can imagine that you might do to become this, to keep this," he said with a grimace at the figure before him, "That's worse."

Instead of scowling or yelling or acting out as Sasha had, Sam surprised Dean again by rediscovering that wicked wide smile. His eyes sparkled, his brow smooth. "I'll show you, Dean. I'll show you," was all he said before he turned and began moving up the corridor again.

A torrent of emotions rumbled through Dean on their way to yet another closed exit and back again. It seemed that being away from Sasha actually lessened the effect the pheromones had on him, so at least that part was the same as normal. The thought of what Sam meant though, of what Sam could possibly show Dean that would change his mind, made him feel much more hollow and helpless.

The girls were fine, sitting together in the main cavern as far from the body of Iain's mother as they could, going through the two duffle bags—they had the one Sam had left behind as well now. The remnants of Sasha's shirt, shoes, and leather jacket also became visible. If they got out of here and things didn't completely go to Hell, Dean would take Sasha shopping for a new one, no matter how sappy or girly that was.

"So, Mr. Demon Lord," Dean said mockingly to Sam. As time moved on he felt more and more like himself, futile as everything seemed right now. "This idea you have for getting us out of here? Please tell me it doesn't just involve you and Sasha using your super-strength to dig us out with your hands."

Sasha chuckled, his eyes piercing as they looked at Dean.

Sam chuckled too. He shrugged, moving to the closed-off exit that led to the main entrance. The only difference here compared to the other blocked passageways was that the debris was still loose.

"Just the two of us, even with our strength, would take too long," Sam answered, just as Dean had been thinking, "But…that doesn't mean it's not doable with a little extra help."

"No offense, Sam," Sarah said, walking over to him, "But I don't think the other three of us will be of much help to you."

That dimpled grin stretched wider as Sam tilted his head at Sarah. "Have a little more faith in me than that," he said, "I wasn't talking about extra help from in _here_."

Sam moved directly up to the gathering of crumbled rock. Sasha moved to stand beside him, watching curiously. Dean stepped closer too, in the middle of the room between Jo and Sarah with a clear view of Sam.

As Sam began to lift his hands palms outstretched facing the way out, Dean feared for a moment that his brother meant to use TK. That would be just as risky as punching their way out with how likely this place was to give way to another cave-in. But nothing visible began to move in front of Sam even after he had closed his eyes.

Dean strained to listen for something, tried to feel out with whatever sense of otherworldly things he might have. Of course Dean didn't have any otherworldly senses, he just had really good regular ones and instincts. To him it just looked like Sam was standing there meditating.

After what felt like several minutes, Sasha suddenly roared and stepped back like he was afraid or at least cautious of something on the other side of the rocks. Sarah immediately stepped back as well. Jo moved up next to Dean so that soon the three of them were in a single tight line. Sasha stayed close to Sam but behind him now, growling increasingly louder as time ticked on.

Another handful of minutes passed and finally Dean's normal senses started to pick up on something. It was sound, definitely sound, but also a certain kind of reverberation. He feared another cave-in for a moment—maybe Sam had been using his TK after all just from the outside in—but the sounds, they weren't merely moving rock.

Sasha wasn't the only growling creature Dean could hear. It was low at first but it grew, joined by howls and grunts and shrieks like a god damn wraith. It was a wraith, maybe more than one, a sound Dean had heard on several old hunts, but it was so many other things too. There were growls that were just like Sasha's and others that were more feral, some less, some that sounded like animals and others that were definitely more human. The sounds grew until it felt like they were all around them. Even though Dean knew it could only be coming from the other side of the rock wall, the cacophony of demonic noises seemed to reach out to them from the very rock itself.

Dean saw both girls flinch when the first of the rocks they could see started to move, falling away from the other side. The noise was almost deafening now. Sasha was hunkered low behind Sam, fangs bared and eyes flashing, claws out to attack and wings spread like he was ready at a single order from Sam to launch himself at whatever was coming to get them.

Dear god, Dean realized with a sick twist in his stomach. Sam had summoned a horde of demonic creatures to dig them out. How could he control so many…?

Sasha roared again as more rocks fell and suddenly there was not light but an emanating kind of darkness, an opening to what lay beyond. Dean saw eyes first, glowing various colors from the other side. It was such an insane mass that he couldn't make out any substantial figures. This time it wasn't him pulling in the girls but them grabbing for him—Sarah for his hand and Jo at his elbow.

When the last of the rubble blocking their escape was tossed away, the creatures that had been their salvation remaining just out of sight within the darkness beyond, Sam lowered his hands. The sounds of growls and howls and whispered words Dean couldn't make out dulled to a soft din as if they were all waiting for something. Orders, probably. Sasha was still on guard but Sam glanced over his shoulder, wholly confident.

He said, "Guard from the back" to the incubus and then stepped forward into the passageway.

It was implied that Dean and the others were to follow. Sasha turned back to the three hunters, waiting for them to move past him. It was only because Dean couldn't stand the thought of Sam being out amongst those things alone, even if he was in control of them, that Dean found the strength to start walking. Sarah and Jo each grabbed a duffle and stayed close to Dean as they went. Dean thought of Iain's mother's body being left behind. He couldn't do anything about it now, but later, if there was even the slightest chance, he would come back for it.

It was both a saving grace and a cause of more anxiety that the creatures backed away in Sam's wake so that even as the group moved into the corridor that had been reopened for them Dean could not identify anything but continuing noises. The loudest were the ones from Sasha just behind them, like he couldn't help growling in what seemed a territorial warning.

Dean noticed when they passed by the first fork they had come to when they entered; the way back out of the mine seemed to take so much longer than the way in. It had been hours since they first left Iain's house. It was after six o'clock, Dean noticed, checking his watch for the first time. So he wasn't surprised that when they exited the mouth of the cave finally they entered darkness just as thick and unrelenting as what they had come from. There were no visible stars though, just eyes and solid, visible figures that filled Dean with horrific awe.

There were hundreds, thousands of beings waiting for them outside the mine. Dean had expected there would be many but not like this. Even if he didn't know for certain that it was past dusk, the throng of varied bodies and figures would have been enough to block out the sun.

Sarah and Jo were gripping him so hard now that it hurt. Whatever calm Sarah had been able to find in the presence of yellow-eyed Sam and monstrous Sasha, she fell prey to her fear now in the face of so many unknown things. Half of the creatures Dean couldn't even name.

He saw a few gargoyle-looking shadows and prayed that none of them were any of the sex vampires they knew. He saw black dogs and wraiths just like he had suspected. He could probably see at least one of every demonic thing they had ever faced down. That meant that most of what he saw appeared human. Luminous blue eyes off to the right had to be werewolves. There were some that looked so normally human that they couldn't be anything but shapeshifters.

And then there were the ordinary demons. There were so many of them. Most were in people, making their eyes that awful full-on black, but some were just hovering smoke without a host. Dean felt sick with fear. Literally sick. He wondered if it was the combined presence of so many evil things that made him want to throw up or just that it was his brother—his _brother_—who had called all of these things to them.

"Sammy…" Dean called quietly. They were out of the mine now but Sam was continuing ahead, walking through the tunnel of demons that opened passage for him as he went. "Okay, Sammy," Dean tried a little stronger, moving quickly to catch up to Sam while still allowing the girls to cling to him, "We're out. Good job. Now why don't you send these things back to where they came from?"

Sam walked on a few steps more before turning around. Confident as Sam was Dean could see the toll of fatigue in his brother's face, in the yellow eyes that weren't quite as vibrant. "You want me to send them away?" Sam scoffed and even his voice sounded weak, "Why? They're all here, Dean, all the demons we have to find to save you. Can't you see them? Can't you feel them?"

Dean could feel them all right; he struggled to hold down his lunch as the sounds of the collective demonic force around them began to grow louder again.

It was an ominous blanket covering them made up of glowing eyes and deep shadows in the dark. Dean couldn't even see the trees.

"Sam, it doesn't matter. You can't maintain this. It's already making you weaker. You gotta get rid of 'em. If you lose control we'll never be able to fight 'em all off."

"Lose control?" Sam said angrily, haughtily, spreading his arms wide to encompass his demon army, "I have control. And I can do more than just send the demons from the devil's gate to Hell, Dean. I can kill them. I can kill them all for you. Don't you want me to save you?" It was almost a plea but Sam didn't wait for Dean to respond. He raised his hands further into the air, outstretched at the gathered mass.

The yellow eyes had always been localized to the iris, unlike the normal demons and their total black. As Sam began to use his powers more, however, that changed. The mottled yellow expanded, claiming even the whites.

Howls from the human-possessing demons began almost immediately, making it clear where all of them were even far among the ranks. Soon they were screaming, inhuman screeches keening out of their mortal bodies. It was horrible; they had to cover their ears to stand it.

Dean tried to look around, to pay attention to what was happening even amidst that terrible noise. It seemed easier for Sam to dispatch the demons without a host because he clearly saw several clouds of smoke suddenly fitter away into nothing. But those in bodies were more difficult, they fought harder. It was taking so much effort from Sam that the other creatures began to blink awareness.

All of a sudden, Sasha's wings swooped in around them, pulling Dean and the girls back against him like a bird gathering its children. The incubus was trying to protect them. He was growling possessively again, warning against the other beings that might attack. Dean couldn't stand it though; he couldn't see past the thick black of Sasha's wings. He couldn't see Sam.

Since he was free of the girls' hold on him after they had all covered their ears, and trusting that they were safest in Sasha's wings anyway, Dean pushed his way out, moving fast to be sure Sasha didn't try and pull him back.

"Dean!"

"What are you doing!?"

But Dean didn't hear them. He had to get to Sam.

His brother was just a few yards in front of him, no longer standing. Sam had fallen to his knees, his arms still outstretched, as the demons he was destroying howled on and some of the other creatures began to close in. It was far more than Sam could handle. Dean could see the glint of blood seeping from Sam's ears, his nose, God, even his eyes.

"Sam, stop!" Dean called over the roar of the demons, dropping in front of his brother and grabbing Sam by the front of his jacket, "You're killing yourself! Even if you manage to kill most of the demons, the rest of these thing'll tear us apart! You have to send them away."

"But I…" Sam choked on his words, his arms faltered now too, his eyes fully yellow but so dim, "I can…save you, Dean. That's all that…matters. Like this…I can…I can save you."

Another part of Dean's heart broke and he didn't even have time to notice.

He could see the Colt inside Sam's jacket. He felt the werewolf about to rush them more than he saw it, unable to know for sure what it was until after he had grabbed the Colt, turned to fire, and struck the beast in the chest. It spasmed and crumbled to the ground. Dean knew it wouldn't be the last creature to try something.

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean said more firmly, grabbing with his free hand for Sam's shirt and tugging tight, "You _can_ save me. And you're going to save me. I don't care if it's with that clever mind or all these damn powers, if you're yellow eyes or the furthest thing from it. But if you don't stop we're all gonna die. I see what you wanted to show me now," he said, feeling so closed in, hearing cries from the girls, knowing their time was too short, "I know how powerful you are, how powerful you can become. But you can be better than this. You don't need to lose any part of…my little brother Sammy…to be the hero. No one's ever saved me like you do. Please, Sammy, send them away."

Maybe it was proximity, because Dean was so close and the cave so far—they were out of the cave, further from the influence that had made Sasha and Sam act this way to begin with. Maybe it was just because Sam was listening to him for a change even if he was all the demonic parts of Sam and none of the humanity. Whatever it was it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Sam smiled, so thankful, so genuine, lowered his arms and said, "Okay, Dean."

There was an eruption of air and a great chaotic chorus of wings and movement. Some of the creatures seemed to take off on foot or to the air while others merely vanished, all relinquished back to wherever they had come from. Sam had managed to kill several demons in actuality, a few leaving behind bodies that no longer moved. When it was all over there was nothing but the sky above, the trees, and the still sound of silence that had blanketed this part of the woods before.

Dean looked back to make sure Sasha hadn't been banished with the rest, but the incubus was still there, his wings held out like closed doors to keep Sarah and Jo safe. As Dean watched, Sasha saw that the threat was gone now and swooped his wings back. Dean nodded to Sarah and Jo before turning to his brother.

Sam was slumped forward, still on his knees and leaning against Dean's body. His arms hung limp beside him as he gasped for air.

"Sammy?" Dean called gently, "You okay?"

Coughing a little into the crook of Dean's arm, Sam started shivering. He lifted his head as if it weighed a ton, his eyes heavy, the blood drying. He opened his mouth but only a choked sound came out before he cringed and pitched to the side. Dean was gathering Sam into his arms, holding him, before he realized his brothers eyes had flashed back to hazel.

"Sasha!" Sarah's voice called, making Dean's head snap behind him again. The incubus had crumbled much like Sam, his monstrous features rapidly fading away to leave a shaking young man in nothing but a pair of torn jeans.

Sam gave a sharp gasp and when Dean looked down his brother was clutching at his arms and looking up at him with the most pleading, horror-filled eyes. "Dean…?"

There was a pained moan from Sasha that sounded just as pleading. The two groups weren't all that far apart but Dean wished they were closer so he could reach out and touch Sasha like he was touching Sam. The girls were with him though, crouched on either side, holding his chest and head up. Dean shifted so that he could see everyone, wanting to be able to check Sam and Sasha over and be sure both of them were okay.

All he could think was thank god it was temporary.

Once they had more of their bearings, Sam and Sasha turned to each other. They shared a haunted look and Sam said, "That felt…"

"Amazing…" Sasha finished. He looked disgusted with that admittance and Sam's mirrored expression agreed. They both shuddered, still shivering as their bodies returned to equilibrium.

Just when relief had finally started to fill Dean's chest a foreign thought clanged inside his mind and he was overcome with dread.

'_Things are not always what they seem to be, Dean,'_ said Malak's female voice. The male version finished it, _'And sometimes…they are what you see exactly.'_

_tbc..._

A/N:  Grr.  I have been just waiting to get to this part and....I don't know.  Was it okay?  Maybe I set myself up with too high of expectations.  There was so much I wanted to do.  They didn't let me do all of it either.

Rest assured those dark pheromones as I'll call them are still with Dean and will take a toll, he was just a bit distracted towards the end to notice them as much.  Iain will be addressed, his mother's body, and...any other seemingly loose ends?  Oh, Malak.  Well, that's not loose, per se.  He/She will explain and then add more to confuse Dean further.  Malak always has angles but that doesn't mean he planned this specifically.

Anyway, I really need the comments on this one because it had been a long time coming and I'm just not sure.  Also, I'm gunning for 800 reviews.  You'll get to request if it's you!  Okay, gotta post.  Love you all!

Oh, and I got chills when Sam's eyes flashed yellow at the end of last week's eppy.  Who called it, huh?  ;-)

Crim


	59. Part 7: A Little Bit of Truth

I cannot even begin to explain why this chapter is so late, and after you were all so amazing with responses on the last chapter. Really, I couldn't adore you more and then I go and post late. Well, to keep a long story short, I'll just say it involved Halloween, my in-law's anniversary, homemade pizza, the elections, and the car breaking down. BAH! Anyway, love you all and please enjoy!

Part 7: A Little Bit of Truth

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Sam and Sasha made it plain as soon as they were both on their feet and capable of walking that they needed to get away from the mine as soon as possible. There wasn't time for apologies or explanations, which Dean couldn't have been more thankful for right then; they had to get back to Iain's place, get clear of the mine, and tell that poor bastard waiting for them that his mother wouldn't be coming home.

They couldn't just leave the mine as it was though, not with the pull it would still have on regular demons who would continue to possess locals and lead them to their metaphysical demise, and not with the few scattered bodies left behind by Sam mentally killing at least five demons. Dean didn't want to know if the people who really owned those bodies would have survived had Sam exorcized the demons instead. He really didn't.

There was also the body of Iain's mother lying inside that larger cavern. They couldn't leave her. They couldn't just put this place behind them quickly like Dean wanted. They had to do their job. Only Sam and Sasha wouldn't be able to help. Not with the carrying things out part anyway since that meant close proximity with the mine. It was already decided that after getting to Iain's and telling him the bad news, Sam and Sasha would leave for the motel where they would no longer be able to feel the cave's pull, and then Dean would return to salt and burn all of the bodies that had been left behind. The only thing they would have to wait on was sealing the mine. Blowing it up wasn't enough. They had to seal it off for good. That would take research, and research was something Sam and Sasha could still do—from afar.

Dean carried Sam back to town—well, Sam leaned pretty heavily against him as they went anyway—and the girls supported Sasha. Both of the demonically influenced hunters were shivering pretty consistently and looked sheet white, like they had the god damn flu or something. Dean almost wished the girls weren't there so he could carry both of them himself.

The only thing Dean asked his brother as they walked was whether or not they would have to worry about retaliation from any of those demonic creatures he had summoned.

"They won't…remember," Sam said through chattering teeth, "Not even…Lindsey and…C-Cam and the others," he whispered.

That admittance made Dean flinch but he caught how softly Sam had said it and knew that it was something Sasha didn't need to know. Damn, Dean thought, he knew he had recognized some of those wingspans.

When they finally reached Iain's house Dean made an effort to always stay within a few feet of both brother and lover. He wanted to pull Sasha to him, wanted to hold the incubus and banish that haunted look that would surely only get worse as what happened in the cave came back to him and Sam fully. But Dean also wanted to do a number of more inappropriately detailed things to Sasha right now that he assumed was a byproduct of the pheromones. Unlike the last time he had been poisoned by them, the pheromones seemed to be getting stronger as time went on and were definitely more vicious in their potency.

Iain's reaction to learning about his mother's death was surprisingly calm. All Dean said was that she had been possessed and there was nothing they could do. He couldn't tell Iain the rest. Besides, he didn't know what had become of the woman's soul when the Hellfire burnt it from her body. He didn't know if that meant it was gone forever, in Hell, stuck on earth or what. He would rather Iain didn't have to agonize over the many horrible possibilities.

Even learning of her death though, Iain didn't lose it. He didn't break down crying, though Dean certainly saw tears. The man just tensed most everywhere on his body, tightened his fists so hard they went white, and said, "I'm coming with you," when Dean mentioned having to go back to burn the bodies. Iain didn't even argue with the burning part. It was heartbreakingly steadfast and in some ways so honorable that Dean couldn't bring himself to refuse the guy.

Jo offered to take Sam and Sasha back to the hotel and promised to call if anything happened. They would begin researching on how to close off the cave right away. It was only after six o'clock; they had plenty of time yet tonight to find out what they needed.

Sarah volunteered to accompany Dean and Iain, and Dean was pleased to have an extra hunter coming along even though he worried about leaving Sam and Sasha with only Jo as watchman. He didn't even get the chance to say anything substantial to them before they were all parting ways. He just patted Sam on the back and reached for a moment to grip Sasha's hand. He hoped his eyes said everything they didn't have time for in words.

It worried Dean briefly that when Jo started leading Sam and Sasha to Sarah's car he flared with jealousy at seeing her take Sasha's arm. Dean had a sudden impulse to push Jo away from Sasha or even yell. _That_ wasn't normal. It was probably a good thing he would be away from Sasha for awhile.

They switched out the duffle bags of caving supplies for salt, lighter fluid, and matches, and headed back to the mine. Iain was dressed the same as he had been before, all comfortable earth tones beneath an equally earthy dark brown jacket. He shivered hard, however, against the quickly dropping temperature. It was below freezing, maybe even single digits which was abnormal for this late in the season in Colorado, like maybe it had saved itself just for them on this exact night. At the rate the cosmos usually screwed Dean over, he wouldn't be surprised if that was true. But his luck shouldn't have to encompass others.

If Iain had been a chick Dean would have thrown his jacket over the guy's shoulders as soon as they left, even if it wasn't his warmer, heavy leather one. Double standard or not though he couldn't bring himself to do that for the nice, watery-eyed librarian who was coming along to help build a pyre for his mother. Soon there would be a blaze to warm the guy and that was just too cruel.

Nothing had been disturbed when they got back to the mine but once they left they would have to be more watchful of townsfolk wandering into the woods. The mine's power was disrupting Sam's ability to sense regular demons so it would be hard to know when someone became possessed.

They set to work right away gathering the bodies around the opening to the caves, something Dean had had to do after many hunts; he was used to it. Two years of hunting didn't mean Sarah was used to it though and Iain was a civilian. After catching the distraught look that passed Iain's face when he first laid eyes on the bodies Dean almost wished he was alone. Sarah appeared more collected but that just meant she was better at hiding the truth.

"The caves…killed all these people?" Iain asked, helping Dean toss in the last of the bodies that looked unfairly like a fifteen-year-old. They hadn't had to bring shovels since there were several natural ditches for their purposes.

Dean wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, more to buy himself an extra second to think than to rid himself of any sweat or dirt. He finally said, "Yeah. But we're gonna make sure this never happens again." Dean looked to the mouth of the mine where Sarah was waiting with the hardhats and extra flashlights after she had helped with the other bodies. "Only one left to get," Dean said somberly, looking back at Iain with steady eyes despite the sympathy in them, "We can bring her out here ourselves. You don't have to go in."

The left side of Iain's mouth twitched up into a sad half-smile. "Yeah I do," he said, and promptly moved past Dean towards Sarah so they could finish the last of their tasks. Dean supposed he would be the same way—_had been_ the same way—but then death was an everyday part of his life. He wished that was something that remained a personal curse instead of it being spread to others like a sickness whenever he entered their lives.

The way back inside the cave was slow going. Dean took the lead, Colt in hand, ready should any straggling demons be waiting for them inside. They came upon nothing but Dean would swear he could feel the lingering presence of evil from all those demonic things that had been gathered.

They reached that first larger cavern and Gloria Wilde's body was still there, frozen and lifeless on the stone floor right where Dean had left her the first time. At least her body wasn't in any way mangled but perfectly in tact save the small hole in her chest where the Colt had met its mark. Sarah asked if Iain needed a minute but he said he just wanted to get his mother out of there.

Iain didn't ask for a separate fire. He set his mother's already stiffening body into the pit with the others, let Dean pour the salt and Sarah the lighter fluid, and then lit the match and fire himself. Dean didn't have many more pieces of his heart to give up tonight but he was pretty sure a small bit of it burnt away in that fire for Iain's sake, for Iain's mother, and for the others left unnamed.

This time they gave Iain his minute. Hell, they gave him ten, his form emblazoned by the fire as he stood over it. Dean hung back with Sarah, both of them silent for some time. When she finally turned to him, her face no longer tried to appear impassive or strong.

"Dean…" she began in a voice that sounded faint over the crackling of the fire. Her eyes looked the color of the flames with how they shone in the light. "There was something Sam said to me when we were alone. I wanted you to know."

Dean had been wondering about the time Sarah spent alone with demon Sam. She had obviously been waiting to tell him. "What is it?" he asked.

"He said…that he didn't care what happened to him, what he became or what he did, as long as he could save you. He said that you're his strength, Dean, the real source of any power he might have. It made him angry to see you so afraid of him and Sasha. That's why he—"

"Acted like such a dick?" Dean huffed.

Sarah cracked a smile, thought about that and said, "Yeah actually. He wants to give you the world because you try so hard to give it to him. That's what he said to me. Do you know what he meant by that?"

The last thing Dean wanted to think about was all the possibilities behind that phrase. Sasha had said something similar.

_We just want to share the world with you, Dean. Sam can give it to us._

"I don't even think Sam knows for sure what he meant when he said that," Dean said, "They were both acting on instinct. Kept saying I just didn't understand. I'm kinda glad I don't to tell you the truth."

For a few minutes Sarah didn't respond, just stood there watching him, not too penetrating or uncomfortable but Dean could feel her eyes on his face. "Do you really think Sam is some…evil thing wearing a pleasant disguise?" she finally asked in a tone that said she already knew his answer.

"No," Dean said without having to think. Even in the cave he hadn't believed Sam was really evil. "No matter what he does, how he looks, or what messed up things happen…he's still Sammy." Even if thinking like that was what finally undid them all.

Sarah smiled in agreement and nodded. "That's why I wasn't afraid. Well, I was afraid," she admitted with a small laugh, "But I could see that it was still Sam. Even behind those yellow eyes."

Something caught in Dean's throat to hear her say that. He had thought the same thing, only that's what had made his panic all the greater. "So," he said, wanting to change the subject, "He say anything else to you?" Dean kept switching his gaze from Iain and the fire to Sarah beside him. He focused more intently on her for a moment and almost thought he saw a blush fill her cheeks, exaggerated by the glow of the flames.

"He said that even though he would put you before himself until he saved you…that didn't mean he doesn't want things for himself." Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then found a particularly interesting spot on the ground. "I don't think subtlety was either of their fortes while we were in there. But at least it gave me a straight answer finally. Otherwise Sam just looks away and gives that bashful, boyish smile of us. Urg. It can be pretty frustrating for a girl who knows what she wants."

Dean had to laugh at that but he kept his chuckle light. "Good. About the still thinking about himself part," Dean clarified when Sarah raised an eyebrow at him, "That's good. Wouldn't want Sammy to miss out on any…" he let his eyes flick quickly over her body to prove he could still act like himself. He _could_. "Awesome opportunities," Dean finished.

To her credit, Sarah smirked right back at him, but their mirthful expressions faded fairly fast. Dean literally felt the merriment melt from his face like globs of mud from that night he and Sam had wrestled in the rain.

He looked again to Iain who had suffered more than any of them over this damn cave. The guy would be safe, at least from possession since they had given him the same charm Dean once gave to Leven. But he would never be okay. All of the assembled hunters, at the cave and at the hotel, knew that.

Too much time passed for Dean's liking before it was finally safe to leave the cave—for now at least; they would have to return soon to seal it. As they headed for the house again Dean noticed Iain fingering a small ring that he assumed was Iain's mother's wedding band.

Some people sought the supernatural. Others became hunted by it. Iain had ended up being both and neither option ever really ended well.

Iain was shivering again. They were almost back to the house but Dean couldn't care about the details right now. He slipped his jacket off and fit it over Iain's shoulders. A smile flashed in reply that was almost wholly genuine. "Thanks. I think I'm…gonna go stay with some friends in Denver for a few days," Iain said. His voice sounded hoarse like maybe he had swallowed a few embers standing over the fire. "I don't want to…be in the house. But if you guys wanna ditch your hotel you're more than welcome to stay there. I know you did everything you could. Your friends looked pretty wrecked."

They hadn't explained to Iain _why_ Sam and Sasha looked so wrecked. "Thanks but…being so close to the cave wouldn't be a good idea. We'll figure out how to stop all this though, I promise you that," and Dean could make that promise because there was no way they were leaving town until things had been taken care of.

Dean accepted his jacket back when the time came but he closed Iain's hand over the anti-possession charm telling him to keep it; he'd get it back from him some day. Then before Dean knew it he and Sarah were in the Impala headed back to the motel where the real struggles of this hunt were waiting for them.

-----

The others were all in Dean and Sasha's room when they got back. It was Dean and Sasha's room now because Sam had gotten himself another room for the night. Dean wasn't really surprised. Kid probably wanted to brood in peace. Wonderful. At least for now they were all still together, Sasha on his laptop and Jo on Sam's while Sam paged through their father's journal with all the books they had about the mine and the town scattered around him on the bed.

"Took care of things as much as we could manage," Dean explained to the others as he and Sarah shed their coats, "Iain…well, he's heading to Denver for a few days. I think he'll be okay. Much as that's possible anyway."

"You guys find anything out yet about how to seal that place?" Sarah asked, surveying the research crew who all looked like they had dived into work to avoid having to speak or look at each other, "I was actually thinking that we might have a little extra time before any other demons get drawn here. Sam," she turned to him on the bed, "You sending all those things away might have cleared the area. That could give us the few days we need to take care of this." It was obvious she was trying to see the bright side.

Sam smiled falsely and nodded. "Maybe. But, uhh…we haven't found much. We might want to just look into Samuel Colt's example with the Devil's Gate even though this hasn't gotten that far yet. Might still work. We've been trying to find out if there's any indication of a pentagram built into the grounds but I don't think the settlers got that far. We might want to start there but we should still try to find a precedent for this, a time something similar happened before. Of course Dad's 12th century reference isn't all that detailed," he said with a grimace, holding the book up a moment.

"I'm running pretty dry," Jo admitted from the table.

Sasha was sitting on the other bed but sort of right on the edge with his laptop on his thighs like he was ready to bolt if he had to. He was definitely the most visibly shaken still, though Dean could see that both Sam and Sasha were wracked with chills. It made him want to turn up the heat or smother them in blankets. "I'm…pretty much the same. A lot of close cases but…not really what we're looking for." Even Sasha's voice had a tremor to it.

Just looking at the incubus and seeing those drooping blue eyes and the way he bit his lip and avoided really looking at Dean made Dean want to rush over there and kiss him fiercely.

That probably wouldn't be the best thing right now, Dean told himself, aware of the pheromones rearing their perverse little heads again. It wasn't just that they were strong and very quick to resurface at the mere presence of Sasha, but something else too. That something else made Dean want to pull viciously on Sarah's hair to get her away from Sasha when she sat down next to him.

That was definitely different than how the pheromones had affected him before.

"Maybe you and Sam should rest?" Sarah was saying to Sasha, looking back over at Sam as well. Dean told himself that she had gone to Sasha because his distress was the most noticeable. That's all. "Neither of you are looking too good. I'm not saying go to sleep but…you should rest. Dean and I can pick up where you two left off and Jo's still looking too. Maybe you guys can take the job of ordering us some food. We should all eat something." Without waiting for a response, Sarah reached over and plucked Sasha's laptop away from him. He didn't protest and even managed to smile when Sarah patted his thigh supportively.

Where did she get off being _supportive_ like that? She didn't even _know_ Sasha. Dean felt his hands form quickly into tight fists. Then he shook his head.

He needed something to keep him busy. Quick.

"Good idea," he said, heading over to Sam, "I'll man the journal and the books, Sammy. Find something for us to eat and take it easy. Both of you," he added, looking at Sasha. He burned with such desire just by meeting that blue gaze finally that he almost tripped over his own feet on the way to the bed. "I-I'm…starving over here," he forced out.

No one was actually saying anything about what had happened only an hour before and Dean was kind of okay with that. Sam and Sasha should both know by now that the blame never falls with the possessed or in this case the demonically influenced. The looks on both their faced said otherwise, however.

Sam was the one who ordered Chinese food since none of them wanted pizza. They would have to pick it up but the place wasn't far. Dean was just glad Sam didn't immediately excuse himself to his room after that. He wanted to keep an eye on everyone. As it was, Sarah moved Sasha's laptop to the table with Jo, Dean tried to concentrate on the books taking up most of the bed, and Sam and Sasha sat on the other bed talking hushed about how they were feeling, which seemed unanimously to be like crap but better as time went on.

It was especially ridiculous how much Dean wanted to pull Sam off of that bed and tell him to find his own incubus, god damn it. I mean, for fuck's sake, it was Sam, the least likely candidate to want Sasha like that. Dean tried to focus back on the books. It wasn't that there wasn't any information in them, there just wasn't anything specific enough. Which did not help Dean's wandering mind.

He should be agonizing over what had happened that night, over potential threats thanks to Sam's super-sized powers, over fallout from the biggest fucking demonic push Sam and Sasha had ever experienced. This could be that one step closer to Sam truly, finally becoming something he wouldn't ever be able to come back from. This could be Malak's grand plan—Dean's nightmares manifest and real. And yet all Dean could think about was how much he wanted to push Sasha down onto the bed and love the incubus. _Hard_.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. Had it always been so hot in this room?

A warm palm on Dean's shoulder had him flinching and whipping his head to the side, unprepared to find Sasha suddenly beside him instead of sitting with Sam. Sam was lying back on the other bed now, eyes open staring up at the ceiling. Sasha, however, was next to Dean. Jesus, he was so fucking close.

The redhead's sad smile flickered, wavered, tried to hold, but finally just fell and settled on something more like a pout. It made Sasha's lips look so damn inviting. Dean swallowed thickly. "Yeah, baby?" he said, his voice low and breathy.

Calling Sasha 'baby' like he always did finally weaved a bit of a real smile onto that somber face. "Are you okay, Dean? No one's really taken injury inventory or anything. We're all kind of dirty," he said with a twitch at his lips, brushing his fingers through Dean's hair like the strands were covered in dust.

All of them had smudges on their skin and clothes so that was possible. Feeling Sasha's fingertips though and breathing shared air made Dean tremble. Sasha was so beautiful.

"Maybe we should take a shower. All of us I mean. In shifts so we know everyone's okay. I think we're still moving mostly on adrenaline, and I know Sam and I should rest, but…" Sasha's lips quivered as he sought for words, "I don't know. I just feel like I'm gonna go crazy with everyone sitting in here not saying anything," he finished in a whisper.

It was obvious Sasha wanted to talk and that concern for everyone else wasn't the real reason. Dean should have been receptive to that, should have wanted to reassure Sasha and make him feel better, but his thoughts were stuck on _'we should take a shower'_ and oh he knew just how to make the incubus feel better. He was going to push Sasha down into the pillows, fuck that pretty mouth with his tongue and show his baby just how much he always wanted him.

Several books thudded to the floor as Dean scrambled away from Sasha off the bed. He was sweating. He was fucking sweating and shaking like he needed a god damn fix.

"I-I'll, uhh…just head out to pick up that Chinese food, huh?" Dean sputtered, trying not to look panicked and like all he wanted was to be _away_ from Sasha right now, "But that's a…_great_ idea…with the getting cleaned up and making sure everyone's okay since we're just…diving back into work and all. I'll…take my turn when I get back." He was already grabbing his coat, his leather this time since it was there and comforting and close.

Dean glanced back at the bed once he reached the door, trying to say with his eyes that he wasn't reacting this way because of Sasha, he really wasn't. Well, he _was_, but not the way Sasha must be thinking. Dean just couldn't trust himself right now not to try and fuck Sasha right there in front of everyone. The incubus hadn't even changed clothes. He was still in those torn jeans and nothing else, looking so damn beaten and in need of…

It probably wasn't a good idea for Dean to finish thinking about what Sasha was in _need_ of.

"Dean—" Sam tried to stop him, aware of his brother's distress and sitting up now with a look of concern.

"Back in a jiff," Dean barreled right on, "You won't even notice I'm gone." He slammed the door behind him and almost fell back against it but he didn't want to risk one of the others coming after him. The pheromones were too strong and not nearly as nice as last time. Proximity to Sasha was like fucking Ecstasy or something.

Moving quickly for the Impala, Dean praised his foresight for having the keys in his jeans and not his other jacket. He knew he'd have to give explanations later but maybe the pheromones would be worn off a little more by then. Besides, there were way too many issues and necessary conversations hanging in the air. Dean needed a moment alone. He hadn't had time to really process any of this yet. For fuck's sake, Sam had summoned a demon army back there and now they were back to business as usual?

Dean spent a solid minute just sitting in the driver's seat of his car, hands on the wheel, waiting for his pulse to return to normal. He actually calmed down pretty fast, leaving him feeling like a complete and utter idiot. Just being with or without Sasha should not affect him this much. Well it always affected him but not to the point of being a crazed lunatic about it.

At least Dean had a task. Food. Getting food was something he could handle.

He pulled out onto the road but he hadn't been driving for more than a couple of minutes before he glanced to the passenger side and suddenly jumped half a foot out of his seat. "Fuck!" Dean cursed, gripping the wheel tighter and immediately turning to pull off to the side of the road, "Get the fuck out of my car!" he growled.

Malak just tapped her fingers against the bare skin of her knee, legs crossed, posture comfortable, no seatbelt. If Dean thought slamming on the breaks would give her whiplash or send her flying out the windshield he would have sped up first. Instead he just slammed on them at the slow speed he was going and stopped the car. He hated that satisfied smirk, the fake blue eyes and red hair like Sasha's.

"You have hearing problems in Hell?" Dean snapped, too angry to care about who he was back-talking to; he had every right to hate this demon, "I said get the fuck _out_. I know you fucking planned this, you sick twisted bastard."

"Oh?" Malak said as if this was the first she had even heard that something was going on, "You mean that little side trip to the dark side your boys made? Well that was fun and all, Dean, but hardly as far as I could have pushed things, believe me. That was just the barest taste of what's to come. Silly boy. Do you really think I would have anything to do with parlor tricks like that? No, no, no. I'm afraid you're still missing the punch line on this one."

Ha. Right. Did Malak think Dean was an idiot? Of course she had been the one to orchestrate it, all the way back to that night when the bitch first told him things weren't always what they seem. Right after…

The barn.

A cold chill grabbed Dean by the skull and shot down his spine. Right after the energy high.

"Fuck," Dean said, feeling like the biggest fool, "It wasn't you. Someone else planned all of it. All those demons channeling their energy for Sam and Sasha to get it…that's why I was lured out of the barn. The energy high left some kind of…demon mark on them that led them here. But why the show in the mine? What does that do? Who set this up? _Why_?" Dean turned back to Malak, so angry at himself for not seeing what was right in front of his face. But there was nothing in front of his face; the bitch had vanished. "Urrg!" Dean roared at the ceiling, slamming his hands forward into the steering wheel. He was really starting to hate that whole disappearing, reappearing act.

He also wasn't much better off with knowing what was going on. Sure, he knew that the energy shit hadn't been a coincidence and that someone, something wanted them here, but he still had no idea who it was or why. There was also always the possibility that Malak was just leading him along. Great. He felt so much better now.

Pulling back onto the road Dean continued for the Chinese place. The best he could hope for right now was that they would figure out how to seal the mine before anything else happened. Maybe this mystery menace, if one actually existed, would show themselves. Maybe not. Worrying would only distract them from doing their job. Or maybe they would end up doing the very thing the anonymous bastard wanted. Maybe they already had.

Damn, Dean needed a drink.

-----

Fifteen minutes later Dean was back at the motel, new information safely stored away until he could figure out how to deal with it, with several bags of hot Chinese food in his arms. He doubted the pheromones affect would be any less potent than before once he got within range of Sasha again but he couldn't just sit out in the car all night. He simply had to hold himself together until morning. Easy.

"Grubs on!" he called, juggling the bags as he walked into the room. Jo and Sarah pushed the laptops aside to make space but Dean immediately felt all eyes on him, not the food. "What?" he shrugged at the others.

The girls exchanged gauging looks but didn't say anything. Sam had on a very prominent version of the bitch-face. Sasha just looked crestfallen.

Crap. "Hey, I just…" Dean tried to explain, hating that his fight or flight response had obviously led him down the wrong direction, "Before, it's no big deal, I'm just having a little…" Dean coughed to clear his throat, "Pheromone trouble," he admitted in a soft rush.

"What?" Sasha got up from the bed immediately. He was still only clad in those jeans. It didn't look like any of them had followed that 'get cleaned up' idea. "In the cave?" Sasha said with shame smeared across his face. Then his shoulders slumped. "I poisoned you and…you didn't even say anything?"

"No, you just freaked out and left so we didn't even know what the Hell was going on," Sam grumbled in addition.

Really, Dean never got tired of the two of them ganging up on him. Of course this time it was actually justified. "Look…so the pheromones are a little…stronger than last time. It was stupid for me to ditch. I just didn't think any of you would appreciate it if I started humping Sasha's leg in the middle of the room." Dean caught a curious look from Sarah while the others scowled. "I don't suppose anyone explained the finer points of being an incubus to you?"

Sarah's eyes widened like she had been caught being too curious. "Uhh…yeah, I got the basics," she said, "You do realize, Dean, that if Sasha pumped you full of pheromones in the cave that they were probably heightened and a little more…demonically inclined than usual," she tried to say blandly, "It probably wasn't the best idea to just dismiss that and not tell us."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean said, immediately on the defensive since he was basically being ganged up on—again, "I figured we had enough to deal with right now without wasting time on an overactive libido. I'm fine. Just forget it." Dean tried to move across the room back to the bed covered in books but Sasha blocked his way. When Dean attempted to sidestep him the incubus grabbed for his wrist and squeezed.

"Dean—"

"Ah!" Dean hissed, wrenching his arm away. This awarded him even more startled and worried looks. He still had his leather on and tried to keep his injured wrists from being too visible, but Sasha had been alerted now and he snatched up Dean's hand, pushing the sleeves up none too gently to get a look at what had made Dean call out.

Dean hadn't thought at all about the cuts on his wrists since leaving the caves. There were more important things to take care of like burning bodies, Iain, researching to seal the mine, the fact that Sam and Sasha were both in pretty bad shape still, and how all Dean wanted to do was fuck his incubus against the nearest hard surface and keep all other hands away from him. Cut up wrists were significantly lower on the rung of importance.

The others, however, chose to see it as Dean's usual carelessness and absent-minded attention. In this case that wasn't exactly wrong.

"Dean, _Jesus_," Sasha said, hissing in sympathy much as Dean had hissed in pain, "Why do you think I wanted everyone to take a break and get cleaned up? I knew you wouldn't say anything if you were hurt." Sasha grabbed Dean's other hand to push back those sleeves too, seeing the same decoration of cuts all up Dean's wrists. Sasha's lips quivered as he said, "I did this…" under his breath.

"No," Dean shot back with an angry tongue, hating that look of anguish more fervently than ever before with the way the pheromones surged through him. He tugged out of Sasha's grip and then grabbed Sasha's hands instead. "Psycho Sadist Sasha did this. That's not you. And it was an accident either way. They're not even that bad."

"Right," came a huff. As was often the case, Sam's appearance was preceded by yet another distasteful, disbelieving sigh. "We were in an abandoned mine, Dean," he scolded his brother, coming up next to Dean and Sasha like an immovable wall, "And then you went back to the woods and into the mine again without treating them. Those cuts could be infected. Don't you ever think?"

Fury rose quickly in Dean like an outside force, making his face grow hot and probably steaming mad _red_. "Well excuse me, I guess I was busy thinking that at least my real brother isn't like that asshole from the mine. Oh _wait_," Dean snapped with sarcasm.

Sam's eyes flashed with sudden answering anger just as potent as if they had turned yellow.

Then Sasha was pushing in between the brothers with a hand on either of their chests. "Guys, stop it," he pleaded, "We're all on edge, okay, but—"

"Don't touch him!" Dean all but growled, grabbing Sasha's arm and yanking the redhead closer to get him away from Sam, "You belong to _me_," he said with an unfamiliar viciousness.

For a minute all Dean could see was red as he glared at Sam, until he realized that Sam and Sasha were both gaping at him. Sense returned to Dean slowly but when it did he released Sasha as if the incubus had burned him.

"Shit," he cursed and took a stumbling step backwards, "See? This is why I wanted to get out of the room. I don't just _want_ Sasha. I want no one else to have him. Or even be near him. It's…possessive on crack." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face again and shivered; he hated being cruelly dominant like that. It wasn't him. It wasn't.

"You mean…kind of like how Sasha was being with _you_ in the mine?" filtered over Jo's voice from where she still sat at the table.

That assessment made Dean pause and he looked over at Jo with wide eyes. Why hadn't he thought of it like that?

_Say you love me, Dean._

_Do you want me, Dean?_

_Good._

_Then feel how I feel for awhile._

"The pheromones were altered just like I was, Dean," Sasha said with that same anguish lacing his words, "Normal ones make you want me because I want you. But I didn't just want you when I was like that. I wanted you all to myself so you'd…" Sasha choked on his words and grimaced, "Learn your lesson."

Dean shivered involuntarily. Yeah, that sounded about right for Mr. Ultra-Dominant Sasha. "I don't suppose these'll be gone in the usual 24 hours? Coz—and I'm being completely honest here—if this lasts much longer you're gonna have to lock me up."

"They'll burn out faster than before," Sam said dismissively, though there were still traces of the bitch-face and narrowed hazel eyes, "I'm guessing they're only still working because you're human, but eventually since we're out of the cave they should flush out of your system. Probably by morning."

Comforting as that knowledge was Dean couldn't help but frown at Sam in reply. "Did I miss you becoming the pheromone expert?" he asked shortly. Sam's eyes were sort of shimmering and like Sasha the taller man still carried a bit of a tremble in his body.

"I just…_know_," Sam said without further explanation. He moved swiftly for the empty bed after that, shaky and angry and something else Dean couldn't quite place.

"Oh. You just know. Anything else you just _know_ since what happened in the mine?" Dean pressed.

Sam paused before lowering himself onto the bed, stuck between the two of them facing away from everyone. His head turned down to the bed with the books like he had changed his mind. "Well what I _don't_ know is how to seal up that damn mine. So I'd rather be working on that than resting. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to anyway."

It wasn't an answer. Not really. But Sam sat himself amongst the books and reached for the one with the oldest publication date, ignoring any further glances thrown his direction.

For a moment even the pheromones were forgotten and every sense in Dean told him to drag his brother into the nearest empty room and keep him there until he actually got some honest answers for a change. But then Sasha's hand was on Dean's shoulder and he was pulled irresistibly back into the throng of wanting Sasha so damn badly.

"Let me take care of your wrists, Dean. My fault or not, my claws still did the damage. Please." Blue eyes batted long lashes at Dean, all puppy-eyed perfection so that Dean couldn't possibly resist. He loved when Sasha said 'please' like that.

"Maybe it's not the best idea for us to be alone," Dean managed with what remained of his common sense as Sasha led him off to the bathroom.

The med kit was lying on the floor next to Sasha's open bag like he had taken it out earlier on the likely chance that Dean had hidden injuries. The incubus really knew him too well. Sasha scooped the med kit off the floor, touched Dean's arm gently and said, "It'll probably be better if we're alone than with everyone else. Less possibility of unwarranted jealousy. Besides, if you try anything I think I can take you," he grinned, and it was almost entirely believable.

Dean allowed himself to be pulled into the bathroom, forgetting Sam and his brooding, secretive ways, and how Sarah and Jo were sort of being left out as the outsiders to their tight-knit trio.

The door clicked closed behind Sasha and Dean and Dean had to fight to keep from 'trying something' right off the bat with how pathetically beaten Sasha looked in those ruined jeans, all smudged and dirty looking like he needed to be taken care of.

Those weren't the reasons Sasha had pulled Dean into the bathroom though, Dean knew that. He was the one who needed taking care of and for once he actually welcomed the tender hands seeking to comfort him that he usually hated and saw as unnecessary coddling. He didn't need to be coddled. Ever.

Sasha slipped the leather jacket off of Dean's shoulders so that it fell to the bathroom floor with a muffled thud. The incubus had set the med kit on the sink and quickly began to roll up Dean's shirt sleeves so he could get to the cuts. Dean was wearing layers. Sasha could have removed him of his overshirt and avoided having to deal with sleeves at all. Dean assumed that was for both their benefits as stripping Dean down wouldn't exactly help the situation right now.

While Sasha rolled up his sleeves all Dean could do was stare at that pale chest before him, the long graceful neck, those full, wonderful lips, vivid blue eyes and god, how he loved that too red hair.

This part of the pheromones was familiar. Wanting Sasha. Wanting Sasha so badly he could taste it.

"Dean," Sasha said in an amused but chiding voice, his smile quirked and his eyes drifting down as he gently held Dean's wrists to assess the damage, "You look like you want to eat me. _Whole_. I guess I should…be happy you still want me at all." A flash of sadness crossed Sasha's face and then he was turning away to wet a washcloth in the sink.

Frowning, Dean gripped Sasha's forearm with tight insistence, loosening the washcloth out of the redhead's fingers. "Hey. This is me talking. _Dean_, pheromones be damned. I will always want you. Some crazy Sunnydale Hellmouth crap making you and Sammy go off your rockers and, okay, turn scary as fuck. That's not gonna get rid a me. I was kinda hoping you knew that by now."

A sigh fell from Sasha's lips and Dean saw the incubus' shoulder slump again. "I do know that," Sasha said, eyes drifting inevitably to those damn cuts on Dean's wrists, "But I hate knowing there's some part of me that would hurt you and not care. That there's a part of me that would force you instead of waiting like you deserve."

"You _did_ wait, remember? The real you, the _whole_ you waited four fucking months for me to finally put out on Bobby's guest room floor. Now that's patience, lemme tell ya."

"Dean," Sasha laughed.

"I'm serious. Mostly." Now Dean was grinning too because he had gotten Sasha to laugh for real. One hand held firm on Sasha's arm and the other reached up and brushed through that impossibly soft red hair. "You take one part of anyone and make that all they are, it's gonna be a bad thing. Even if it's a good part, coz then you just got a righteous asshole," he smirked, "Okay, so you were all instinct and drive and…a few other intensely not so nice things for awhile. The _whole_ you is what I love. All your parts working awesomely together. And, baby, you will always be everything…everything I want." Dean's hand slid from Sasha's hair to his face, his thumb brushing lightly at the corner of Sasha's mouth. He moved it closer and pushed at Sasha's lips to part them, already leaning in to replace his thumb with something better.

Sasha gasped sharply and pulled back. "Dean."

"What?' Dean grinned, "I can't kiss you?" They were so wonderfully close and Sasha smelled fucking incredible even covered in dirt and dust from the woods and caves.

"You know I'd never want to push you away, Dean," Sasha said even as he was pushing on Dean's chest to get the other hunter out of his breathing space, "But you're not in your right mind and I'm…feeling…I don't even know what from what happened to us and…it just all seems like a bad idea right now. Okay? Can I just patch you up?"

Again that foreign fury burned hot in Dean's chest for a moment and he wanted to sneer, yell, knock Sasha's hands away, grab the back of his neck and ask what the fuck was wrong with the incubus for not wanting him when Sasha fucking _belonged_ to him.

Just as suddenly Dean felt sick for even entertaining those thoughts. Sasha's hands were both braced on Dean's chest to keep him from getting too close but those eyes spoke only of regret and heartache. Dean loved Sasha. He didn't own him. He really hated this new kind of pheromone if it made him think like that.

"Y-Yeah," he said a little shakily, trying to keep himself together and just let Sasha clean and bandage his wrists, "Sorry, baby. Maybe…maybe we shouldn't stay in the same room tonight. I don't think I'd trust myself even if you slept in the other bed." Dean offered that with as much distaste for the idea clear in his words as he could manage so that Sasha wouldn't think he actually wanted to be away from him.

Sasha had recovered the wet cloth. It was warm as he gently ran it over Dean's cuts to clean them. None of them were very deep although a few looked red and angry after going untreated out in the elements for so long. "That's probably a good idea," Sasha nodded with a tight mouth, obviously not a big fan of that really but understanding the need, "Sam got that other room. You should stay with him. He really shouldn't be alone, Dean. I know he wants to be but…that's the reason he shouldn't. He's…he's handling this worse than me, believe me." Sasha's eyes remained downcast and on his work as if he thought his words were a kind of betrayal.

That immediately set off bells for Dean because it meant there was more to say and that whatever Sasha wanted to tell him was probably something Sam had said in confidence. The subject of Sam also helped Dean's focus. "What's up?" he pressed Sasha, staring at that pretty face even if Sasha kept his eyes down, "You and Sammy were just talking about how you felt physically before, right? Did he say something else to you after I left?"

"More like…at the same time as the other things," Sasha admitted quietly.

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

Air pushed out of Sasha's mouth in another deep sigh. He set the washcloth aside and picked up some antiseptic cream. Dean probably could have done all of this himself but it was easier, and a hell of a lot nicer, to have it done for him. "When we were…talking on the bed…it was just a sort of…cover. Sam was _thinking_ to me other things. Things he didn't want you to hear. But he didn't want us to leave the room either because he figured you'd just follow."

That was a fair enough assumption even though Dean had already been a little crazed by the pheromones by then. But wait. "_Thinking_ to you? Like telepathy? When did he go from I can sorta read your minds to I can talk to you in your head? I thought that was just a Cave-Sam thing." Dean almost snorted at the term 'Cave-Sam' but was able to focus on the matter at hand and refrain.

"I thought that too," Sasha said, fingers smoothing the cool cream along each of Dean's cuts. He had to stop at a few that had crusted over with dried blood and then started to bleed again at being messed with. "He asked me not to tell you some of it, Dean. I'm not sure if I should. What I can tell you is that he's freaked even if he won't show it, even if he's trying to just act angry. He's scared. For me the cave just triggered instinct, some deeper part of the demon side of being an incubus that's gone back to normal now. But whatever the cave triggered for Sam…the power…all that…_power_…" he trailed for a moment and Dean would swear he saw a tremor run all the way up Sasha's body, "It's still with him. He's afraid…afraid he'll turn into that other version of him again even without the cave's influence. He doesn't want you to know because he doesn't want you to try and stop him from continuing the mission to save you. I…I didn't know what to say to him. I can't lie to him, I wouldn't want to. I said I believed he would make the right decision, that I still believe in him, I always will. But he needs you, Dean, and I don't know if he'll go to you himself."

Sam might be the mentally powerful one with his demonic sensors and psychic abilities. But Sasha would always be the most empathic. He felt what they felt, mourned when they mourned, and right then it looked as though he was knee deep in the same fear Sam was feeling outside the bathroom door. Sasha had waded in it with him.

That almost made Dean jealous, just barely, that there were some things Sam and Sasha would always understand about each other that he just couldn't get.

One of the things Dean loved most about Sasha was how much the incubus honestly cared about the people in his life. He so desperately wanted to make sure Dean was okay, that Sam would be okay, and that it would all somehow work out. Dean wanted that too.

"He can lock me out of the damn room if he wants," Dean said firmly, "I'll talk to him. Hasn't been just me and Sammy in a room in…shit, baby, since you joined us, I think. I hate when he picks up my less admirable habits like this, trying to keep shit to himself without letting me in on it. He's just gonna get someone hurt."

Sasha huffed. "Funny how you recognize that character flaw and yet continue to do it yourself," he said. There were a few cuts that just did not want to stop bleeding, but Sasha had cleaned and disinfected them all so that wrapping them up should do the trick. He pulled gauze out of the med kit and set to work.

"So, you smooth things over with Jo before me and Sarah got back or were the three of you that awkwardly silent the whole time?" Dean asked, mostly to avoid responding to Sasha's comment.

Once again, the incubus' expression fell. "I…I tried. But you know how she is. It's not like I could say, oh sorry for offering to violate you right there in the cave and then pass you off to Dean like a frickin' piece of pie. Lemme embarrass you with intimate details and comments a little more, why don't I? _God_," he groaned, "I sorta wanted her to punch me or something. Actually, when I started talking to her about it she said that if I ever tried to apologize for what happened in the cave again she'd knock my teeth out."

"Ha! That's our Miss Harvelle alright," Dean laughed, "You know she means it too. She don't need an apology for something you didn't do. What about Sarah? I mean, I know you didn't do anything to her, but…well, I hope you didn't since Sammy and I did leave you all alone for awhile."

"No," Sasha jumped right in, "I didn't do anything. I…pretty much behaved. Sam made it very clear that I wasn't to go near Sarah. And it wasn't that I was…afraid of him just…in awed respect? I believed he could give me anything…" Sasha trailed, shivering again like he was trying to shake off a bad dream.

Dean was fine with leaving things be but he hadn't gotten to his real question. "I meant Sammy," he went on, "Did Sammy talk with Sarah at all after I ditched?"

One wrist was finished so Sasha moved quickly onto the other one. He shook his head as he worked. "No. Not privately anyway and I know he didn't say anything to her in front of me and Jo. The awkward vibe was definitely worse with Sarah there and you gone, like maybe she was hoping Sam would say something to her, anything that wasn't about sealing up the mine, but he…didn't."

"Damn. Definitely gotta talk to him."

"Right away," Sasha agreed, 'This could go from bad to…well it already hit worse, so…I think fubared is the only place to go from here."

"Fucked up beyond all recognition?" Dean smirked. He loved that term but he definitely didn't feel like experience it right now. "Yeah, we need some damage control. Am I good?" he asked. Dean's other wrist wasn't as bad as the first so Sasha was already finished. The incubus nodded and pulled away so Dean could lift both wrists and look at them. He frowned. "I look like a fucking suicide victim." The frown deepened. "Is it still a victim if you're trying to off yourself?"

A small chuckle escaped Sasha's lips. "Come on. We don't want the others to think you've got me bent over the sink or anything."

That put some interesting mental images into Dean's brain. He leered over at Sasha as the incubus cleaned up the med kit. "Can you say that again…only in more detail this time?" he smirked. His triggered libido just would not stay silent for long.

It couldn't have been a worse tease in Dean's current state the way Sasha turned, hooked two fingers into the front of his jeans, tugged him closer, and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Dean's in a kiss that was far too unsatisfying. "To tide us over," Sasha breathed against him when he pulled just slightly back. Then he was out of Dean's space entirely, already moving for the door.

"You know there's a small part of you that's always a little bit evil," Dean said in a voice he knew was way too close to a whine.

"Yep," Sasha said back happily, not even turning.

Bastard.

The others were in much the same state as they had been in when Sasha and Dean left—the girls on borrowed laptops and Sam on the bed with the books, reading intently. They all looked up when Sasha and Dean made their reappearance, none of them really trying to hide their relief that no one had lost any clothes other than Dean's jacket that he had picked up and then quickly tossed onto the empty bed.

"I think we're going to need to call Bobby," Sam said, but Dean didn't miss the way Sam gave Sasha a subtle glare like he knew Sasha had told Dean things he had promised he wouldn't. Sam probably did know and that just wasn't right somehow.

Dean was about to say that he agreed. It was possible Bobby understood the cryptic shit in John's journal better than they did, and the older hunter might have texts or something that explained in more detail how to seal up a demonic hotspot. But as it was Bobby seemed to be the psychic one tonight since before Dean could even open his mouth to say, 'Good idea, Sammy' his phone started ringing.

The caller ID blinked back 'Bobby' prominently. Dean huffed, raised his eyebrows at the others and answered.

"Bobby, I swear, man, if you're looking into a crystal ball right now…"

"What you talking about, boy?" came over Bobby's familiar drawl, "I was calling to find out where you idiots have gotten yourselves. Finally finished this damn hunt and figured I'd catch up with ya. You on the East Coast at all? I'm just leaving West Virginia now."

Dean tried not to laugh. "Not exactly. Bobby, you…might wanna pull over for this."

By the time Dean was done explaining their last few days to the elder hunter, he was pretty damn sure Bobby had taken his advice and pulled over. The good thing was that Bobby knew exactly the rituals and cleansings or whatever they would need to put an end to the mine, angry as he was that a spot like that had been left forgotten by hunters for so long. The bad thing was that Bobby wouldn't get to them until late the next night if not the morning after that. He was going to have to stop at home for some supplies. There were also other things they would need that were harder to come by. They were going to have to go 'shopping' and probably out of town.

There was a generally good feeling within the group though once Dean hung up, knowing they at least had a solution on the way and that they didn't need to do anymore research. They tried to eat after that but no one seemed to have much of an appetite. Small talk came slow and awkward, mostly because of Sam, Dean decided, who just seemed closed off and like he couldn't wait to excuse himself and be alone.

It was after the girls had gone to their room to hit the hay early and Sam looked about ready to slip out finally that Dean dropped the bomb. "Better get my stuff on over to your room, I guess," he said like it was no big deal.

Sam literally stopped dead on his way across the room and blinked at Dean for several long moments. "What?"

"Yeah. I'm staying with you tonight. What? You thought you could have that room all to yourself?" Dean said with a wide smile, walking over and smacking his brother hard on the back, "See, Sasha and I figure it could get messy in here if I stay with him. Better to keep our distance til we're both feeling ourselves again."

The expression on Sam's face said that he wasn't buying Dean's act for a second. "The reason I got the other room was so you _could_ be together. Because…I figured Sasha might need to…you know…recover," Sam replied with a weak hand gesture.

Yeah. Right. That was why Sam was trying to run away. "Tough luck," was all Dean said after that, and a few minutes later he had his pack slung over his shoulder, had kissed Sasha goodnight with a swift—only because he knew it would get deep and tangled if he lingered—passing of lips, and then he was following Sam to their newly acquired room.

It was actually kind of nice the way they went through their whole old routine so easily, taking turns in the shower, passing each other in the bathroom to brush their teeth and take a final 'before bed' piss. But when all that had been done and there was no time left for stalling, Dean was waiting for Sam to come out of the bathroom the last time, sitting on the second bed in just his shorts.

Sam stopped as soon as he saw that posture, that 'we're talking whether you want to or not' posture that Sam himself had patented. Well, Dad had first, but Sam's had even more of a finality to it for some reason. Dean hoped he was pulling it off even half as good as that. At least it got Sam to sit in a somewhat mirrored position of Dean on his own bed, also in just his shorts, until it was just the two of them both sitting there, wrapped in quiet, waiting to see who would be the first to break.

tbc...

A/N: This arc will be ten parts in all. The next chapter will be a cliffhanger to beat all. Yet again. :-) Yes, I know I'm evil. Sorry for the delay. It won't happen again. All my love!

Crim


	60. Part 8: When I Lie To You

Further proof that your authoress really is as evil as you think...

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Part 8: When I Lie to You

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Suddenly, they were both teenagers, fighting over something that could be easily solved simply by talking it out, and instead all they could do was sit and stare _not_ at each other, wishing it all away. Things like this never just went away. This wasn't Sam staying out late trying to grasp some semblance of a normal life while Dean worried at home. It wasn't the opposite either with Sam fretting because Dean had been drinking too much or bringing home strange women too often when Dad was gone for weeks without calling. This was life or death, lose your soul—literally—kind of stuff. Keeping quiet wouldn't help anyone.

Dean still waited for Sam to speak first, holding stubbornly resolute and knowing that Sam would break eventually—he always did. It needed to be Sam who started to talk, it needed to be Sam who realized where he had gone wrong. It needed to be Sam going to Dean and proving that he could still be trusted because he would always be honest when Dean needed him to be.

It was the greatest mercy that Sam didn't disappoint.

"He told you, didn't he?" were the first words to fall from Sam's lips, bitter and accusing, "I'd say, so much for having friends, but I suppose this is Sasha trying to be the better friend and make sure I don't fuck up again. I must be pretty messed up for him to think he needs to do that, huh?" Sam wasn't looking at Dean any more than Dean was looking at him.

There was a water stain on the wall. "You tell me," Dean pushed, staring at the brown and faded yellow color. He wanted to yell, wanted to be angry that Sam was keeping secrets—Sam always kept fucking _secrets_—but he knew he wouldn't get anywhere if this escalated into a fight before they actually talked. It was difficult for him because part of him really wanted that fight.

But for whatever reason, Sam didn't. The younger Winchester deflated, falling forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and scrubbed at his face. "Dean…we can't just stop now, you know that. We're so _close_. For a minute back there I could sense where every last one of those demons from the Devil's Gate was. I brought them _to_ us. I could have ended it. I could have saved you. The power's right _there_, Dean."

"Sammy," Dean shook his head, "Even with all that power from the mine you couldn't handle it. There were too many of them. It almost killed you."

"I just summoned too much," Sam jumped in on his defensive, "Too many other things. If I focused only on the demons, just the _demons_." Sam had turned to look at Dean but when he started to continue he stopped short.

Those hazel eyes were boring into Dean so that he had to meet his brother's gaze or risk getting a hole drilled into the side of his head. Sam wanted approval. Dean just shook his head again. "Can you still feel the demons like you could before?" Dean asked, already fairly certain Sam couldn't or maybe the idiot would have already tried something.

"No…" Sam answered like a breath.

"But the power's still in you," Dean said, remembering what Sasha had told him, "You just don't know how to access it, is that it? Or you do know but you also know that tapping into it means bringing down whatever final barrier is left between you and…and whatever Yellow Eyes triggered. I thought once that if you just gave in, maybe you could control it instead of it controlling you, but we saw what being immersed in all of that power does to you, Sam."

"It's not the same thing!" Sam snapped, hand gestures more fervent as he answered with angry conviction, "In the mine I was being influenced by an outside force. This is me, Dean. Just me. I can still control it, I know I can."

All the reasons that Sam was wrong seemed too obvious somehow, too easy, worrying Dean even more because Sam wasn't seeing them. "Then why did you tell Sasha you were scared?" Dean said, "If you really believed that you could control this then you wouldn't need my blessing. You'd just do it. Don't get me wrong, thank god you're still enough in your right mind to wait and weigh the consequences, but Jesus, Sammy, you're talking about risking everything just so you can summon and kill these demons to save me. What about the hosts, something you used to care about at the thought of using the Colt? Or are you really going to sit there and tell me that all those bodies left behind at the mine were already dead when the demons took them?" It was a harsh thing to say but Dean could still hear the sounds of those demons, screaming in agonized human voices as Sam eradicated them.

The desired affect was achieved; Sam slumped further. "I…I wasn't thinking. I could have done better. I can do better next time," he tried to say firmly, but it just came out lost and searching, knowing he was trying to convince himself more than he wanted to convince Dean.

"Sam," Dean said steadily, "When you believe you can handle it then I'll believe it too. But right now you don't. You're not sure, not really. Being scared of this isn't a bad thing, Sam, it means you're still thinking. I'm not worth risking this."

"Hn, right," Sam huffed, "You're not worth _anything_, how could I forget," he said with sudden poison.

Dean's brow furrowed so much in response to that it hurt. "_Hey_. I'm not throwing my life away here. I want to keep trying. But using the slow and steady way that means no one else is at risk. We've been doing fine without the overdrive. There's well over a month yet till the deal's up. We have time."

"You don't know that," Sam countered, "You don't know for sure if we can exorcize them all in time. You're just scared. _You're_ scared. Dean Winchester who isn't afraid of anything is scared, and the thing you're most afraid of right now is _me_." Sam's eyes were swimming, his voice shaking as he spoke, but he didn't stop. "I didn't need to read the fear from your mind in the caves to know it was there, Dean, it was pretty damn apparent. I…_hate_ that. I hate having you look at me like this. You don't look at Sasha this way, you know you don't, just me. Just your freak of a brother."

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean, I'm a freak. I know that. The fucking Anti-Christ waiting for the right push to send me over the edge. And you're the only thing standing up there with me trying to hold me back. You can't hold on forever, Dean," he said deploringly, "And Sasha isn't strong enough to carry both of us."

Dean didn't like where this conversation was going. He hadn't liked it when they started. "What are you saying to me?" he shot at his brother. Neither of them was watching the stain on the wall anymore, they were on the edge of their beds, facing off against each other. "It's just inevitable, is that it? So I should just let you fall now and at least I'll still be able to save myself? It doesn't work that way, Sam. You're not the fucking Anti-Christ."

Another self-deprecating huff. "You don't know that."

Again, that phrase. "Yes, I do."

"How? How can you know for sure that I'm—"

"Because you're _mine_!" The exclamation exploded out of Dean before he could censor himself. Realizing what he had said and how he had said it, Dean had to wonder if some of those dark pheromones were messing with his thinking. "You're _my_…responsibility," Dean amended, his pulse too hot and fast as he tried to calm himself again, "I'm not gonna let it happen. I mean, shit, Sammy, that's just not you. Outside force, maybe, but not you. I don't want you risking anything you don't need to risk. You were talking about fucking world domination in that cave, for chrissake. I'm pretty sure that isn't one of your underlying ambitions."

Sam looked a little startled and embarrassed to hear that, which was fine by Dean because it took the focus off of how embarrassed he was for calling Sam 'his'. There were several things that seemed hazy for Sasha and Sam about what happened in the mine. Maybe all that 'Sam can give us the world' shit was one of the haziest.

"Not coming back to you?" Dean asked, "I was kinda hoping you could explain that little point, actually." _Actually_, Dean really wasn't. He hadn't been lying when he told Sarah before that he was kind of glad he didn't know what Sam and Sasha meant by all that, but as a hunter he knew that it was always better to have as much information as possible.

Those fierce hazel eyes weren't focused quite so intently anymore but distant. Sam sat back, lost in thought before he spoke. "I…I don't know. I guess it's kind of like a dream," he said, "You know when you're somewhere or with someone you don't know but in the dream it all makes sense? I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, what my purpose was. But now…I don't anymore. Like it's closed off, no access. Guess I lost my 'Villains Only' card or something," he tried to say with a smile.

Even though Malak said he wasn't the culprit behind how all of this was connected, Dean was willing to bet that the bastard still knew who was. It kept Dean from being able to return Sam's smile, weighed down as he was by plaguing thoughts.

Sam's smile shriveled then, his eyes turned down and wet. "It felt…" Sam tried, closing his eyes tight for a moment to stay tears that slipped free anyway, "It felt so _good_," he admitted with anguish in his words, "I knew what I had to do and I wasn't afraid anymore. I finally understood. Everything was so…clear. And part of me wants to feel that again so badly…" Sam's voice trailed. Suddenly, he was meeting Dean's gaze again and everything shattered. "God, Dean, please don't look at me like that," he pleaded.

It was like a blow when the puppy eyes shifted from hurt and scared to purely drowning. Dean wanted to do what he always did—save Sammy. But it wasn't that easy anymore. He couldn't throw the life-vest out as far as Sam had gone; Sam had to swim a little too and meet him halfway.

But Dean never wanted to look at Sam like he was a monster. He didn't see Sam as one. God, he was trying so hard not to.

"Sammy…do you remember, way back…you asked me once if doing this job ever scared me. Even used that I sleep with my knife under my pillow as proof I gotta be afraid some of the time. I said that that wasn't fear. Just precaution." Dean stretched his mouth into a smile even though he knew it had to look like the sorriest attempt at the real thing. "I was lying. Truth is…I couldn't do this job if I wasn't scared. Dean Winchester who's not afraid of anything? Come on, anyone who'd think I'm not afraid of anything is an idiot. To be able to get out of bed everyday and hunt the things we hunt I had to accept a long time ago that there are always going to be things about this job that scare me. But I can't let that matter. Now I don't know if that's brave or stupid, knowing how fucking scary something is and still going after it. Frankly, I don't care. But however you might think I'm looking at you, Sammy, you are not one of the things that scare me."

Immediately, Sam's posture shifted to signal he was about to protest. Dean was so not letting that happen. He held a hand up to silence Sam before his brother could even begin.

"_Dude_, I'm afraid you'll get in too deep," he admitted readily, "Afraid I'll do something stupid to push you off the edge instead of holding you back. Afraid this is all a fucking bad idea. But I am not afraid of _you_." There. Dean hoped that held the finality he intended.

"Even in your dreams, Dean?"

Or not.

_Shit_.

Words couldn't form for a moment on how to respond to that. Dean had happily forgotten Evil-Sam's little stunt in the cave, getting all close to Dean's body so he could swipe the Colt as if he was just rubbing it in Dean's face that he knew. Sammy wasn't supposed to know about these things. "You running around in here?" Dean asked, tapping the side of his temple as he looked back at Sam.

"You know I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam replied, his eyes still drooping at their edges and shimmering wet, "But in the cave…I didn't care. I saw all those things you've been keeping from me, everything Malak's done to you. But what I can't understand is why I had to find out like _that_. Why didn't you tell me, Dean?"

Right. Coz that would have been such a nice conversation.

Sam didn't wait for Dean to respond. "Maybe you're not afraid of me, Dean. I don't even think your biggest fear right now is going to Hell. You're afraid of being powerless," he said, so certain but with an expression suddenly unreadable, "You're afraid of being unable to do anything to stop all this. Can't save yourself. Can't save me. Can't make it all better. Poor Dean, the big _failure_." Sam's words were so vicious for a moment, mocking, but tears were starting to slip down his face and with the way his lips quivered when he tried to speak again Dean knew that what Sam was really saying was how much he hated that Dean would ever think that way. "You've never failed me, Dean," he said, choking on the words like he was swallowing a sob.

What a load of shit, Dean thought bitterly. "I watched you die in my fucking arms," he growled, angry as if Sam's harsher words had been the real ones instead of that final pitying declaration.

"It wasn't your job to save me," Sam shot right back.

"Yes, it is," Dean didn't falter, not even over the altered present tense. It wasn't a past job; it was a then, now and always job. Protect Sam. "I fail all the time," Dean went on, "Only this time if I fail it might mean the end of more than just you. It might mean more than a one-way ticket to Hell. There might only be one great cosmic thing I need to do to somehow screw up and that'll be it. And I don't even _fucking_ know what it is. All I have is Malak hovering around me when I least want the bastard popping in for a hello either telling me that I'm right on schedule or that I'm disappointing him for missing the bigger picture. Do you know what he—_she_ told me today when I ran out the door?"

This was not the way Dean had intended to fill the others in on the 'we've been had' conversation, but the question slipped out anyway. It left Sam with a wide-eyed expression, his tears drying and then wiped away completely as he scrubbed his face.

"You said you saw everything she's been doing to me, right? Then you know I've been having some visits. Well I got another one. This whole mess? The cave, all of it? It's all part of some other jackass' plan. Now I am sure Malak knows who but she felt more like shaking her head at what an idiot I am than being helpful."

Sam looked at Dean with a creased brow, not understanding what Dean was talking about. It irritated Dean for some reason that the almighty brains of the operation, Sam Winchester, didn't get it.

"Use your head, Sam. That barn in the pouring rain with all those demons? The way you were pulled there but couldn't feel how many of them there were? It was a setup. They even made sure I got out of the barn so you'd get all that demonic energy without me interfering. Funny how afterwards Colorado just popped into your head, huh?"

The already devastated look on Sam's face widened and shifted, his brow creasing and uncreasing as he processed all of that and came back from it horrified. "It wasn't…Malak?" Sam said, skipping past how obvious it should have been that all of this was connected and planned out, "But then who? Why?"

"Hell if I know," Dean spat, sitting up straight and feeling like he just wanted to pace. He couldn't bring his legs to move under him and lift up though. They remained planted to the floor, his body facing Sam's. "I…am afraid that I don't know what the Hell I'm doing. Okay. I'll give you that, however psychological you wanna take it to explain the things you saw about my dreams. But you stay outta my head," he growled as fiercely as he could, "You know some things now. Fine. Forget them. It's not gonna help anything. I don't need a heart to heart. I need you alert. I need you sane. I need you to stop teaming up against me with Sasha like the two of you know better than poor, simple-minded Dean. Who just. Doesn't. Get it."

Sam made to interrupt again, probably to contradict Dean's assessment of how he and Sasha treated Dean most of the time. No way was Dean letting Sam get away with that. Cutting Sam slack was what had led to all of this 'I know better' shit in the first place.

"You will listen," Dean said sharply, "This is a not a democracy anymore where you two can out vote me. We all decide together. Thinking you can overrule me, that's the way those assholes did things in the cave and that is not my brother." There was no wavering in Dean's voice or in his stare. He wouldn't allow it. "I'll say it again, Sam, and this is the last time." Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees just as Sam was slouched forward too. Sam looked utterly distraught and for so many different reasons, but Dean took it all in stride. He would not be swayed. "If there comes a time when you know for sure, when there is no doubt or fear of becoming what you were in that cave, then you do what you have to. I won't stop you. Until then…I won't tell you to stop going at the level you have been. I won't tell you to give up trying to save me. But you will listen to me. Do you understand?"

If Dean had ever channeled John Winchester even remotely that well before, this time put all past attempts to shame. He even gave himself chills feeling that authority within him that wasn't at all an act. He meant every word, and god damn it, if he had to chain his brother to a hotel room bed or lock him in the Impala's trunk for a few days just to make sure his words were listened to, he'd do it.

The waves of emotions that rippled over Sam's face said all Dean needed for a reply. It was more in these moments than in any others, when Dean felt justified, felt strong, and Sam's power meant nothing compared to good old-fashioned brother mojo that Dean believed they could somehow succeed. In everything. Sam was looking back at him, eyes red with dried tears on his face, and there was all the trust and devotion and need for approval that Sam used to look at Dean with when he was a little boy.

It melted Dean down a little to see that expression he seldom saw so strongly from Sam anymore. The most comparable time he could remember was when Sam had gotten so desperately drunk on that case in Connecticut and begged Dean to kill him if it came to that. This time was different though because that pleading brotherly devotion wasn't born out of desperation to save himself but to save Dean. Maybe it was even desperation to believe they could somehow save each other. Now that was a mantra, new and hopeful, that Dean could put some faith into.

"We got supplies to track down and some crazy outside player we know nothing about," Dean said with a sigh, "Why don't we get some sleep, huh? Oh and one more thing," Dean added quickly as Sam had already started to get up. Expectant eyes blinked back at Dean; Sam was already being a better listener. "Dude," Dean grinned, "You gonna make a move on Sarah or what? Coz damn is she just wishing you would."

The desired reaction came again—Sam cracking into a dimpled smile despite his tense posture, reaching over the bed for a pillow and then chucking it half-heartedly at Dean's head.

Dean caught the pillow easily, chuckled, tossed it back. "I'm serious. And this was _after_ the cave that she told me," he said, "She's not backing away from you, Sammy. Not any more than I am."

For a moment sadness curled around Sam's lips, marring his smile, and his gaze became distant again. Then he was taking a deep breath and suddenly he looked relieved, accepting. "I'm never going to become that again, Dean," Sam said with resolution and dry eyes, "I'm gonna save you. And if I have to bring down that last barrier to do it, _when_ I bring it down, it won't be until I'm ready."

Hearing that, Dean breathed relief too. He knew his brother meant what he had said and it was all Dean needed to hear.

There were few words spoken after that, mostly teasing comments about Sarah that got a pillow thrown at Dean a little harder than the first time but made Sam smile small and boyish and genuine. Both of them just wanted to rest and not think about the unanswerable until tomorrow. They would be up early anyway and hopefully back to normal. Sam and Sasha had both remained shaky throughout the evening and Dean really needed to sleep off those new more possessive pheromones. He was quite happy how quickly he drifted off when he finally rested his head back on the pillow.

Dean's sleep was dreamless like it had been the last time he suffered pheromone poisoning. Or at least he thought it was dreamless, though there certainly seemed to be something of a dream in the first few touches.

They were a mere ghosting of flesh on flesh, a slight chill from lifted covers, and the faint huff of uneven breathing that was neither his nor Sam's. When Dean shocked fully awake at the first real and solid touch on his hip, his immediate thoughts were of Malak, and as useless as it may be Dean reached swiftly for the knife he always kept beneath his pillow.

The figure behind Dean clamped a free hand over Dean's wrist just as Dean curled his fingers around the handle of his knife. The grip was firm, immoveable, and yet not so harsh that it made Dean hiss at his bandaged wounds being assaulted. Dean was facing Sam and could see that his brother was sleeping soundly. He wanted to call out but he got the distinct impression that doing so would not be a good idea.

Then the stranger's hot breath was on Dean's face and a low voice whispered, "I know we can get kinky sometimes, Dean…but I don't think you'll be needing that."

Dean instantly relaxed and released his hold on the knife, easing back against the familiar body that had climbed into bed behind him. "Shit, baby, warn me a little. You scared me half to death over here," Dean whispered to keep his voice low.

A gentle chuckle answered him. "Sorry," Sasha said, "I didn't want to wake Sam." His voice sounded stronger even though he was whispering too and it was still the middle of the night. Dean had slept off some of the pheromones but he could feel them stir within him at this sudden appearance of the incubus so close and warm behind him, that hand on his hip and the other gripping his wrist with just the right amount of pressure.

And then there was the more prominent detail that Dean only noticed when Sasha shifted further forward. "Uhh…Sasha? Where are your shorts?" Dean nearly squeaked.

"Hmmm…" Sasha hummed thoughtfully as if he honestly wasn't sure how he had ended up naked, "Somewhere between here and the door?"

Dating an incubus really was going to be the death of Dean. "This, uhh…isn't exactly following that decision of ours to, umm…_not_ sleep together tonight with both of us, ya know, out of sorts and all," Dean managed to ramble between hitches of breath. Sasha's hand on his hip was slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and smoothing down his thigh. It was taking all of Dean's willpower not to flip over and pin Sasha to the mattress.

"I know…I know it isn't," Sasha breathed in reply, squeezing Dean's thigh and rubbing the thumb of his other hand over the pulse point on Dean's wrist, "It's just that I was…in the shower…and I started thinking about it. About _you_. And that was just a bad idea coz then I couldn't stop thinking about you, Dean, lying in here drenched in pheromones, wanting me…but unable to have me, and…okay, I'll level with you. Everything that happened today, how drained and out of it I feel, it's all left me kinda…well…"

"Starving?" Dean prompted, pressing involuntarily back against the very telling nakedness of Sasha.

The incubus moaned, almost too loudly, and Sam in the other bed stirred, rolled over and resettled facing them. It seemed unconscious, he was still asleep, but even with Sam's eyes closed and his breathing steady this was getting dangerous.

Dean struggled to hold onto that thought and it sobered him enough to dissent. "Sasha…Sam is _right there_. You can't be serious," he whispered, attempting to shift out of Sasha's hold and close proximity, "He'll wake up. You know he'll wake up. And if he catches us—" Dean bit his tongue to keep from squeaking as the treacherous hand inside his boxers slithered between his legs and took a sudden, firm hold. They were both under the covers but if Sam woke up there was no way they would be able to deny what they were doing. "Sasha…" Dean tried again, only to be rewarded with a firmer squeeze.

"Think of it as a challenge…to be as quiet as we can," Sasha breathed so softly his words were barely audible, "Trust me…"

The hand upon Dean began with steady pulls, eager to bring him to hardness, while the other hand, still holding Dean's wrist, moved both of their hands together to reach around Dean's body and press Dean's own palm flat against his chest. Dean trembled as Sasha touched him and also manipulated his own hand to touch himself. It was Dean's fingers that brushed over a nipple, but it was solely Sasha's large and demanding hand that pulled and twisted his length, capturing every bit of forming wetness to rub over the whole of heated flesh.

The pheromones surged to life inside of Dean, what remained of them strong enough that Dean could barely see straight with Sasha touching him like this. The problem though was that the pheromones were _dominant_. They urged Dean to break from Sasha's hold and take control, to hold the incubus down and have his wicked way with him, hard and unyielding. That certainly wouldn't be quiet.

"I trust you…" Dean said, trembling with lack of control and shivering in pleasure as Sasha reached further between his legs to cup velvety skin, "I-I just…don't trust _me_," he choked out. Because damn how he wanted to turn and claw and bite and _claim_. Sasha was his, damn it. _His_. Being this close to the incubus again, those thoughts wouldn't leave Dean alone. It was the main reason he hadn't wanted to do this, more so than any discomfort over being in the same room as Sam.

"It'll be okay, Dean," Sasha reassured him, "Already covered."

'Covered' seemed to mean something more literal because as Sasha released Dean long enough to slide his boxers down low around his thighs without bothering to remove them completely, Sasha swung a leg over Dean's body to pin his hips. The hand that had been guiding Dean's to touch himself suddenly held on firmer, pulling Dean tightly back against him and ensuring that any limb Dean might have used to get the upper hand with was now immobile.

"Guess you're just gonna hafta hold on and enjoy the ride, Dean. I'm driving this time," Sasha said with an edge of danger. His voice was soft but his hands were insistent, his body all-encompassing the way it just had Dean, all lean naked muscle pressed up against him. The thrill of it burned deep in Dean's gut, even though the pheromones were still screaming at him 'no, stop him, he's yours, _yours'_.

Anticipation of the coming struggle, a willing fight that would end with Dean claimed, with Dean taken, but in a way that was pure mutual sexuality just sent Dean right over the edge. It was a game, turning something that had once been only about fear into something that worked in Dean's favor. Sexual healing, Dean nearly giggled, the Marvin Gaye song immediately running through his head as that thought occurred to him. Not that he needed anything so extreme to get over Indiana anymore, but the cave was still tangible.

He struggled against Sasha's hold, giving over to the freedom of the pheromones as a playful growl built in his throat.

"Think you can take me?" Dean taunted, clutching Sasha's hand on his chest and freeing his other hand that Sasha had pinned down to grope for Sasha's imprisoning thigh and drag his nails up as far as he could reach. This made Sasha hiss and buck forward, his hard length teasing between Dean's cheeks but not yet finding an entrance. Sasha shuddered and held Dean tighter, his breath coming in uneven pants as if to speak of how much he desperately wanted Dean. The pheromones liked that because it held just as much power as being on top.

Of course Sasha had power of his own. "Dean…oh, Dean…I am going to fuck you so hard," Sasha promised in a growly whisper, "_Right_…in front of your brother."

All remaining common sense shot straight to Dean's groin. His eyes went immediately to Sam, asleep but facing them, the chance that he might wake up increasing as Sasha growled out purrs and Dean felt moans rising in his throat. It shouldn't be such a turn on, it shouldn't be so fucking hot that Dean's skin was on fire, but it was. Sasha just didn't say things like that. Maybe something small and meager from the cave remained within Sasha like the pheromones had for Dean. It wasn't so much that Sasha was cruel or unkind but now the incubus was caught up in it all with Dean, possessive and completely unhinged. It filled Dean with a rush of joy to know he could have such power.

Sasha's mouth latched onto Dean's neck, sucking and gnawing with the flat of his teeth. He gripped Dean's arm, the one attached to the hand that was moving up Sasha's thigh and seeking the dark places between their bodies. Quickly and firm Sasha traveled down Dean's arm until he could snatch up that other wrist and move it away. Dean whined at the slight pain and being denied. He wanted to touch too, but Sasha had him bound and planned to keep him bound it seemed.

"This stays here," Sasha whispered as he linked his fingers with Dean's and held their hands tight against their joined hips, having released Dean's neck with a suctioned pop. _That_ was going to leave a mark. "The other one," Sasha said, patting the hand at Dean's chest, "Is negotiable."

Apparently Sasha planned to give Dean an option of where that hand might go right away because he began to move it down Dean's body. Their fingers overlapped and crossed so that part of Sasha's hand touched Dean too, but it was mostly only Dean. Sasha returned to fondling Dean as he had before but this time he pushed Dean's own fingers around the shaft and guided the first of many strokes.

A muffled whimper fell from Dean's lips. It was the combination that undid him—the pheromones' cravings, Sasha's hand manipulating his own, Sasha's dominance along with the way the incubus relished in Dean like an addict, and Sam mere feet away as unknowing witness. Dean just about lost it right then.

"Not yet…" Sasha breathed, a clear command. He removed Dean's hand from touching himself and placed it, fingers spread, at the groove where Dean's leg connected to his pelvis, so teasingly close. "Now…this hand stays here until I tell you, you can move it."

"I thought this hand was negotiable," Dean grumbled through clenched teeth. He was right on the brink and had been brought there by his own knowledgeable fingers and Sasha's direction. His body was being firmly held, pinned, encircled by Sasha, and yet with the pheromones so strong now and aching within him, it wasn't enough. Dean still wanted to claim, to take, to prove that Sasha was his, but god, he would accept anything at this point.

Even when Sasha so tauntingly said, "It _was_ negotiable. You didn't protest. Now the decisions are mine again. Try and keep up," and then dragged his fingers torturously light across Dean's shaft and continued to climb up Dean's taut stomach and chest. He trailed down again along Dean's side before his hand suddenly disappeared so he could wet his fingers. Dean only knew they had disappeared for that reason because a moment later one of those slickened fingers started pressing into him.

He gasped and pressed back, missing the full presence of Sasha since the incubus had to pull at least a little bit away in order to fit a hand between them. Another gift of the pheromones though was that every sensation was intensified, probably because Dean wanted it so badly. The more he got what he wanted the stronger the pheromones' cravings became.

_Try and keep up._ Ha! That would not be a problem.

Another longer, louder moan sounded in Dean's lowest, most animal-like voice when a second finger entered eagerly and pressed insistently at the sweet spot. Further moans began to leave Dean after that like an echoing recording of sexual agreement.

It was all muted, even the moist noises and harsh panting, but Dean kept his eyes open and centered on Sam's benign face. They hadn't even begun to get this far that time Sam had awoken and assaulted them with a pillow. It must be strain from the cave, Dean figured, that was keeping Sam so still and deep in sleep.

"He won't wake up," Sasha whispered against his neck, knowing just what Dean was thinking without having to read his thoughts, "Just focus on me, Dean. Only me…"

The hand Dean wasn't allowed to move twitched, the other being pressed firmly against the side of his hip by Sasha's linked fingers. Those joined hands were for leverage because Sasha's intruding digits had pulled away and began to guide the full width of him into that tight muscle that had only slightly been stretched. If it stung to be so hastily prepared, Dean didn't feel it; he was riding on the wings of the pheromones. He never imagined, back when he was first poisoned and even kissing Sasha was a foreign idea, that giving into them would intensify their hold and feel this good.

Dean was resting on his side but leaning back on his other hip enough for his hands to remain free. That is if one hand wasn't being held tightly and the other wasn't forbidden to move. God, how Dean wanted to move that hand.

Sasha used their combined hands to pull Dean back against him as he thrust the last distance forward, hitting Dean right where it counted and spreading warmth throughout his lower half. He bit back a moan that surely would have woken Sam. The fingers of his free hand twitched again and he inched between his legs to touch himself.

"I said…not til I tell you," the incubus chided, his own free hand wedging around Dean again to grab at Dean's wrist and stop him, "The pheromones are telling you to be aggressive, Dean, to show me that you're in control. So let's burn them out…by showing them how much you're _not_." Again Sasha's words seemed touched by danger, by darkness even, and it made Dean shiver expectantly. He didn't feel afraid, he felt enthralled. Maybe it was just the pheromones swaying his senses but he didn't care; he had surrendered to them, to Sasha completely.

Besides, Dean could still grasp some control, and in the best way possible. "You think you're in control?" Dean whispered on trembling lips but with staunch conviction. Fuck, how he wanted Sasha to just _move_ already. "_Prove_ it then," Dean goaded, "Come on. Show me whose boss."

That seemed to be all the prodding Sasha needed. He clung to Dean's wrist, used their other hands to steady them and hold Dean in place, and reared back, pulling almost completely out before slamming home again. Sasha went in deep—_deep_—with how he pulled Dean back against him at the same time. It sent tremors all throughout Dean's body that he immediately wanted to feel again.

Sasha didn't disappoint either. The same action followed and Dean swallowed another squeak. The hand Sasha was holding by the wrist ached, straining to reach further and relieve some of the pressure building between his legs. Sasha had to know how much this was torturing him.

"Fuck…you…you, ngggnn…" Dean's eyes rolled back into his a head a moment as Sasha's fervid thrusts found a steady, brutal rhythm, "Just…just fucking…_let me_," he demanded, trying again to escape Sasha's hold on his wrist and just reach for himself.

"No," Sasha breathed hotly and mischievously in reply, increasing his grip everywhere so that all of Dean's struggles were forced to still, "Not til I say."

_Fuck_ but this was exquisite torture. Damn incubus getting off on the very things the pheromones had been telling Dean to get off on. Granted, the pheromones had originally come from Sasha, meaning all this sexually driven aggression had its source first and foremost in the incubus, but Dean was dominant too damn it with or without outside supernatural suggestion. He would so be paying Sasha back for this later.

"Promise?" Sasha giggled, since Dean had unintentionally growled that out loud. Sasha's movements were quick and vicious but he began to slow them, taking his time and savoring the feeling of Dean around him and held in his arms. It was the incubus' turn to moan. "Ugnnn…Dean…the way you _feel_…"

That revved Dean's engine all over again. He ignored his imprisoned hand for a moment and focused entirely on pressing back into Sasha, moving as much as the incubus' hold on him allowed. It wasn't much but it brought Sasha that last bit deeper that made both of them moan in harmony. It was muffled but loud enough that Dean looked to Sam again, checking to be sure those hazel eyes—or heavens forbid _yellow_—were still closed.

By some great miracle, Sam slept on, barely even stirring. It made Dean feel rebellious and wicked, like sneaking a girl into his room and fucking her right under his parents' noses—not that he had ever done that since Dad was usually gone anyway. It was like making love on the balcony of an apartment, not knowing if someone would happen to catch you and see what you were doing.

Dean pushed back on Sasha again, offering his neck when the redhead began to nip and lick along his shoulders.

"The pheromones…are so strong, I can…feel them," Sasha gasped, as caught up now as Dean was, "I think they're…affecting me too. It's dangerous," he said seriously for a moment, the grip of their linked hands tightening, "I could…hurt you and…you wouldn't even know it."

Dean dismissed that thought without pausing to consider it. "You'd never hurt me," he said. Not to the point where it would matter, he thought quietly. He could handle bruising and aching muscles. He could handle scratches and love bites and a little wooziness in the morning too. Hell, he already knew he'd have a bit of a hangover from the pheromones anyway.

Appeased by Dean's faith in him, Sasha continued on, the pace of his thrusts picking up again as he finally, _finally_ released Dean's wrist and whispered, "_Now_."

The first touch was too much, Dean's skin over-sensitized and so damn hot now, having laid there in waiting, needing to be attended to but denied. Dean had to go slow at first, feeling Sasha's eyes peering over his shoulder to watch as he pleasured himself, straining to reach release at the same time. That's what the incubus wanted, Dean knew. It transcended any thoughts of who was on top or who was in control, because their relationship had never been about that. It was just them. However things ended up each night, it didn't matter as long as they were together.

Both of them were soon working furiously but Dean was so pent up he wasn't sure if he could make it. He thrust back on Sasha to bring the redhead closer too but that also heightened the sensations for him. The final straw was when Sasha snatched up his hand for a moment, pulling it from his heated and aching skin, brought Dean's palm to his mouth and licked the full length of Dean's hand. The sudden extra moisture when he returned to stroking himself made Dean see stars. He was so close. So close. And Sasha was right there too, Dean could feel it. One more thrust, one more pump of Dean's hand, and both of them spilled out with another harmonious moan too loud to contain.

Sam immediately stirred.

_Fuck_.

Unable to think about anything other than those fluttering eyelids and shifting covers, Dean broke from Sasha's now lax hold without even trying to fully pull away. He flailed as he tried to turn over and—well he didn't really know what, but he had to do _something_—and simultaneously pulled Sasha out so jarringly that it definitely stung and knocked Sasha hard in the chest so that he rolled to the edge of the bed…and fell with a loud thud.

"Huh?" Sam croaked in a sleepy voice, waking more fully after that too audible sound.

Dean turned back to his brother, thrilled beyond belief that the covers were still concealing how naked and stained with bodily fluids he was at the moment. "Sammy," Dean managed, because it was the first thing he always said to his brother when he didn't know what else to come up with, "Uhh…sorry 'bout that," he tried to whisper, since whispering just seemed natural at night and in the dark even when everyone was awake now, "Umm, just, uhh…smacked my hand into the headboard. Nightmare. Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

For a good minute of hazy recognition and working gears, Sam just blinked at Dean. Dean was fairly certain he would be believed and that Sam would go to sleep without further questioning, but then Sam's face twisted, he sat up just slightly, and his nose wrinkled like he had caught a familiar but unwelcome scent. "Dean," Sam said with slight distaste, "If you had a wet dream from the pheromones you could have just admitted it. I'm not an idiot."

A choked giggle came from the other side of Dean's bed and he tried to cough over it. Amazingly, Sam didn't seem to notice anything but Dean's discomfort. "Damn, man…got me. Sorry. Figured you wouldn't want to hear about it. I'll just settle down for a minute and then, uhh…get cleaned up." At least he didn't need an excuse for the state he was in. Thank goodness for the cave, Dean thought, because its influence kept Sam from being able to sense things normally. Otherwise he probably would have been able to sense Sasha lying on the floor.

Sam nodded noncommittally, obviously half asleep despite his astute assumption of Dean's activities, and rolled over onto his other side. Dean couldn't see if Sam drifted immediately back to sleep or not but he had his hopes. He was sore like nobody's business after disconnecting from Sasha so hurriedly, so it wasn't a lie at all that he needed a minute to collect himself.

After he thought it was safe, Dean rolled covertly over to the other side of the bed and peered onto the floor. He expected to find a grinning naked incubus but found only bare carpeting for his troubles. Dean's head snapped immediately to the door, then to the window that was still closed. He had no idea how the redhead had managed it but Sasha was long gone. Dean even sat up—a jarringly difficult feat—and looked between the beds and the door for signs of those discarded shorts Sasha had mentioned. They were gone too.

Dean smirked to himself as he lay back down. He'd get up in a few minutes to clean off the evidence. For now he was too content, sore as he felt. The pheromones were at peace finally and Dean was in love with a ninja. He almost snorted. Life sucked lately, that was certain, but it still had its up-sides.

-----

As expected Dean woke up feeling like shit warmed over. Never mind that the pheromones had gotten what they wanted or that Sam had let Dean sleep an extra half hour. With the pheromones fully out of his system and his body having gotten enough time to fully register everything that had happened to it yesterday, there were few places on Dean's body that didn't hurt.

His head throbbed, his wrists ached, several different muscle groups had been overused enough to be stiff, and when Dean tried to stand up to scrounge for the nearest bottle of any kind of painkiller there was a sudden twinge in his lower belly. If at any point he had thought he imagined Sasha, that particular pain was a clear reminder of reality.

"Dean?"

Oh how Dean did not want to deal with Sam's mother hen routine right now. Things would go faster if he just admitted he was hurting. "Find me some Advil or Ibuprofen and I will forgive you _anything_," Dean said, clutching his head like it was splitting open, which was pretty much how it felt. His wrists were still neatly bandaged but he would have to redo them to make sure none of the cuts had actually become infected.

"I've got some," Sam said with an appeasing smile, reaching down into his bag looking all fresh and awake and ready for the day, not to mention free of injury, the lucky bastard, "I'll get you some water and then I can help you with your cuts. We have another half hour before we have to meet everyone and start gathering the supplies we'll need."

Some days Dean was so thankful for his brother he could almost hug him without coercion. Later. Maybe. For now he simply accepted the pain meds and water, let Sam redress his sliced up wrists—that were fine and wouldn't even need bandages tomorrow—and forced himself to meet the day. They still had a job to do in this town and that had to be the most important thing.

Sasha made eyes at Dean all throughout breakfast. He seemed to be doing even better than Sam after a good night's sleep, but that was probably because he had gotten more than just a good night's _sleep_.

Breakfast was donuts from across the street in what _had been_ Dean and Sasha's room so they could regroup and decide who would go where for supply hunting. Dean might no longer be suffering the affects of the pheromones, but that didn't mean his face didn't flush with heat every time Sasha looked at him with that appreciative stare. His bear claw missed his mouth at least three times. If Sam ever found out…damn did Dean not want to think about those consequences.

"So some of this stuff we can make do with what's in town," Sarah was saying, looking at the list they were passing around that Bobby had given them last night. A lot of things were already crossed off as things Bobby had at his house. "Jo and I can hit the hardware store for some of this," she offered.

"Actually," Dean broke in, "We should probably split up differently so there's always one of us with Sam and Sasha. Not to say I don't trust you guys," he added to brother and friend, "I'm just thinking smart. The cave's affect might reach farther the longer we're here. So…why don't _you_ hit the hardware store with Sarah, Sammy? I know how much you're…dying to dive into this one," he smirked.

The look Sam initially shot him clearly said 'your subtlety astounds me, Dean' but his scowl only lasted a moment. Soon he was mustering a smile and nodding at Sarah. "Dean has a point. That's probably a good idea. If it's alright with you?" he prompted.

Sarah's returning smile was more patient than Sam deserved. "Sounds great," she said, "The rest of you can try Pandora's Box downtown. Jo and I found it in the phonebook before we went to bed last night. Local Magic shop so probably just for tourists but you never know. We'll meet you there. We should probably get going so we know what we're going to need to get elsewhere."

Dean all but groaned—a local magic shop. Great. Most of the time they were bogus, occasionally they were legit, and on even rarer occasions they were a little bit of both. It all depended on how you made your needs clear. At least they knew they would be able to get the candles they needed, even if they would probably be scented. "Fine by me," Dean shrugged, "After we're set, we might want to send someone—meaning me, Sarah, or Jo—to check out the cave and make sure there haven't been anymore disappearances."

"I can go," Jo offered, putting on a mask of ease, more to convince herself that she was tough enough to handle this after last night than to prove anything to the others.

"Not alone," Sam said sternly, turning the same stern expression onto Dean and Sarah, "If you were to come across someone possessed…well, _none_ of us should be alone. But they'll be more attracted to human hosts, especially if you're close to the cave. Keep your charms on you at all times. The way this place is throwing me off, if one of you were to become possessed…I don't think I'd be able to tell."

As if to check for themselves, all three of them searched for their charms and held them up. No demons among them yet.

It was agreed that after they had gathered the supplies they needed Jo and Dean would check the cave, leaving at least one of them to keep an eye on Sam and Sasha. Dean wasn't really worried about them anymore but they weren't the only threat.

"One more thing before we go. Dean?" Sam turned to him with knowing eyes.

To be honest Dean didn't want to go into all this; he would have rather kept things between him and Sam, but time was short and it might be too dangerous to spare the others from further worry. So he explained to them just as he had explained to Sam last night that Malak had hinted at an unknown source behind all this. Well, unknown to them anyway. But since all they had to go on was possibility without any details or leads, Dean suggested they forget about that for now and focus on the hunt.

The girls took the news in stride but when they all got up to leave, Sasha pulled Dean aside for a moment, even though he was managing to appear only mildly disconcerted.

"That's all Malak said?" Sasha pressed, sounding understandably frustrated and indignant, "He didn't give you any leads or hints? You'd think he'd care that someone else is trying to mess with you."

"From the way things have been going lately I'd say this mystery person has been messing with you and Sam," Dean replied, "And according to Malak, I should be able to figure this out on my own. Whatever that's worth," he huffed, "I don't got a frickin' clue."

Sasha began worrying his bottom lip and his brow scrunched as he thought that over. "So…it should be obvious somehow?" he finally said, looking skeptical.

Dean understood that skepticism because for the life of him he couldn't come up with a single culprit, motivation, or an end goal to all this chaos. If it had been Malak that might have been different, but Dean's mind was filled with too many things. Even if the answers were obvious, Dean couldn't see them.

Regardless, the last thing Dean wanted right now was for Sasha to be wearing that scowl when only minutes ago the incubus had looked so content. When this was all over Dean was going to take Sasha out just the two of them, no matter how sappy and like a date that sounded. He still had to find a suitable new leather jacket to replace the ruined one left behind in the cave. Sasha looked so ill-prepared for the cold weather in just his thin polyester coat.

"We'll worry about it after we've sealed up the mine," Dean said, squeezing Sasha's shoulder. For now it had to be enough that Sasha forced a smile and nodded.

-----

Dean could not express in words how much he detested magic shops. This one at least had a lot of what they needed, even a few of the rarer items once they made it clear that they were not just high school girls buying tarot cards because the pictures looked pretty.

Unfortunately, there were two things on their list that the owner of the shop insisted they wouldn't be able to find anywhere outside of Mexico. Lucky for them there was a shop right on the border in Anthony, New Mexico that carried everything. Yeah. _Lucky_. Anthony was nine hours away and ordering what they needed instead would take at least two days.

"So, who's up for a trip to New Mexico?" Dean grumbled as he, Sasha, and Jo huddled in a corner of the shop with what they had been able to buy.

"Scoff all you want, Dean," Jo said, arms crossed and disposition firm, "But someone's going to have to go. A straight trip there and back would at least mean we'd be here in time to meet Bobby."

"But we can't all go," Sasha dissented, "Someone has to stay behind and keep an eye on the town and the cave."

Great. Splitting up to shop was one thing but splitting up for eighteen hours could easily blow up in their faces. "Maybe you and Sam should go," he said to Sasha, "At least it would get you out of town and away from the cave."

Sasha's gaze narrowed. "We're also the strongest fighters. And if you think I'm going to leave this town without you, Dean, think again. Just because you don't believe this invisible plot against us is about you doesn't mean you're right. I'm staying."

It probably would have been easier to convince a poodle to look cute. "Fine. But I know just what Sam's going to say…"

And indeed Sam didn't disappoint. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean," the younger Winchester insisted when Dean brought up his suggestion again later. They had met outside the magic shop and judging from Sarah's bulging bag they had been much more successful at the hardware store. "I know I'm all but useless sensing anything other than the cave right now," Sam went on. His eyes were pleading though, not superior, so at least Dean knew Sam had taken his words to heart. "But I'm still the most likely person to be able to handle whatever's here. Do you really want to have to use the Colt on every possessed passerby you meet?"

Damn did Dean hate it when Sam made that many good points. "Then it's gotta be the girls coz I'm not leaving either. And don't go reading any sexist shit into this," Dean snapped at Jo, who in her defense hadn't made any move to dissent, "I'm insisting because…because I promised Iain I would stay until we finished this so I'm staying. Will you just…please," he asked them.

Maybe Dean had a little bit of the puppy eyes going for him too, or it was just the combination of all of them being so distraught and determined to stay that made the girls not even argue.

Twenty minutes later they were back at the motel with everything they had been able to acquire, helping the girls pack up and mapping out the fastest route to take them to Anthony. The shop owner of Pandora's Box called ahead for them, reserving the items they needed. The girls would get there in good time but even if they turned right around—which they planned to—they would arrive back in Castle Rock some time in the middle of the night. Bobby would probably be arriving about the same time. Dean already knew that he and the others would be waiting up and chances were that they would head right out to the mine and take care of things as soon as everyone was together, magic hour or not.

Dean didn't miss the way Sam took Sarah aside before the girls left, pulling her around the car to better hide them from everyone else's view. Dean tried not to watch or eavesdrop too much but he was pretty sure the 'I'm sorrys' had long since worn out and that Sam was saying something with some actual weight to it for a change.

Just when Dean had managed the courtesy to look away, Jo and Sasha were simultaneously nudging him. He glanced over again and Sam was already pulling away from what looked like far too chaste a kiss considering how passionately he had kissed her goodbye those two years ago in New York. Small steps though, Dean figured. That was good enough for him.

"Just get there, get what we need, and head on back," Dean said as Sarah and Jo prepared to drive off, "We'll call if anything comes up."

Part of Dean was antsy that they hadn't checked on the cave like they originally planned. They had decided that Sarah's hunch that demonic activity would be down after Sam banished all those things the other night made enough sense that they could let it go. Dean wouldn't go to the caves alone and he couldn't bring Sam and Sasha along for risk of, hell, he didn't even know what. Further contamination? They hadn't reacted until they were in the heart of the mine before. Still, it wasn't worth the risk.

The worst was the waiting game. There wasn't anything the three of them could do but stay inside the hotel. Sam spent most of his time trying to see if he could filter through the demonic noise of the cave and sense anything else in the town, any waiting bad guys or hidden demons. After a while though Sasha went over and touched Sam's shoulder, asking him to rest because he looked like he was in so much pain when he was straining like that.

Only when Sam went to the bathroom did Dean find himself alone with Sasha for the first time since their not-quite-alone tryst the night before. Dean couldn't help leaning into Sasha as they sat on the bed, watching reruns of Nightrider. "That was pretty naughty, you know. Last night," he whispered, "Sam would kill us if he found out. How'd you make scarce so quick anyway?"

A sly smile caught around Sasha's mouth and he shrugged in a way that reminded Dean of when they first met, that 'oh it was nothing' look that was entirely prideful. "You do know who you're dealing with here, right? That was nothing. Well, I do think the sex was, uhh…" he bit his bottom lip and raised an eyebrow in Dean's direction, "A bit more than _nothing_. Sure perked me back up. Did the pheromones give you a break the rest of the night? They're gone now, I hope."

"Left a pleasant reminder again," Dean said, touching a couple fingers to his temple and pressing, "But it's getting better. Other than the usual urges, I don't feel like jumping you anymore."

"Good," chuckled Sam as he came out of the bathroom, "Because you won't be doing any of that with me in the room."

Sasha and Dean both blanched as they looked at each other, trying not to laugh. Thankfully, Sam was still too preoccupied to notice. Dean wasn't really thankful for that though; it worried him. "Hey," he called as Sam collapsed onto the other bed, not looking at the TV or anything really, "Snap out of it, you're creeping me out. You sure you're not keeping anything else a secret? Coz if you're picking up on anything—"

"Dean, I've told you everything," Sam said with a sigh, "And it's…_everything_ that's bothering me. Too much in my head. This place…I just want this to be over with so we can get out of here. I know you don't like hearing this, but…you can't understand what this is like, Dean. Not just being able to throw something across the room with my mind or even stop a heart. Right now I can feel how the cave is calling out to people. To demons. I'm just…restless."

Suddenly, Sasha was getting off the bed and going over to Sam. Before Dean knew what was happening, Sasha had hoisted Sam onto his feet and was pushing him towards his jacket on one of the chairs. The force of it all nearly toppled Sam over. "Get your coat," Sasha said, "I'm buying you a drink. You need it. We'll be back in an hour or so, okay, Dean?"

It took Dean a moment to realize Sasha was actually saying those words to him. He immediately started to get up. "What? Uhh, baby, I don't think…" but Dean trailed because Sasha was moving towards him and actually hushing him. He looked over to Sam again who seemed entirely perplexed. "Jacket," Sasha pointed commandingly. Dean was probably most surprised by how Sam immediately listened and went over to retrieve it. Then Sasha was all in Dean's space again, whispering, "Maybe you can't understand, Dean. But I can. Give me an hour. Let me talk to him. Some things," he said right beside Dean's ear to be sure Sam couldn't overhear him, "you just can't tell family. That's life, not supernatural. Okay?" He pulled back and smiled at Dean with his usual charm.

Dean didn't really see the harm in letting them go, even though he had said before that he didn't think they should be alone together, or that any of them should be alone at all, but he could never resist Sasha when he looked all sweet like that. Besides, Sasha was right. "Just that bar down the street right? You're walking?" Dean asked.

"We'll only be yards away," Sasha nodded.

"I don't really see why we need to—" Sam started, even though he had put on his jacket as asked and was ready to go.

"I'm buying you a drink," Sasha said again, finally going over to retrieve his own jacket, "Or two. Or three if it takes that many. Come on." And in a blur they were gone.

Dean would have felt left out or even like an outsider at being proven right that he just couldn't understand certain things about his demonic friends, but he didn't. He felt a great swell of love for Sasha that the incubus could step in during those times when no matter how much Sam might want to, the younger Winchester just couldn't divulge something to his older brother.

As luck would have it, Dean's night was fairly uneventful, much as tradition said he was in for an ambush. They had already eaten, Nightrider switched over to Quantum Leap, and after an hour and forty minutes, maybe less, Sasha and Sam returned just as Sasha had promised. Not that Dean had been worried, of course, but he still felt a wave of relief when the door opened.

Of course he hadn't been prepared to see a mostly sober Sasha carrying a completely drunk and stumbling Sam across the threshold.

"Dude," Dean said in an accusing tone he just couldn't help using, "You weren't supposed to get him drunk."

"I didn't _try_ to," Sasha defended, guilt written all over his face as he eased Sam down into the nearest chair to give both of them a rest. He still had to hold Sam up at risk of the tall giant toppling over. "We started just having a few drinks, talking. I swear. I don't know what happened. I guess those girls at the other table bought him a couple Long Islands…"

Crap. Long Islands. "Sasha…" Dean shook his head, unable to hold back the grin that was quickly spreading across his face.

"They…they were _really_ hot," Sam slurred, eyes glassy and head lulling to one side or the other, "But I don't…I don't…want _them_," he shook his head. The momentum of his movements almost rolled him out of the chair.

"Sure you don't," Dean nodded like talking to a child, which drunk Sam pretty much was the equivalent of, "Everyone knows who you want, Sammy. You suck at subterfuge."

"I do?" Sam blinked, falling forward onto his knees to look at Dean more closely, "Who told you?"

Sasha clung to Sam's arm to steady him. He looked up at Dean sheepishly. "I'm an idiot. Admitted. But no one ended up dead, so…that's a plus, right? I should get him to bed. His stuff's all in the other room. I can take care of him and then come back here. It's my mess to clean up anyway."

Considering the shades of green Sam looked right now Sasha might have even more messes to clean up later. "Dude, Sam's a handful _sober_. You sure?"

"I just came here first so you'd know we were okay. _Mainly_ okay," he grimaced at Sam who was picking at the buttons on his jacket, "Give me thirty minutes to clean him up, get some water down his throat, and get him into bed. If I'm not back by then, send the search party, okay?" he smiled.

Dean found this too funny to argue. Sam probably needed this if he had allowed himself to drink that much. The kid was usually pretty good at keeping track of how many he'd had. "Go ahead. Be nice to the pretty incubus, okay, Sammy?" Dean teased, patting his brother's cheek to get his attention, "Since we planned to leave your asses here when we went to the cave to sort all this out anyway, I guess it doesn't matter if you sleep through it all in a stupor. Don't go blaming anyone but yourself in the morning though."

"Dean," Sam said, pointing a finger at him. Dean waited for more of that statement but then he realized that Sam's tone was more of a 'I just figured out who you are' kind of thing. Marvelous. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen Sam quite this gone before. The hangover was going to be killer.

"Come on, Prince Charming," Sasha shook his head, hoisting Sam up again and getting one of Sam's arms around him. Thankfully, Sam's room was only down the hallway though not right next door. "Sorry, Dean," Sasha said again before he left.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam parroted.

When they finally left, Dean broke out into full, unrepentant laughter. Thank goodness Sam seldom used alcohol to escape his problems but sometimes that kind of oblivion was just what the doctor ordered. He doubted it would give Sam much perspective but he hoped that Sam and Sasha had at least talked things out before Sam started drowning himself. Dean would get the details from Sasha later.

It had been only five, maybe ten minutes, when Dean went into the bathroom, was washing his hands on the way out, and noticed Sam's bottle of Ibuprofen sitting on the counter. Dean had stolen it for the day, but he had a feeling that Sam would be wanting that at some point. Maybe the middle of the night if he woke up or at least first thing in the morning. Dean was feeling fine now so he figured he could be nice and bring it over.

Dean had the pills and an extra bottle of water—better than water from the tap in cheap hotels like this one—and was about to knock on Sam's door when he thought better of it. Loud pounding noises probably wouldn't be Sam's favorite thing right now. Contrary to popular opinion, Dean could be courteous for his brother's sake. He pulled out the extra key—it had been his room last night after all and he still had a few things in there—and slowly and quietly opened the door to peek in on their progress.

He wasn't surprised that the reason the door got a little stuck on its way open was because of Sam's pants lying on the floor. Dean couldn't even imagine Sasha trying to help strip Sam down and get him into bed in that condition. But then as Dean looked down at the pants he noticed a shirt lying there too. It wasn't Sam's. It was a navy blue T-shirt. _Sasha's_. Spiders gnawed at Dean's gut as he lifted his eyes and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

Sam was lying on the bed, pants gone and shirt hitched up nearly to his neck. Sasha was hovering over him, wedged between his legs, shirtless and pants half down his rear. Sasha's right hand was raking so far up Sam's thigh beneath his boxers that he had almost reached Sam's bony hip, the other hand holding the back of Sam's neck as they kissed fiercely, all teeth and tongues. Sam was pawing at Sasha's chest, trying to find something to clutch onto, and Sasha was egging him on with agreeable moans and presses of his hips down against Sam's clothed thrusting until Sam gasped his name.

Dean did the only sensible thing he could think of, given the situation.

He reached for his gun.

tbc...

A/N: Hehe.


	61. Part 9: Ascribe All Sin

"The whole earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azazel; to him ascribe all sin."

-1 Enoch 8:1

Part 9: Ascribe All Sin

-----

Dean had his gun steady and aimed in moments, allowing the door to close behind him with an unsuitably soft click. The water bottle and painkillers had long since dropped to the floor. He cocked the hammer of the gun and snarled, "Get the fuck away from my brother!"

The redhead's back went instantly rigid, his movements stilling as he pulled away from the body beneath him. Sam, however, didn't seem to notice Dean and whimpered at being neglected, his hands still pawing at the smooth marble chest, searching out some way to reconnect.

Although Sasha's body had indeed tensed he did not seem upset when his eyes turned and looked at Dean with an unnatural light. He ignored Sam's eager hands pulling and pleading for him to continue as a cruel grin curved at his mouth like the twist of a knife.

"Dean," purred Sasha's voice from damp and reddened lips, "There you go again. Spoiling my fun."

"I said," Dean growled again, making a cautious half-circle around the bed to bring him closer to its side and to Sam, "Get the _fuck_ off of him."

Sasha's body didn't move but he was kneeling and pulled away enough that Sam was left to lie alone on the bed. As Dean risked a glance at his brother he saw Sam finally start to cease his reaching for Sasha, the larger man's face twisting in recognition and growing horror as he looked more closely at the redhead's face and realized the position he was in as if he had been in a daze. His eyes were still glossy and unfocused from drinking when he turned to look at Dean in mute shock.

"Sammy, come here," Dean commanded, as firm and clear as he could make his words. He kept his gun on Sasha with one hand while the other reached out for Sam.

The younger Winchester looked as though he was going to be sick. "D-Dean…?" Sam slurred, wholly out of his mind and as confused as a swindled child.

"Hn," Sasha's voice huffed, pulling Dean's attention back on him, "Just like that? You didn't even pause to think about it, _Dean_. You just pointed your gun at me, all the faith in the world still resting in dear, baby brother Sammy. What," he said with that wicked smirk, "Don't you have any faith in _me_ anymore?"

"Fuck off," Dean sneered, both hands back on his gun as he took a threatening step closer to the bed, "You're not Sasha. Sasha wouldn't do this. And totally blitzed or not, Sam would never mojo Sasha into bed, even as a fucking accident from too much to drink. So you get away from him right now and tell me who you are and what the _fuck_ you've done with my incubus."

Dean refused to play this creature's game. As soon as the imposter grinned wider and stepped a foot off the bed obligingly, Dean reached a hand forward to snatch Sam up off of the bed too. Sam's limbs weren't cooperating though, and his general largeness had him toppling right into Dean. Dean was able to keep them both steady and on their feet by sheer will.

The thing wearing Sasha's face looked so damn smug it made Dean want to shoot it out of pure spite. He shouldn't have let Sam and Sasha go off alone, he knew better than that. Something must have happened at the bar, maybe Sasha went off to the bathroom alone for a moment and this look-alike took his place, he didn't know, but he knew better than to be fooled.

"I-I'm…s-sorry, Dean," Sam mumbled into Dean's shoulder, shaking and barely able to stand even with Dean's support, "I didn't…mean to. I'd never…I…I-I don't…know what happened."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean hushed him, only one hand holding the gun again so he could keep an arm around Sam's waist and hold him up. He hugged Sam against him, carrying no blame for his brother for what couldn't be helped. "Where is Sasha?" Dean demanded of the imposter.

Sasha's voice chuckled in malicious amusement. He didn't answer.

Bastard. Dean tightened his finger on the trigger. "_Where is he?_" he said again.

"You're looking at him," came a smug, smirking reply.

Holding Sam tighter, Dean managed to take just one small step closer. The look-alike was only a yard away; it would be a point blank shot if he fired. "You asshole. Don't think I'll hesitate to use this."

"Oh? And what bullets are in there, Dean?" Sasha's voice taunted. He was standing so casual even if he remained still, like he wasn't really afraid that Dean might shoot. "If that's lead it wouldn't hurt me anyway. If it's iron you'll only be hurting this fine body. No, if you want to kill _me_, Dean, you're going to need the Colt. It's in the safe. You can get it if you like. But I think we both know this is the one body you won't be using it on."

Dean did the very thing he had just been thinking he wouldn't—he hesitated. What the hell was this person talking about? It couldn't be what it seemed to be. That wasn't possible.

While trying to play out possible scenarios in his head and think of a further plan of action, Dean suddenly felt close to dead weight in his arms and almost got taken right to the floor. He looked to Sam and saw that his brother's eyes were fluttering like he was close to passing out. Dean tried to keep his gun pointed at the bastard with them, but he had to check on Sam. He used his free hand to look more closely at Sam's eyes, barely able to hold Sam up anymore.

Damn it. Sam's pupils were totally blown.

"He's not drunk…" Dean said more to himself, gritting his teeth at his stupidity. He shifted Sam in his arms to better hold him and looked back to the man with Sasha's face. "What did you do to him?" he growled.

"Well I knew he wouldn't be able to sense me with all the interference from the cave, but that didn't mean I wanted to put up with all those other…more annoying abilities. That would have just been careless." Sasha's pants had been pulled up but they were still unbuttoned and unzipped, left open to reveal red boxer briefs beneath like this stranger couldn't be bothered to do them up again.

Dean wanted to rush the bastard but he didn't know for sure what he was dealing with. The answer couldn't be what it seemed to be. That wouldn't make any sense. But before Dean could say anything else, Sam suddenly dropped, fully collapsing in his arms so that the weight of Sam brought him straight to the floor hard on his knees. Dean hissed and cursed himself for not being able to support his brother better. "Sam!" he called, quickly smoothing back Sam's hair to search for recognition or signs of consciousness.

Sam was out.

"You…you can't be a _demon_," Dean shook his head, re-aiming the gun on Sasha's body as best he could from his slumped position with Sam on the floor, "That's not Sasha's body. It can't be. An incubus can't be possessed."

"Actually…they can." Still smug and collected, Sasha's body crouched down level with Dean, not attempting to move any closer but seeming that much more full of himself because of it, like it wouldn't make a difference. "It's just a _Hell_ of a lot harder. See, I had been watching you for months looking for my in. Those damn charms," he scoffed, looking to Dean's belt where he usually kept his anti-possession charm during the day, "Most people around you too who would have been fair game just didn't seem…right for this. And then along came an incubus."

The demon stood, spreading his arms to present Sasha's body.

"It couldn't have been more perfect if I had planned it. Good thing I was patient too because the kicker? Oh, Dean," he said with a mock-sympathetic shake of his head, "That you would actually fall in _love_ with him. That was too good to pass up. After that all I had to do was wait for Sam's powers to mature and guide him in the right direction. That energy surge was easy. The demons I used, by the way, had no idea what was really going on. They thought they were turning Sam somehow—our demon king—and that they would get to kill the rest of you and share all the power between them. A necessary sacrifice to leave a strong enough demonic signature on your boy here. _My_ signature. And I finally had an opening."

This was more than Dean could handle. How long this had been planned out, it went way beyond that night at the barn. This was someone who _knew_ them. He felt so stupid for assuming it was a plot to get at his brother. "This was never about Sam…" he said with a grimace.

"No. Not really," the demon smiled, looking down on Dean coolly as he gave a casual shrug, "But he played his part. I could have taken Sasha that night in the barn but Sam would have been able to sense me. It only took a few spells to amp the cave's pull here though, and oh how easily Sam followed the trail. I didn't plan for what happened _in_ the cave," he said dismissively, "But it sure was a nice a bonus. I only needed Sam to be here and for the cave's influence to cloud his senses enough for me to make my move. But the thanks all goes to you for the final bit, Dean. Leaving Sasha all alone last night was all the opportunity I needed, the way he was still so shaky. So afraid. Vulnerable."

"_Shut up_." Dean had started to drop the gun from exhaustion and pained realization that this really was a demon wearing his lover's body, but now he steadied the gun again, ready to shoot out of pure rage.

In seconds the demon had pulled the gun away from him like a magnet into Sasha's long fingers. "Now, Dean. Aren't we past all this," he said with sarcastic chiding, "We both know you're not going to shoot anyway." With little care, the demon tossed the gun onto the bed and finally began to walk towards Dean and Sam on the floor.

"Fuck you," Dean ground out, clutching his brother's limp body against him.

The demon crouched like he had before, only this time right in front of Dean so that they were mere inches apart when he said, "Don't you remember, Dean? We already did that."

It seemed like such a strange and weak comeback that at first Dean didn't understand. Not really. Not the full brutal brunt of it. But as comprehension built slowly within him, his mind played those words over again. Suddenly, he felt so nauseous he almost keeled over next to Sam.

'_Leaving Sasha all alone last night was all the opportunity I needed…'_

Last night. _Before_ Sasha came into Dean and Sam's room for their midnight rendezvous.

"That wasn't you," Dean shook his head fiercely, wanting so desperately to believe that.

"You sure?" the demon said with a quirked smile. Then Sasha's blue eyes were closed and his face twisted in mimed pleasure. "Ugnnn…Dean…the way you _feel_," he said, mimicking perfectly how Sasha had sounded last night. Blue eyes opened, sparkling unfairly as he laughed. "Haha. Oh, Dean. If only you knew how much it _killed_ Sasha that you couldn't tell the difference."

Fury flashed in Dean's mind so blinding and so hot it was all he could see, all he could feel. He didn't think, he just pressed his hands to the demon's chest—_Sasha's_ chest—and pushed with all the momentum of his fury behind him. He was on his feet, a mad rush into a body he usually cherished, leaving Sam behind him on the ground until he had slammed the demon into whatever hard surface came first—the wall beside the bathroom.

Dean howled, images and feelings from last night swirling all throughout his memory and making his blood boil with hatred.

"Get out!" he screamed at the demon's malignant use of Sasha's face, "Get out of him right now, you fucking bastard!"

That same laughter was Dean's reply, too cruel to bear because it was just Sasha's voice almost like it normally sounded, as if the incubus himself were laughing in Dean's face. "Dean," he grinned, allowing Dean the harsh hold he had on Sasha's bare shoulders, "I thought it was fun riding _Sam_. But this…this is even better."

The first thing Dean thought of was that the demon was referring to what he had walked in on. But when he looked into what should have been Sasha's eyes, blue and beautiful, he saw something dark and familiar, and he knew the demon meant its words differently. "Meg…?" he realized with trembling lips.

"Bingo," came another laugh that sounded too much like Sasha, "Not as dumb as you look, huh? That poor girl. She's going to be remembered forever as a demonic _bitch_ and all she did was walk home in the wrong place at the wrong time." The grin on Sasha's face widened. His eyes flicked shut for only a moment, like the shutter on a camera, but when they opened again they were all-over black. Almost. It was as if there were cracks in the black trying so desperately to be Sasha's red, making his eyes look like the burnt embers of molten rock. "I was Meg. Then I was Sam. Now I'm Sasha," he breathed in Dean's face, so close that Dean felt trapped by those strange, jarring eyes, "And I wanna _play_."

Like a burst of air from within Dean's chest, a great whoosh suddenly shot him across the room. He struck the opposing wall hard enough that he was entirely winded when he crumbled to the floor. He probably should have expected that but he was just so angry, so buried in furious disbelief that he could barely think straight.

"Come on, Dean. Don't you want to play with me?"

Dean looked up, pain blossoming at the back of his head and throbbing throughout his shoulders after impact. Sasha's tall, lean body was stalking towards him with that awful grin and sure strides. "I'm going to kill you, you _bitch_," Dean promised.

The demon—Sasha—Sasha's perfect wonderful mouth—_Meg_ grinned. "Not without killing Sasha you won't," she said.

Sasha's body reached Dean finally and a hand grabbed him too easily by the scruff of his layered shirts, lifting him from the floor and slamming him back into the wall he had only moments before been thrown into. He ached and Sasha's body with Meg's added power was just so damn strong.

"Not that you'd even have a chance at trying, but if you _were_ to attempt an exorcism…" she chuckled darkly, "See, what makes it more difficult to get inside an incubus also makes it harder to get rid of me. It's the demon blood. Sort of…fuses us together. Makes my powers stronger. Makes my ability to use Sasha's powers stronger too. Fun trick, huh?"

Pulling back as best he could, which wasn't much at all, Dean tried to avoid how close Meg was bringing Sasha's face to his own. It was so unfair how much the incubus still smelled only like himself and yet Sasha was merely a prisoner and spectator in his own body, maybe he wasn't even conscious, as Meg called the shots and made him do these awful things. She had been inside of him since last night, almost twenty-four hours, and no one had been able to tell the difference. Not even Dean.

He had failed again.

"So you see, Dean, with me and your little incubus here all tangled up," Meg was saying, "An exorcism without me leaving willingly…would kill him."

That brought Dean out of his self-effacing reverie and he almost snarled. He could still move his arms, and while he had at first instinctively brought them up to pull at Sasha's hand holding him off the ground, he clawed at that hand now. He was shaking and not at all from fear. This had nothing to do with fear. He wanted to rip Meg out of Sasha's body with his bare hands for her even daring to do this to them.

"Oh…Dean," she whispered with great satisfaction, pressing in close so that Dean's arms became as pinned as the rest of his body and all he could do was struggle to breathe.

He knew what she was trying to do, the way she moved Sasha's hips in line with his own, brought Sasha's lips to his ear and breathed hotly on his skin.

"I was going to kill you last night. When I was…_fucking_ you," she whispered, shuddering as though she took the greatest pleasure in having done that to him, "But you see, fun as it was to watch, the whole cave thing didn't really work in my favor. Those pheromones?" Like before when Meg mimicked how she had faked so well being Sasha last night, Sasha's voice took on that sweet, concerned tone and said, "I could hurt you, Dean, and you wouldn't even know it," so unfairly genuine sounding. Then Meg laughed and perfectly marred it. "Where would the fun have been then, right? So I just…finished you off, quite nicely I do believe, and decided to bide my time a little longer. Poor Sammy didn't even catch a whiff of me all day."

_Sammy_.

Like a fool Dean had almost forgotten his brother, lying mostly unconscious on the floor while Dean fell sway to all the furious anger boiling within him. He knew his eyes must have betrayed his sudden panic for his brother's sake then because Meg laughed again, pressing Sasha's body to Dean so tightly that his breath hitched. It felt so familiar to have Sasha up against him like that.

"What do you want?" Dean grit out through clenched teeth, stalling for time as much as he was trying to keep his wits together. He couldn't stop thinking that this was Sasha, but it wasn't, but it _was_, and damn it, he didn't know what to do.

"What do I want?" Meg echoed almost mockingly, "It isn't about what I want, Dean. It's about what I'm going to do." She jerked Sasha's hips against Dean's and with him lifted the angle was just right for Dean to feel and react to how Sasha's body was still half-hard from fooling around with Sam. A whimper fell from Sasha's lips as Meg made the same motion again, just the way Dean loved to hear it. It made him sick. It made him so angry. It made him feel like he might start crying and wouldn't ever be able to stop. Then Sasha's tongue was flicking out to lick at Dean's lips. "Right now, Dean, I'm an incubus," Meg breathed into him, "I'm Sasha. And I am going to _fuck_ you to death…with his body. But first…I'm going to make you watch while I do it to your brother."

Every inch of Dean went rigid, an unseen force pressing him firmly to the wall and holding him in place. He wanted to lunge for Meg even if she was wearing Sasha's skin, but he couldn't move, only just barely his head and neck as he stained against the demonic hold she was using in place of Sasha's hands.

Meg took a step away from Dean since she no longer needed to bother with the physical. "I was going to have you find him dead in the morning, really draw it out," she smirked. Sam's body was just behind her, unmoving save uneven breaths making his chest rise and fall slowly. "But this is so much more fun, don't you think?"

Horror was racing through Dean's head at the very idea of this happening. He couldn't form words coherently, managing only a weak growl.

"Dissention?" Meg asked him mockingly even as she was turning Sasha's body to look down at Sam so prone and vulnerable below her.

Dean had to think. He had to _think_. Then it hit him. "Just…a friendly warning," he said, struggling to find an even voice and not show that he had no plan, no way out of this but bullshitting, "You know about Malak, don't you? Even if you didn't before, you're in Sasha's head. You know now."

"Oh, I know Malak," Meg replied, smiling with what Dean almost took to be fondness, "What about him?"

"He's the contract holder. Owns my soul. Seems pretty happy about that too. How do you think he's gonna feel…about you messing with one of his _favorite_ possessions?" Dean hated to even form that phrase but it was the only idea coming to him right now. All the other demons either didn't even know of Malak or were terrified of him.

Whatever Dean had hoped would be Meg's reaction, it wasn't that she would curl Sasha's lips into a wider smile. "Malak wants you in Hell, Dean. With him," she said, "You die. You go to Hell. Everyone's happy. Well, maybe not you. And even if Malak did have a problem with this…he can't touch me here. I'm not going back to the pit." Meg stared at Dean, heated and wanting the way Dean was so used to from Sasha. It was awful because she flicked her eyes shut and when they opened they were Sasha's blue again. "I think I just might keep Sasha after this," she said, starting a hand low on Sasha's hips and trailing lightly touching fingers slowly up Sasha's taut stomach, "It is such a nice body after all. Sam might even enjoy this. In fact…I guarantee he will. Sammy…" she called sing-song as she began to crouch down.

Panic shot through Dean's limbs all over again, the limbs he couldn't even twitch for how the demon bitch was force-holding him to the fucking wall. Dean watched as Meg used Sasha's hand to stroke gently at Sam's face and Sam's eyes fluttered. "Sam!" Dean yelled; he didn't stand a chance on his own, he knew that, but if he could reach Sammy before things got out of hand there might still be a way, "Sammy, snap out of it!"

It seemed the greatest miracle that when Sam's eyes opened fully, still so glossed over and distant, they didn't look up at Meg touching him tenderly with Sasha's hands, but over at Dean against the wall. "D-Dean…?" Sam trembled.

"It's Meg!" Dean immediately tried to explain, hating that Sam wasn't resisting as she rolled Sam onto his back and straddled him without ceremony, "It's Meg, Sam, she's messing with your head! Send—!" but what could Dean say? He was going to tell Sam to send the bitch back to Hell, but would that be the same as a normal exorcism? Even if Sam was in his right mind, doing that might kill Sasha just like Meg had said.

"Shhh…" Meg hushed Sam before he could respond, looking so confused, so lost. She turned his head to look at her, Sasha's body hovering over Sam's with Sam's hips between his thighs. Sam blinked even more confusion, perhaps not even remembering that they had been going at it fairly heated before. "It's okay, Sam," she said in Sasha's voice, so easily falling into a tone that was purely Sasha, comforting and trustworthy, "Dean's not feeling well. He doesn't know what he's saying. But you feel good…don't you, Sam? You feel so good…" she whispered close beside his face, Sasha's hand gently stroking down his cheek.

Dean hadn't been able to understand how Sam had allowed himself to get into this position before, enraptured and even moaning Sasha's name for fuck's sake, but now that he could see it, it made sudden, horrible sense to him. Pheromones. Meg wasn't fond of the ones from the cave, but what she could make of them with her own power amped up Sasha's strongly enough that Dean could actually see it.

The pheromones were visible, like a crimson mist that danced about Sasha's fingertips as Meg stroked Sam's face. Dean physically saw Sam breath them in, the large hunter unable to see them himself for how drugged—or whatever she had done to him—he was. Sam's eyes glazed over even further and he stared up at Sasha under the pheromones' thrall, hungry for the incubus all over again. These pheromones were so strong they didn't even need a basis of attraction anymore to work. Sam literally couldn't stop himself.

"Sammy, snap out of it!" Dean cried again, trying so hard to get through to his brother, "You know you don't want Sasha! It's not even Sasha, it's Meg! Don't listen to her, Sam! _Sam_!"

"Come on, Sam," Meg spoke quietly, not trying nor needing to raise Sasha's voice in order to keep Sam focused on her, "Why don't we pick up where we left off, hmm? Don't you want that…?" She leaned further over him, completely covering and surrounding him. Then, looking right up at Dean for a moment and grinning devilishly, she rolled Sasha's hips against Sam's and Sam gasped in pleasure.

It was Sam—_Sam_—who grabbed Sasha's face and kissed him fervently like before, deep and wanting.

Dean didn't think his stomach could tie in any more knots, he felt so sick and helpless. He couldn't get off the wall without Meg losing focus enough to drop him, and that didn't seem likely seeing as how she seemed fine with fooling around with Sam and keeping Dean pinned at the same time. But Dean knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if he was really forced to watch this. Knowing Sasha was still in there unable to stop his own body made it so much worse. Sasha had killed a girl while feeding on accident once and still couldn't forgive himself almost ten years later. If he killed Sam…

It wasn't going to happen. Somehow Dean had to either distract Meg enough for him to break free from her hold or he had to snap Sam out of his stupor. Dean couldn't be sure how strong the pheromones were, but he knew Meg had to keep Sam's attention on her for them to continue working. Sam had snapped out of it fairly quickly when Dean came into the room before.

At this point Dean would try anything. "Always had it in for Sam…didn't you?" he started in, swallowing the bile in his throat at seeing Sam's hands move to Sasha's backside and grind up into him, their tongues still tangling in tandem, "When you possessed Sam," Dean forced himself to keep talking, "It wasn't just to mess with me and see how far I had to be pushed to kill him. You _wanted_ to be Sam. Daddy's favorite."

Sasha's eyes snapped open, no longer blue but that horrid molten black again. Sam moved to kissing Sasha's neck, unaware.

"Admit it," Dean said with a forced smirk, "You'd rather kill Sam than help continue Azazel's plans. I doubt Daddy Demon would like that. Course he's dead. I should know. But even so, you really can't stand knowing you were nothing but second string, can you?"

"Enough," Meg snarled, raising a hand at Dean that closed something in his throat, silencing him. Sam was looking impatient again, out of it as he was, mindlessly pressing Sasha's hips down against his own and licking the incubus' smooth collarbone. Meg was undeterred as she spoke to Dean. "You're right. I don't care about my father's plans. It's all part of what Malak wants too. I'm sure you've figured that. When I was in Sam? And I'm going to be _in him_ again soon, believe me," she added leeringly, "Azazel would have never approved of it. Of me killing you like I wanted to before Malak could finally…well. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. You see, Dean, _Sam_?"

Dean flinched as Meg shifted Sasha's hips and suddenly hoisted Sam up into a sitting position, Sasha's knees bending so that the incubus was basically in Sam's lap, hips aligned and still moving. Sam made a pleased noise like a feral growl, seemingly stronger somehow like maybe the pheromones gave him just enough sense and focus for the task of sex only. He moved his hands to Sasha's back, holding him as he kissed and sucked fiercely on the skin of Sasha's flat chest that had been brought right to his face as he sat up.

Whimpering the same way Sasha would have if Dean was the one doing those things to him, Meg turned to Dean again, clearly relishing in how Dean couldn't stand this and yet couldn't look away from it either for fear of what she might do to his brother. "Sammy here…he's not as important as you think. Now, my father didn't even trust _me_ with all the details, but I know that much."

Eager as he had seemed up until now, as Meg spoke on Dean noticed Sam slowly beginning to lose his enthusiasm as if awareness was prodding distantly at the back of his mind. Dean swallowed back the surge of hope that filled him and focused on Meg, praying she would keep talking just a little longer.

"I can't even begin to imagine what Malak has planned for you, Dean," she said, "But if you've met him, actually met him, then you've at least been given a taste, yeah? Take it from me. Whatever he may have shown you or done to you so far, it's nothing compared to what awaits you. His powers in the pit are endless. He wrote the book on imaginative torture. Literally. I almost wish I was going to be there to see how many different ways he's going to fuck with you. Also literally, I'm sure," she grinned. She was moving Sasha's hand's through Sam's hair and rolling Sasha's hips consistently, but she didn't seem to notice yet that Sam wasn't responding anymore. "When this is all over, after I've taken everything you have, Dean, I will be more than happy to send you to him."

"N-No…" croaked Sam's roughened voice, "You won't."

Meg flew back across the room with a great surge of power from Sam, slamming into that same wall by the bathroom Dean had pushed her into earlier. Sasha's body crumbled, winded and totally taken off guard. Dean would have cheered but he still couldn't speak or move, which meant that Meg was still powerful enough to hold herself together.

They weren't fairing much better with how wrecked and unsteady Sam looked either, breathing heavily from arousal and probably growing nausea, Dean imagined. Dean tried his damnedest not to notice that his brother was wearing boxers that made the tall hunter's hard-on very apparent as Sam struggled to his feet.

"So…developed an immunity to the…pheromones already, did you?" Meg said, coughing out gulps of air as she pushed Sasha's body up onto its feet as well, "Even at the strength…I've reduced you to. That's impressive." She raised Sasha's right arm like a loaded weapon and Sam was immediately pushed across the carpet. But he fought back, purely mentally at first, and then raised a hand of his own to better focus his powers. It was light side versus dark side of the Force kind of shit and Dean couldn't be happier right now that Sam was at least able to hold his own.

The standoff was invisible but palpable. Dean's first indication that Meg was growing tired was when he called out, "Kick her ass, Sammy!" and the words actually left his mouth. He was still pinned but he could speak again. Sam just needed to hold out a little bit longer.

Of course that same awful laughter building in Sasha's throat did not make Dean feel very optimistic about a successful end to all this. "Come on, Sam, you know you can't keep this up," she said, taking one slow, painful looking step closer to Sam across the room while pushing against Sam's barrier, "Strong as you are, it's still harder to control those powers than usual, isn't it? Don't you just feel so tired? So _weak_."

"Sh-shut up," Sam said through chattering teeth. It was like he had this awful fever but was forcing himself to fight through the sickness. It wasn't as if the Winchester brothers hadn't handled hunts with fevers before. But Meg was right. Dean could see Sam losing his footing and being pushed back again as Meg's powers overtook his own. They had to switch to another tactic.

Sam cast a quick glance at Dean, maybe to say that he had heard Dean's suggestion or maybe just to apologize for being about to attack Sasha. Regardless, Dean internally cheered his brother on when a final push of power from Sam broke his and Meg's contact and then Sam went lunging across the room to tackle Sasha's body to the floor.

When in doubt, fight dirty.

It was obvious Sam was going on pure adrenaline now. The pheromones had faded from his senses but he was still far from his best from whatever Meg had given him while they were at the bar. Brute strength might not be enough. Dean still cringed, however, when Sam laid the first punch across Sasha's jaw and there was a resounding crack Dean easily heard from his pinned position. Meg was knocked back into the wall again but remained standing, snarling with Sasha's mouth as she returned Sam's lunge, barreling into the younger Winchester until they struck the end of the bed and bounced off of it onto the floor.

In moments they were back in the positions they had been in while fooling around, only a few feet in front of Dean and grappling. Meg fought hard for the upper hand and managed to straddle Sam again, pinning him down, but Sam pressed his hands up against Sasha's chest and held them there until the skin started to sizzle and Sasha's voice cried out in pain. Meg grabbed Sam's hands and twisted away, flipping Sam over to the side.

The melting power had its moments; there were two burned handprints on Sasha's ribs. Even as Dean looked at them they began to heal and fade but that still had to sting.

Meg moved quickly to roll back on top of Sam but Sam gripped Sasha's biceps and rolled them over again, burning Sasha's arms this time so he could better keep his claim of being on top. He had Sasha's body straddled finally as he began to chant the words of exorcism.

"Sam, no!" Dean screamed even though he knew that would distract his brother to lose his firm hold on Meg. He couldn't risk that Meg hadn't been lying and that a normal exorcism would kill Sasha in the process. "It might kill him! She's too embedded! You gotta do it the psychic way!" Of course Dean understood why Sam had chosen words instead—it was so much less strain on Sam's already weary body—and Dean couldn't be sure if the psychic method would be any safer than the good old fashioned way, but it was the best bet they had right now.

"No!" growled Sasha's voice when Sam hesitated, and suddenly Sam was knocked to the side by a vicious blow to his temple. Dean couldn't help cringing again; Sam looked even more dazed as he lifted himself up and tried to quickly scramble onto his knees to steady himself, but Meg slammed a closed fist down into the middle of Sam's back, sprawling him out on the floor again. "Not…quick enough," Meg gasped.

Stunned and pained now, Sam tried to roll over, find some bearing, anything, but by the time he had managed it, Sasha's body was on top of him again.

They were so close to Dean, he could easily reach them if only he could get away from the wall. The fight had loosened Meg's mental hold on him enough that Dean could almost stretch his entire midsection forward, but his arms and legs remained pinned.

"Always did prefer doing things the old fashioned way," Meg ground out, sitting on Sam to hold him down and squeezing Sam's neck with Sasha's hands, the incubus' thumbs pressing unforgivingly into the dip in Sam's throat. Sam gurgled in an attempt to speak, his own hands coming up immediately to grip at Sasha's and burn them to get them to let go. The marks on Sasha's arm had faded already just like the ones on his chest. This time the heat didn't even seem to bother the demon. Meg held fast.

"Sam!" Dean cried. He could almost get away from the wall. He was so _close_.

Meg squeezed Sam's throat tighter, eyes flashing with the cracks of red behind the black and smiling in a way that made Sasha look sickening and mad. The force of the melting power was fading, Sam's hands slipping from Sasha's arms, and Sam's hazel eyes that hadn't quite been able to find their true power and turn yellow were fluttering into unconsciousness.

But it wouldn't just be unconsciousness if Sam let go. Sam couldn't let go. But as Dean watched, Sam's hands became lax and finally fell limp back to his sides, his eyes fluttering just a little longer and then all the tension in Sam's body was gone. Meg held on, squeezing mercilessly for several moments after it was clear that Sam would not open his eyes again.

She had killed him. She had _killed_ him. She had killed Sam with Sasha's hands…

It couldn't be real.

"A shame," Meg breathed, sitting back on Sam's hips as she released his throat finally and he remained just lying there, still beneath Sasha's body, "It would have been fun the other way too."

"…Sam?" Dean choked out, leaning forward from the wall but still so far away that it didn't really matter, "_Sammy_," he called more firmly, unwilling to believe that Sam could really be—

"Dead, Dean. Dead again," Meg laughed with Sasha's voice, smoothing back Sasha's now damp hair from his face, "Guess you really are nothing but Daddy Winchester's perfect little _failure_." She was getting up. Leaving Sam there. Just…_leaving_ him. She walked up to Dean and he snapped back to the wall as if she had tightened the strings holding him against it. "You know, change of plans," she said, grabbing Dean by the hair and pulling his face close to Sasha's as she stepped into his body, "I think I have something better in mind for you."

It was a blessing, that's the only thing Dean could consider it with how the sheer horror of what was happening was driving him mad, when Meg slammed his head back into the wall, there was a brief sharp pain, and then nothing but darkness.

-----

Dean was positive he was going to throw up when he started to come to. He had a concussion, no two ways about it, but he would be okay if he didn't move too much. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to being battered. But what had been going on? He couldn't remember. That usually wasn't a good sign. He knew he had to come back to himself quickly. Someone might be in trouble. Sasha or Sam might need him.

Something clicked in Dean's brain as soon as he thought their names and he was certain he was going to be sick. His brain assaulted him with the memories of what had happened. Sasha and Sam on the bed. Meg. Meg inside of Sasha. _'I'm going to fuck you to death, Dean.'_ Sam coming to his senses. Understanding. The fight. Sam winning. Latin spilling from his lips. But Dean had to stop him. Sasha. He couldn't kill Sasha. But then…Meg had…

Sam. No…no, _Sam_.

"Sam…" Dean coughed into the floor, a cold cement floor he didn't like the smell of and didn't recognize. He tried to get up but everything was sore and his head was throbbing. He was certain he had been tossed down onto the cement harshly by hands that should be loving, only loving.

"There you go again," said Sasha's voice from somewhere above him. Suddenly, Dean was lifted from the floor and slammed yet again into a wall, a new wall. Dean tried to focus on where they were, some large empty room with dim lights that might have been a warehouse—it was always warehouses—but he couldn't take his eyes off Sasha's face. Sasha's face. _Sasha's_. "Always thinking of your brother, Dean," Meg sneered at him, "When poor Sasha's the one suffering. I really don't know what he sees in you. But then I suppose he is an incubus. I always knew you were a _whore_. Must be that. You sure did want it last night."

Explosions of furious grief overcame Dean so fast and hot the only thing he could do was scream. He tried to lash out, not thinking, not caring that he might claw at Sasha's skin until he found the real incubus beneath he was so hysterical. How could he be anything but hysterical? Sam was dead. Sam was _dead_.

And Meg was laughing with Sasha's voice. "Oh this is nothing," she said, holding Dean easily, just Sasha's hands at his shoulders, enough to keep his arms down and his body pushed back, "Think what I'll be able to do after this, Dean. When the girls get back from New Mexico, they're going to find a poor, sobbing Sasha who doesn't know what happened. I'll kill them first then work my way through all your hunter friends. Bobby. He's on his way too. Ellen. All of them. Just like I did the first time. Maybe when I'm done I'll leave just enough hunters left and find a new body so Sasha can take the blame. Imagine him living with what I'll make him do, Dean. The guilt _alone_," she laughed.

Dean was almost certain he was crying—empty, soundless tears—but he couldn't really feel them. He just knew they had to be there because how else could he contain himself without exploding in fragments. It was too much to hold onto, too many rancorous emotions, that Dean had to deaden himself to even begin to focus. He had to shut off, shut down. There wasn't anything worth feeling anymore anyway.

He was able to calm down even in the face of that laughter taunting him, no longer struggling as Meg held him to the wall. He knew there was nothing he could do now. He didn't know why Meg had brought him to this place, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Just…take me," he said, his voice sounding so distant, so far away from where he was, "Sasha has…nothing to do with this. Let him go. You want me. _Take_ _me_."

"Hn. Why," Meg huffed like that was the most ridiculous idea, right in Dean's face with Sasha's blue eyes. She had dressed Sasha again too in that same navy shirt and Sasha's jacket. Dean realized then that he also had his jacket, his leather one. He couldn't care about those details though as he looked into Sasha's blues. He would rather they were the horrid molten black. "Why ditch the best ride I've had in centuries when I'm having so much fun?" Meg said.

Dean was shaking. He felt hot tears sliding down his neck, but his face, his hands, so much of him was numb. "Some…hunter…somewhere, some day, they'll…they'll stop you," he promised, "Someone will stop you. You're just another _demon_."

Again there came a breathy laugh warm on Dean's skin. Then Meg was actually tsking him like a disappointed school teacher. "Dean, come on, you know I'm more than a normal demon. Black eyes, sure, so I was human once. But who was my father? I was born to be a demon, see. My father fell from grace and came into his own before mankind even knew sin."

"Hehehe…fallen angel," Dean chuckled without any feeling attached to the sound as it left him. Without any feeling at all. He didn't believe in angels.

"The bad had to come from somewhere," Meg replied, "And the good is so…_good_," she laughed, "At fucking things up. Being bad, it doesn't go the other way. Me, I enjoy what I do. I'm fucking amazing at it. I bested the Winchesters. Poor Sammy's rotting in that hotel room…right…now."

There was no question that Dean was shaking now, sobbing, trying to stay numb, stay deadened, don't let the feelings inside, don't feel, I can't…can't…can't live without them! "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" he exploded in Sasha's face, pushing hard enough on that firm, supposedly immovable body that he actually freed himself from the wall long enough to have use of his hands. He glared into those eyes that showed no spark of the man Dean loved.

"Yes," Meg smiled, stepping right back into Dean's space but not trying to grab for him, "You _are_."

Dean didn't understand, not for a whole minute as he stood there, what the bitch could possibly mean. All he could see was Sasha from the chest up, those sparkling blues, that smug face. But then Sasha's face twisted, looked…looked pained and disbelieving, and only then did Dean feel the hilt of the knife that had been pressed into his hands. Dean looked down between their bodies to find his own large knife—his iron knife—stabbing just beneath Sasha's ribcage.

"D-Dean…?" Sasha gasped, stumbling back and looking so suddenly pale.

Everything was a dream. It had to be a dream. Any minute now Dean would wake up. He'd wake up! But he didn't. He just stared as Sasha crumbled to his knees, the knife still sticking out of him, and just enough blood left on Dean's hands for him to never forget that he had done it.

The sound of flapping was deafening, like dozens of birds on the attack, but the wings were too large to be birds. Dean had barely taken two breaths since Sasha first went down before he saw the wings for himself, five pairs, one attached to each of the five friends of Sasha's that Dean had met at various times the past few months.

Lindsey. Charis. Cam. The twins. All of them swooped in as if from out of the very walls and descended upon him and Sasha like birds of prey.

Sasha. It wasn't Sasha, Dean reminded himself. It was Meg. He knew it was Meg.

Before he could act or even move forward, Dean was suddenly being held again, one of the twins attached to either of his arms to hold him steady. After that all Dean could see was Lindsey stalking towards him, looking fierce and angry, his eyes already red, his hair bright white and windblown, and his whole presence larger than life even though all of them had left their wings to glamours now.

When Lindsey reached him, he struck Dean so hard across the face that Dean saw stars. That wouldn't be helping his concussion. "You bastard," Lindsey spat, "To think I was beginning to trust you, _like_ you. I knew I should have followed my instincts." Pulling Dean's head back by the hair, Lindsey snarled with fangs barred into Dean's face. The pain helped Dean focus and he suddenly noticed that Cam and Charis had stopped to tend to Sasha.

"No!" Dean screamed, fighting madly against Epica and Attoinette's hold on him and ignoring Lindsey completely, "Stay away from him!" he yelled as Cam went to pull the knife from Sasha's stomach, "It's not Sasha. You don't understand. He's _possessed_." Dean didn't have time to think about how the sex demon squad had come to be here.

For a moment all of them just stared at him, even Charis and Cam who were obviously more concerned with helping their friend. Then Cam just shook his head at Dean with a look of absolute hatred in his eyes before he finished pulling the knife free. Blue veins had already started to spread out from the wound.

Clinging to what sense he could, Dean tried to tell himself that it was better if Charis and Cam helped Sasha's body as long as they were careful. Sasha could still die with Meg in control and then there would be nothing to save when they…

But there wasn't a way to get Meg out of him. If they exorcized her it would kill Sasha. And Sammy was…

Dean was still shaking, struggling, tears staining his face, and breaths coming heavy, when Epica said, "You lost your mind, sweetie, or did you really think we'd fall for that?"

"It's true," Dean tried to tell them. He had to make them understand or Meg would use Sasha's body to kill all of them too. Sasha couldn't be made to suffer that. He couldn't. Even though there was so little Dean could do, he had to manage something. "It's not Sasha," he insisted, "It's not. It's a _demon_."

"He keeps…he keeps saying that," came Sasha's weak and trembling voice, sounding so hurt, so pained, so genuinely disbelieving of Dean's behavior, "He won't believe me. But he doesn't know what he's doing, he's confused. Lindsey, please don't hurt him." Even that, the heartfelt plea sounded so much like the real Sasha that Dean felt fresh tears welling up in his eyes. He could feel them now, feel everything, and the white hot pain of emotions rolling through him burned so strong in his gut he couldn't stand it.

"An incubus can't be possessed," Cam said low and dark, holding Dean's knife tight in his hand now that he had pulled it free like he wanted nothing more than to use it. Charis was pouring antidote over Sasha's wound and then gave the rest of it to him to drink. "You know an incubus can't be possessed, you lying son of a bitch," Cam swore.

"Cam," Charis chided him.

"I knew," Cam went on, "I knew this would happen. We should have listened to you, Lindsey, and killed these fucking hunters before it came to this."

No. This wasn't happening. They had to listen to him. "You're sex demons, for crying out loud!" Dean screamed at them. Lindsey had since backed away a few steps so Dean could see all of them now, even Meg in Sasha's body playing wounded and confused. "You can feel my emotions. You know I'm not lying."

"Then you've really lost your mind, Dean," Attoinette said in a small, sympathetic voice, "Because we can feel that Sasha's just Sasha."

Dean realized then what an idiot he was. It didn't matter if they could feel that he wasn't lying, they wouldn't be able to feel the truth about Sasha. Even if the cave was having no affect on them, it was still probably impossible to sense Meg inside of Sasha with the way they were tangled up and fused together.

At least Sasha's body had been healed from the wound. Even if it would be better for Sasha to die and no longer have to witness this, Dean just couldn't stand the thought of losing him. He had already lost him, he knew that, but he had to cling to some hope or he would truly lose his mind.

"I don't doubt you believe what you're saying, Dean," Charis said in her usual patient, maternal voice, "But you're wrong. I don't know why you would even think such a thing." She shook her head as she looked at Sasha, looked right at him and like all of them, like Sam and Dean and the girls too, couldn't tell that it wasn't Sasha looking back.

"What about Sam?" Epica asked, making Dean seize with too much emotion again, "Was Sam apart of this? What happened to him?"

While Dean slumped, not wanting to have to face thoughts of what had happened to his brother, not yet, god, he couldn't bear it, Sasha was being helped to his feet. His body trembled from the aftereffects of the iron's poison, but it was his sudden sobbing to match Dean's that made Dean look up again. "Sam," Sasha's voice said forlornly, like he had only just remembered what had happened to the younger Winchester, "Dean, he…he kept…he kept saying the same things about Sam. That he was possessed. That it wasn't really him. He…he killed him," came the lie that neatly ripped Dean in two, "I couldn't stop him," Meg sobbed on, "God, I…I didn't know what to do."

"You bitch!" Dean screamed, fury overcoming the cacophony of other emotions so that he almost broke free on Attoinette's side, advancing a full yard forward. But then the girls had him again and Lindsey stood between Dean and where Cam and Charis were helping Sasha stand. When Dean didn't stop struggling, trying again and again to break free, Lindsey punched him harder than before, hard enough that Dean's knees buckled and the twins had to drop to the floor to keep him in their grasp.

"Lindsey, stop," Dean heard Charis say sternly from above him, her voice swimming for a moment as he tried to remain conscious, "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Sam?" said Attoinette, her voice small and distressed, "You…you killed Sam?"

"No," Dean croaked, seeing spots when he opened his eyes and feeling so damn tired suddenly. He focused on Sasha, on Meg playing at being Sasha, who he could see just beyond Lindsey acting weak and injured as Charis and Cam continued to hold him up. "No," Dean shook his head with a bitter sob, "It's a lie. She's lying. She…_she_ killed him."

The silence that followed was overpowering to Dean until he realized how important pronouns really were to the English language. The others couldn't get past the 'she's'. They probably thought Dean was even crazier because of them. He tried to explain.

"She…she was in a girl the first time we met her. She possessed Sam last year. Now she's in Sasha. I know it's impossible but she found a way in. You have to believe me."

The incubi and succubae merely stared at him, some silently hating him, Dean knew, some filled with pity. But none of them were listening.

"You're not…going to believe me. Are you?" he sighed in defeat, so soft it was almost more to himself. He slumped further, the twins still holding firm but probably seeing now that he wasn't going to fight anymore. They began to ignore him, to ignore the poor, insane hunter who was acting out at those he cared about, and focused their attention on Sasha. On the damn imposter.

"We should have gotten here faster," Epica said with a deadness to her tone that Dean recognized from hearing too many people over the years choose to ignore their grief, himself included.

"We came as soon as you called, man," said Cam, an arm holding fast around Sasha's waist.

Dean figured then that Meg must have called in reinforcements while Dean was unconscious and then brought him here to wait out their arrival, having filled all of them with lies of a far-reaching story they would easily believe over Dean's.

Maybe Dean would have been able to stand it if this had been only about him, about killing him and then it would all be over. He could have accepted that. He could have accepted Hell after failing this badly. But what Meg was actually doing was unbearable, to bring in the few other people Sasha actually had in his life and then to do this to them. Sasha must be screaming in there. And damn them for not being able to hear him. Damn all of them.

The sex demons were all telling Sasha how happy they were they had been able to find him in time, that they had saved him. And Meg was playing along so well, sounding like Sasha exactly even when she said, "I tried to reason with him but he brought me to this place and…I don't know what I thought he'd do. I know I should have fought back but I didn't want to risk hurting him."

Then Meg was moving Sasha's body towards Dean, making Charis and Cam come along since they were still holding him up, and while Lindsey was stoic beside them, Charis sympathetic, the twins seeming something like disgusted, and Cam just looking murderous, Sasha's beautiful face looking down on Dean pleadingly was too much.

"Dean…"

"Don't look at me," Dean grimaced, his tears finally drying up and leaving his face sore and tight. He didn't know if he was feeling everything or nothing anymore. He wanted to be numb but he couldn't find that release. He wanted to be angry enough to lash out again, but he just couldn't channel his many emotions into a single act. He just wanted this over. "You're getting what you want," he said, drifting his eyes down so he wouldn't have to look at Sasha's face lying to him, "Great plan. Ingenious. You knew they wouldn't believe me. So just…just kill me. You know where I'm going."

Silence. Dean didn't expect Meg to gloat and spoil her ruse, but he knew that the silence from the others was because some of them knew his secret; they knew where he would be going just as much as Meg did.

"Just kill me!" Dean screamed into the floor. He wouldn't look at her, god damn it, he wouldn't give her that satisfaction. "It doesn't…it doesn't matter anymore. You've killed…Sammy. You've…taken Sasha. Just kill me. There's nothing left for you to take away."

"Actually…you were wrong about at least one of those points, Dean."

Dean's heart literally stopped in his chest. If this was another trick, he would bash his brains out on the damn cement floor. But when he looked up past the incubi and succubae his own eyes would have to be lying to him if that wasn't truly his _brother_ standing in one of the doorways. "Sammy…"

"You didn't think it would be that easy to get rid of me," Sam smirked at Meg, "Did you?" He was fully dressed and not at all disheveled like he should be. He didn't look fatigued or dazed. His eyes were bright and focused, he was calm, confident, perfectly _fine_. But the last Dean had seen of his brother he had been in a T-shirt and boxers, more than likely drugged, and…strangled to death. There weren't even any bruises on his neck.

A great pause surrounded those gathered, Dean included, as he was at a complete loss of what to make of this or what to do. He turned his attention to Meg as if feeling that she was about to react, and indeed she did, revealing herself finally as she burst power from her body in a shockwave that sent everyone but Dean and Sam flying into the walls.

Dean didn't know why or how he had been spared—maybe because right now he was so little a threat—but when the twins flew away from him their suddenly torn away grips wrenched his arms back. Dean fell to his side, trying to stay somewhat upright as the others were forced to form a half-circle around him and Meg and Sam as pinned sentinels.

"Well played," said Meg, no longer feigning a weakened condition or hiding the wicked way she made Sasha smile, "Thought for sure I'd killed you." She looked Sam over appraisingly, trying to gauge just how strong her opponent was perhaps. The way her confidence flickered made Dean guess that she either couldn't tell or didn't like what she had discovered.

Sam and Meg circled each other closer, keeping Dean just on the edge of their radius like a prize. "I needed time to recover," Sam shrugged as if his miraculous resurrection wasn't anything special, "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist drawing things out before you killed my brother. Sorry, Dean," Sam said without looking at him, eyes focused challengingly on Meg, "I came as fast as I could."

Something was off, Dean knew with certainty. Sam was too composed, too sure of himself for someone who should be dead. He wore a sneer the way Dean hated, just like how Sam had looked in the cave. The only thing missing was for his eyes to flash yellow.

Meg could sense it too, that something about Sam wasn't the same. Knowing Sasha's expressions as well as he did, Dean could tell that the demon wasn't nearly as sure of herself anymore.

"Your powers should still be stunted," she said, "You won't be able to use them fully."

"Yeah," Sam grinned, and when his eyes finally did flash with power they were that super-powered all-over yellow from when Sam had summoned all those demons and creatures, "About that."

"Sammy…" Dean felt new panic clutching at his throat. No. Sam wouldn't have gone to that extreme. He couldn't have.

But a brief passing of shame across Sam's face, replaced quickly with firm resolve and something like pride was answer enough that Dean's fears were warranted. "Sorry, Dean," Sam said again, not sounding at all sorry actually, "I couldn't wait for your approval." Dean knew then that it was too late. Sam had done it. He had thrown aside the final barrier holding his power stunted, was fully matured now and radiating with it, having dismissed all thoughts of consequence…to save Dean.

"It's not possible," Lindsey was saying, his voice strained from the shock of being thrown into the wall and held there, "How can you…be a demon?" he shook his head, looking only at Sasha's body and unable to see anything but what he wanted to see, "It's not _possible_."

The others were the same as they fell into like chorus. "Sasha?" Charis prompted.

"What's happening? Who are you?" said Cam.

The twins too, all bewildered and speaking of their confusion aloud until five voices had become a din of wanting, needing to understand but unable. Meg grew tired of it quickly, still circling Sam, until she finally raised a hand to silence them like she had done to Dean before. "No offense," she said with Sasha's voice, looking disdainfully at all of them, "But you're all incredibly annoying. So would you be so kind as to _shut the fuck up_. Dean was right. Sasha isn't home right now. And there is nothing you can do about that without killing him," she informed Sam.

A dimpled smirk replied. "Maybe," Sam nodded, bringing his constant movements to a sudden stop, "Why don't we find out?"

Another pause, a tense moment hanging in the air with all that silence to suffocate it, and suddenly Sam and Meg had each moved so fast that they were just upon each other, fighting equally vicious as they chose to attack with physical violence over powers.

Then again there was always their super-strength, Dean reminded himself, flinching as fists made contact with solid muscle. He pushed up onto his knees. The room was spinning now, his head foggy and filled with cotton. Falling asleep would be a very bad idea right now, but despite how much his body tried to pull him into dangerous slumber, the fight before him kept him alert. He would have felt forgotten, left to remain crumbled on the floor, if Sam and Meg didn't both cast their eyes on him from time to time, keeping the fight away from him so that Dean was always at least a yard from being able to touch them. They wanted him for different reasons, but both wanted him that was certain.

A kick to Sasha's shin brought Meg down to one knee and Sam grabbed a forearm, heating it instantly with the melting power so that there was actually a moment where Dean saw steam rising from the charred fabric of Sasha's coat. Sam yanked that arm around Sasha's back and forced the possessed incubus to the floor, electricity sparkling all the way up Sam's shoulder. "It would be in your best interest to leave willingly," he said, his voice barely even sounding like him and not at all out of breath from fighting, "But if I have to force you…I will."

Dean didn't like that tone of voice, so devoid of compassion. It worried him for both Sam and Sasha's sakes, though he could never have imagined wanting Meg to win. Dean had to assume that mojoing Meg at this point would have the same affect as forcing her out, but he still would have taken that over having to see Sam and Sasha fight with brutal intentions on each other. It didn't matter that Meg was driving; the sight ingrained on Dean's mind.

Building with a low growl that soon became a roar at the ceiling, Meg purposely dislocated Sasha's shoulder to slip from Sam's hold, pivoting on his knee to kick out with his other leg and knock Sam's feet out from under him. Sam fell hard, releasing Sasha's arm fully and leaving behind a smoking hole through the fabric and red, blistering skin beneath.

Sam leapt to his feet immediately, but Meg was already up, rolling Sasha's shoulder back into place with a pop. She charged her right hand with those super-charged crimson pheromones and reached for Sam's neck, pulling him in close. Sam stumbled forward into Sasha's body, blinking past the pull of those damn things trying to get into his senses. Before he could pull away, Meg grabbed the side of Sam's face with Sasha's other hand, also covered in swirling crimson mist and totally immersing Sam in it.

There was a definite struggle for Sam to stay focused, Dean could tell, and he was filled with fresh nausea when Meg tried to pull Sam in for a kiss and for a moment it looked as though Sam was going to oblige, his mouth parting slightly as he leaned closer. But before their lips touched, Sam smirked, and his arms shot out at Sasha's chest between them, erupting with a surge of visible blue light as Sam sent Meg flying across the building.

Sasha's body landed hard in the very center of the room, a few yards beyond Dean. It was more than just the blow and harsh landing that had Meg struggling to get to her feet again. That blast had carried _power_, stronger by leaps and bounds than the blast Sam had once used on Sasha while sparring.

Wholly confident, Sam strode across the room to where Sasha's body was still crumbled, trying to get up and failing several times. "Last chance," Sam said darkly as he grabbed Meg by the scruff of Sasha's T-shirt.

"F-Fuck you," Meg shot back, clearly drained but unwilling to give Sam any satisfaction.

Sam's lips curled up into that sneer again, that horrible not-Sam expression that made Dean think of everything he hated about the future. "I'm sorry, Sasha," Sam said, lacking all genuineness in the words for how pleased with himself he sounded as he reared back and struck Sasha's face with a blow that would have broken the jaws of most men.

Meg merely snarled back at Sam, barring Sasha's fangs and showing her true eyes, black with cracks of red. Sam dropped her to the ground without ceremony, leaving her much as she had left him. But when she tried to get up, perhaps thinking Sam was calling her out for another round, Sam shot out his right arm. There was no electricity, no bolt of light, no show of anything but Sam's hand palm-out, and yet the moment he directed it at Meg, Sasha's voice began to scream.

Instantly, the incubi and succubae fell from being held against the walls. Dean heard the thuds and saw them all stay frozen for a moment because they didn't know what to do. He imagined they could speak too if they knew how to form words right now. He watched Charis go over to Lindsey and help him up, watched the others stare in mute shock at what was happening, but he himself couldn't remain still.

Dean recognized that sound, the way Sasha's voice howled and keened, so pained. It was the same awful noise the demons Sam killed had made before the host bodies dropped as dead as their demons. Sam wasn't exorcizing Meg. He was killing her. And he was killing Sasha with her.

Concussion or not Dean was on his feet immediately, moving so unfairly slow towards where Meg was on the ground and Sam was standing above her, arm outstretched as he obliterated the very essence of what she was. Sasha couldn't be a casualty to appease this vengeance.

"Sam!" Dean cried out, barely able to hear his own voice over the sound of Sasha's screams. He was only a few feet from them when he hit the barrier. There was something solid but invisible that wouldn't let him go any further. "Sam!" Dean called with further panic, raising a fist to pound on the empty wall. How could Sam keep him away; he wouldn't even look at him. "Sam, stop!" he called again, but Sam wouldn't listen.

"I-I'll…crawl back…from the pit…to finish you," Meg managed between pained cries, Sasha's body doubled over now on the cement floor.

Sam's eyes glittered. "No. You won't," he promised.

Black smoke ripped from Sasha's mouth then, summoning into a swirling ball just in front of Sam's outstretched hand. The moment all of it had left the incubus, Sasha's body fell limp, his eyes left to stare open and empty right at Dean, who couldn't bring himself to stop pounding on the barrier.

But it was also at that moment that the barrier dropped, too late for Dean to do anything. He ran for Sasha's fallen body anyway, gathering his love against him and completely ignorant to any further nausea or dizziness from aggravating his concussion. Shaking all over again, almost too much to be able to hold Sasha properly, Dean looked up at Sam above him, at the sneer that was slowly turning into a pleased smile. As Sam spoke, Dean didn't understand what was happening when the yellow covering all of Sam's eyes began to fade and glow white.

"You will never hurt us again," Sam swore to the black smoke of Azazel's child who had tormented them so awfully, "Nor anyone else." He closed his hand into a tight fist and the smoke, already seemingly quivering in pain, fizzled like an implosion into nothing.

That very instant Dean felt movement in his arms and heard a great gasp from Sasha as the incubus came to. Dean couldn't believe it even as he looked down and saw blue eyes blinking awareness instead of lying open and blank.

Sasha wasn't dead. Sam hadn't willingly killed him. It was too much for Dean to bear. He didn't care if he couldn't stop—fresh tears began to fill his eyes and stream down his face in the greatest release of relief. In just a few hours time he had lost and rediscovered everything that mattered to him.

Pulling Sasha in for a fierce embrace, Dean doubted any amount of time would be long enough to hold his incubus close—his incubus, not Meg, not anything but _Sasha_. He relished in how tightly Sasha clung to him in return, the redhead's voice hitching as he tried to speak but couldn't get past his own tears to form any words.

All that Dean heard was a whimpered, "_Dean_," and it was more than enough to sustain him forever.

Only after they had stayed like that for too long did Dean pull away and wipe at the tears staining Sasha's face, even though he knew his own face couldn't possibly be much better. Blue eyes he recognized so well were looking back at him with the fiercest love that Dean honestly didn't know how he had mistaken Meg for Sasha for even a moment.

A subtle shuffling of feet alerted Dean to their nearby watcher, interrupting any chance he had at saying something monumental to mark the moment. He couldn't ignore Sam but he was afraid to look up, afraid of what he might see. When he finally did look up, for a moment there was only those all-white eyes and a blank expression. But as soon as the white faded off to wonderful hazel and Sam smiled in a way only Dean's brother _Sammy_ could smile, none of Dean's fears seemed to matter anymore. Not now anyway. Not yet. Sam fell to his knees beside them and embraced them both, and everything was okay again.

Further shuffling soon came as the incubi and succubae slowly began to leave the comfort of their walls. Dean noticed them first, the three hunters having completely lost themselves to each other while they just enjoyed that all of them had come out of this alive.

When Sam and Sasha finally noticed the others too and they were all looking up at the five humbled figures moving in around them, Dean doubted he could have stopped himself from grinning wide and glorious as he said, "I owe you all the biggest damn 'I told you so'…_ever_."

tbc...

A/N: Woohoo! Hope I didn't make you suffer too long but I wanted this to be good. Was it? Did I torture Dean enough. I had him crying so damn much but in that situation I think that would have been true to life. I mean, fuck, right? For the record, this has been planned so in advance that those white eyes existed before Lilith's. Man, you can't imagine how pissed I was when Kripke got to it first. Oh well, further proof we live in each other's heads. Go Dean and redheads! Ahem.

So, hop on over to the website for yet another unbelievable fanart of Sasha. Colored and gorgeous. Possibly the best yet not that I don't love them all. Of course he's wearing his second leather jacket, which has now also been distroyed. And Sam put a hole in his regular jacket! Crap, he's not going to have any clothes when I'm done with him. ;-)

Yes, all the unanswered will be addressed in the following and last chapter of this arc. How did Sam live? Why did Sam hold Dean back with a barrier? What is Sam's true state now that he has dropped that final wall between his own nature and the yellow--now white--eyes? All and more, including the return of the girls, Bobby, and an end to the cave, to come soon. :-) Next arc, to give you an early heads up, is simply "Demons" as it will deal with the last demons they need to get rid of and lead to the end of the deal, however that may go.

Please review, you wonderful, faithful, amazing people!

Crimson


	62. Part 10: Out of the Fire

Part 10: Out of the Fire

-----

Dean would personally filet anyone who commented on how many tears he had shed in the past few hours. Every last one of them had been justified. He had had to watch his brother die—a second time—watch his lover's body do unspeakable things, and all with the threat that he would have nothing left at the end of it save a waiting spot in Hell. He should be crying still. But he couldn't anymore. He was too relieved, too deliriously happy. The last of his tears dried quickly. There was no way he could have prepared for the ambush he received tonight and yet they had somehow managed to come out ahead. Again.

Deus ex Samina, Dean giggled to himself. Well, more like Sam ex Machina but he liked the way it sounded the other way better.

His mirth couldn't last long though. As soon as he started thinking about Sam's miraculous recovery and how he had come to their rescue, Dean went immediately back to those same recent thoughts: he had watched his brother die. He had watched Sam _die_. That last barrier coming down was not enough of an explanation; Sam shouldn't have been able to access it if he was lying dead on their hotel room floor.

Before Dean could come up with a nice way of turning their celebration into brotherly interrogation and chiding, Cam and Lindsey were already helping Sasha stand and Sam was beginning to lift Dean from the floor as well.

Dean immediately sank bonelessly to the floor.

"Dean!" That was Sasha, his voice weak but strong enough to call out after seeing Dean collapse.

Sam had Dean around the waist but dead weight was more surprising than it was heavy, so even the Demon Boy King fell to his knees in an attempt to hold onto him. "Dean?" he said in that concerned but firm tone he usually used when he didn't want Dean to know how worried he was, "Look at me, okay? You still with us? You have to stay awake. You have a concussion."

"No…shit," Dean replied in a much more mumbled voice than he intended. He was still awake but his vision had gone dark for a minute and he felt like putty in Sam's arms. He blinked several times to get his eyes to focus but for a while there were two Sam's looking down at him instead of one. Talk about _nightmare_. "Personal…space, Sammy," he said, trying to push at Sam since Jumbo's hands were all over his face, "'M fine. No…memory loss or nothin'. Just dizzy."

"That doesn't mean you're fine, Dean" Sam shot back, fingers pulling down the skin beneath Dean's eyes to check them, "Meg knocked you out cold. Waking up only to pass out again usually isn't a good sign."

Dean could see fine now. And he _hadn't_ passed out again. Okay, so his head was throbbing and he felt like he was going to hurl all over Sam's layered shirts, but he didn't need to be manhandled. He pushed at Sam's chest and sat up. "Said I'm fine," he grunted, "Not my fault…someone decided to knock my fucking teeth out." Dean held the side of his face where Lindsey had repeatedly struck him. It felt swollen and raw, and he knew it was already bruising over.

There was a gentle 'ahem' noise that sounded suspiciously feminine. Dean glanced up and could see Lindsey and Cam holding onto Sasha, both looking red in the face. There was another louder 'ahem' from Charis' direction causing Lindsey to look off sheepishly to the side. Then he was stammering, "I'm…sorry, I…I thought you'd lost your mind, or…or maybe this was planned all along. I didn't..." he sighed, trying to look anywhere but at Dean, "I'm sorry," he said again, "But if we're ever in the same situation again, I'd make the same call. You know that."

"Lindsey," Charis snapped, the same huff to her tone as her first and second 'ahem'.

"I _would_," Lindsey defended before returning his eyes to Dean, "There was no reason to trust you except for one man's word over another's, and no matter how loyal or honest you may seem, either of you," he added with a look at Sam, "I'd still sooner side with Sasha. Every time. Even if I'm wrong." He accentuated this declaration by shifting Sasha against him and holding the redhead closer. He didn't look at Sasha directly but Dean could see how much Sasha couldn't help smiling to hear Lindsey say that.

Murderous as Charis appeared towards her husband right now, Dean had to agree with what Lindsey had said. "Good," he nodded, pushing his hands at Sam, this time to indicate he wanted help getting up. Sam rolled his eyes but complied. "Next time maybe it'll be me who's possessed or a shapeshifter or who knows what. Not like it hasn't happened before. At least this way I know Sasha has more of a chance."

"Dean," Sasha said with a frown, stumbling forward out of Cam and Lindsey's hold so he could return to his place beside Sam and Dean. Sasha actually had better footing than Dean right now so he easily slid in against Dean's side while Sam helped support him on the other. "Why don't we work on no one being a bad guy in disguise so we never have to worry about it? We might want to think of something more permanent than those anti-possession charms. For me too. That was…not fun."

Dean anticipated miles of fallout from this and wanted nothing more than to preempt it. "You know there's no point in beating yourself up over this, right?" Dean said, glad for Sam's support on his left side but more focused on Sasha at his right as he raised a hand to cup that smooth pale face. Sasha also had a few bruises forming on his jaw thanks to Sam the Barbarian.

"I know," Sasha said in a small voice, eyes darting away.

"It wasn't you," Dean said firmly, tugging Sasha's chin to get those blue eyes back on him, "It was Meg. It doesn't matter what she made your body do. _It wasn't you_. Sam can vouch for that." Dean looked over at his brother but Sam's lips were already pursed as he was more than likely remembering all the horrible things Meg made _him_ do, including murder and attempted murder of both Jo and Dean.

"Yeah…" Sam muttered weakly.

Great. Subject change, please. "Can we maybe focus for a minute on you coming back from the dead? _Again_," Dean started right in, "Coz I had nothing to do with it this time. You were dead, Sammy. I mean I fucking saw it happen. At least it sure as hell didn't look like you were breathing from where I was standing."

"He wasn't," Sasha joined in, brow furrowed and mouth turned down in a grim expression. The redhead still had a few tears lingering at the corners of his eyes that were begging to fall. "I…_felt_ it when you stopped, Sam, when you weren't breathing anymore. She made me hold on even past that, how…how could you have survived?"

With all eyes now on him, including those of the gathered sex demons, Sam finally looked a little kicked down to size. Well, down to the size of normal people anyway, since he was such a frickin' giant otherwise. His shoulders hunched like the last thing he wanted was to be the center of attention even though he had recently made such a spectacle of himself.

It made Dean feel at least mildly better because it was such a normal _Sam_ reaction.

"I wasn't…really dead," he struggled to explain, "Not yet. More like…well, sort of a _Princess Bride_ kind of thing."

Dean and Sasha both blinked at Sam incredulously. "You mean you were only _mostly_ dead," Sasha said with what Dean thought was actually a very comical expression.

"Well we've certainly seen enough nasties I'd consider ROUS's," Dean snarked.

Off to the side, Dean saw Attoinette and Charis make disgusted faces and he had to laugh. Then Epica was coming up beside them, pushing all three of them towards the nearest wall. "I'm sick of this 'who can help who stand longest' bullshit. Can we get you against a wall or something to sit down for a few minutes? Neither of you should be moving right now." She pushed at Sasha again, who knocked into Dean, who knocked into Sam, and they all had to re-steady themselves.

"Wall sounds good," Dean nodded, nudging Sam the direction Epica had pushed them. The other sex demons made way as Sam lead Dean over to the nearest wall with Sasha clutching at Dean's arm like he couldn't stand the thought of getting pulled away from him again, and Epica helping to make sure Sasha didn't stumble.

"But you can't fall asleep, Dean," Sam said sternly.

"No problem," Dean replied as Sam eased him down and helped him lean back, "You're going to keep me awake with that wonderful tale you were about to tell us." His hand went straight to Sasha's and gripped tight when Epica helped the incubus down next to him, but Dean kept his eyes trained on Sam.

The others all gathered in close, most still standing, though Epica stayed crouched like Sam was, bookending the two more severely battered of the trio.

Sam sighed, looking tight-lipped and troubled.

"_Starting_ with how you went from mostly dead to a fully restored Dread Pirate Roberts. And if Billy Crystal is anywhere in that explanation I am punching you in the neck," Dean said, half serious. It would be just like Sam to continue to deflect.

Again Sam sighed, deeper this time, and his eyes danced around at their attentive audience before finally settling on Dean and Sasha. "I don't really know. Not for certain. But…I have an idea," Sam began, "See, I…I must have been right on the edge, point of no return kind of close to the end. Another minute like that and I never would have made it here. But before…before it was too late…someone brought me back."

"Someone?" Sasha questioned. His hand was trembling in Dean's, not from any fear, Dean knew, but from fatigue. Meg had purposely ridden him hard, just like with Sam, and being all bound together only to finally be separated through sheer force had to have been a crazy shock to his system.

Sam's eyes were darting again, trying to find a suitable place to rest. They looked so normal, _Sam_ looked normal, but Dean had seen something awesomely terrifying in his brother only a few minutes ago and he wanted to know how it had come to be that way. He tried not to show the apprehension on his face. He wished he could just believe and enjoy that things were okay.

They were never that lucky.

"You're not going to want to hear this," Sam said in a quiet voice, glancing up briefly at Dean and ensuring that Dean's gut clenched with further nausea, "But…" Sam's eyes flicked away then up again, "I think it was…Malak. Maybe I'm wrong," he went right on, probably because Dean's expression had fallen to utter horror, "But I…I don't think so. I recognized his voice. _His_. The…male one."

The only thing keeping the contents of Dean's stomach at bay was in knowing that there were more questions to be asked. His hand trembled along with Sasha's and he squeezed tighter to still it. "What did he…_Malak_…say to you?" he asked.

Again, Sam's gaze drifted away. "He said…he said, 'Dean isn't ready yet'," Sam spoke softly.

"And then what?" Dean pressed.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, shrugging. "And then I woke up. Crazy headache from lack of oxygen, neck sore as hell and still feeling out of it from whatever Meg drugged me with. But I was alive. And all I could think about was finding where she had taken you and making her _pay_. She had no right to be you," Sam turned to Sasha, cringing as he noticed the slowly forming bruises on Sasha's cheek, "Sorry again about…" Sam gestured weakly to Sasha's face, "She just…made me so mad and…"

"It's okay," Sasha smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but trying to, trying so hard to be real and heartfelt, "It hurt but…it hurt her too, so I was kinda okay with it."

A brief passing smile touched Sam's lips that was the perfect reflection of Sasha's, wanting to be real and honest but too overshadowed by remaining heartache and guilt.

If Sam was already feeling guilt then Dean didn't mind fueling the fire.

"So I just wanna be clear here," Dean broke into Sam and Sasha's quiet moment, "Malak somehow revives you, you wake up on the floor in pretty much the condition you were left in, and you just figure, why not, I might as well go back on the promise I made to _Dean_ and vamp the fuck out."

Sam's eyes flashed with anger but they didn't change color, remaining that familiar brown and green. "I didn't go back on my promise," Sam said, "Dean, I had no idea where you were or what Meg was doing to you. I couldn't sense anything but the cave. I didn't even know where to start. I knew if I could just…tap into the power that's really inside of me—_in me_, Dean—that I'd know, that I'd be able to bypass the fucking cave's pull and track her down. But when I made the call, when I finally decided to throw aside that last barrier, I knew what I was doing. I was sure."

"You were desperate," Dean scowled.

"Yes," Sam shot right back, undeterred and angry, "I was. One of our old enemies who caused us enough pain the first time and rode me for a god damn week the last time we saw her had taken possession of our best friend. She had you, Dean, and you can't tell me that it wasn't just as bad as when it had been me, _worse_, to have to look at Sasha's face and know it was really Meg. I knew what I was doing. And I'd make the same call again. Does it look like the world ended? Do you not trust me now because I'm finally in control of all my powers?"

Well the bitching and whining certainly sounded like Sam. "So these…new powers," Dean tried to begin calmly, "They include some fast acting healing factor now?" he said, looking at Sam's un-bruised neck, "That mean you can also sense all the demons? Summon them? That you know your…purpose again?" That was the question Dean really wanted to ask. Sure, Sam wasn't acting like his cave version, at least not how Dean had feared when Sam was fighting Meg, but Sam had told Dean before that when the cave brought out his full power he understood his greater purpose.

The way Sam's eyes kept shifting away from Dean made him worry for a moment but then Sam was shaking his head. "It's…different. I feel like I…_should_ know. Everything else, so much of it is just like before, but…I don't know. I think maybe Malak's keeping it from me. One last wall. Since…since…"

"Since I'm not ready yet," Dean sneered, hating that he obviously was destined to play some greater part in Sam's downfall. Dean remembered then, briefly, what Meg had said, that Sam wasn't as important as he seemed. But then what was? What were they destined to unravel?

"When you say…Malak. You're talking about the Devil…aren't you?" Charis' voice asked quietly when Sam and Dean remained silent for some time. The others all shuffled fearfully but none said anything in addition. It seemed the sex demons were all well aware of Malak as a sinister name, much as Sasha had been.

Dean chose a welcome comfort and used his free hand to scrub down his face before replying. "More than likely…yeah. FYI for those in mixed company who don't know I'm damned. Sold my soul, got only over a month left, yadda yadda, ask those who do know about it _later_. Right now…I'm not done asking questions."

He squeezed Sasha's hand a little tighter, kind of hating that he had to focus so much more on Sam right now when he knew his baby was tearing himself up inside.

"Sammy," Dean went on, "I'll go along with you still being you, just being that much further down the road you were already heading, but then you gotta tell me. You were pretty damn vicious against Meg. Now I understand why, I do. But Jesus, Sam, you could have killed Sasha when you ripped her out like that and you wouldn't even let me go to him." Pitiable as those words may have sounded, Dean's voice was strong and his tears had long since dried up.

Growing tired of holding a crouched position, Sam finally sat down against the wall next to Dean. His voice was strong too, firm but also gently as he explained. "Dean, other than the physical things I had to do to fight Meg, I didn't hurt Sasha when I tore her out. That's why I had to hold you back. If I lost concentration or you interfered, anything, I wouldn't have been able to hold it, and he might have died with her. I had to keep steady in order to separate them first. But I didn't hurt him. He didn't feel any of that."

Dean immediately looked to his other side at Sasha, who was smiling gently. The incubus nodded, a shaky thumb smoothing up and down the top of Dean's hand as Sasha held it. "She was screaming, Dean, not me. I think…my body went into shock when he finally got her out, but once she was gone and all the ties were severed, well…here I am," he shrugged.

Relief washed over Dean completely, not only because Sasha hadn't suffered quite as much as Dean had imagined, but because Sam hadn't inflicted it. The way things had looked from the outside, Dean had imagined a very different scenario for the trapped, possessed Sasha. "So…so it's okay," Dean said, a little amazed. He quirked a half smile at Sasha beside him. "You're really okay?"

Even though Sasha smiled brightly at Dean, he knew too well that look of sadness and despair that darkened Sasha's blue eyes. At least the incubus didn't try to lie about it. He said, "Not…one hundred percent, but…we're all still here, right? I did horrible things. She _made me_ do horrible things," he quickly corrected when Dean opened his mouth to dissent, "But Sam's alive. You're alive. Everyone's…okay. And the bitch is dead, which has to be the best part in my opinion, so thanks, Sam," he tried to chuckle.

Sam returned the smile just as weakly but they weren't completely dismantled; a few of the important pieces were still in place. "How are you feeling now?" Sam asked, looking at both Sasha and Dean, "Can you make it to the car? I don't know how Meg got you here, Dean, but I took the Impala. It's outside. We should take you to a hospital."

"No," Dean shook his head, "No need for that shit, I'm fine." He attempted to prove that by releasing Sasha's hand finally and pushing up onto his feet. He waited for the inevitable nausea, and it was there, but he could keep tabs on it well enough and he no longer felt like he was going to pitch to the side and collapse again. "See?" he smiled down at his companions, "Just need rest. Bobby's gonna be here in a couple hours. Girls too. Gotta seal the cave and get our asses outta Dodge."

"You are not helping seal the cave," Sasha said sternly, a little more unsteady on his feet at first, but with Epica's help he got up and immediately reached to reconnect his hand with Dean's, "Bobby and the girls can handle it. The person behind this whole thing is dead so we don't have to worry about an ambush anymore. Maybe Sam is strong enough to go and help too. Or at least sense if there are other demons around, right, Sam?"

Before Sam could say anything, an idea suddenly struck Dean and made him weak with anxiety. "Sammy…you…you never answered me. You can't sense all the demons, can you? Like…all the ones from the Devil's Gate the way you could before?"

Sam's initial reaction was to bite his lip; never a good sign. Eventually, he nodded.

"Don't do it," Dean said right away.

"Don't do it?" Sam repeated.

"Don't summon them like before, thinking you can evaporate them all at once. I'm not letting you risk that. It's too dangerous. We can use your sensing to locate them. You wanna kill them instead of exorcizing, fine, long as the host is okay. But no summoning. Not unless we're getting so down to the wire we have no choice."

"Dean," Sam said with a furrowed brow, "We are down to the wire. It's almost the end of March."

"Then when it's _May_ you can summon them."

"_Dean_."

"Sam, you promised me," Dean said with fire in his words, no thoughts on anything else, not even Sasha for a moment as he looked at his brother, "You promised you'd listen. You really brought down that barrier knowing you could handle it, okay, I believe you. You didn't go back on your word. So don't start now. You want summoning as a failsafe, fine, but we can get them without that. You know how many there are?"

After a slight pause where Sam looked both annoyed and slightly ashamed, he once again nodded.

"It doable?" Dean asked, feeling a little tense at the question.

Again, Sam nodded.

That was all Dean needed to know. "Then it's settled. Summoning doesn't…well it doesn't do anyone any good." Dean nodded his head subtly at the gathered incubi and succubae. "We should…probably tell them. Not exactly a nice thing to have bite us in the ass later."

"Tell them what?" Sasha asked, red brow furrowed now since he hadn't actually noticed that particular detail about the summoned creatures when it happened.

Sam was already biting his lip again, his eyes glancing around at the now extremely curious sex demons. Considering, however, that Sam did not toss Dean a death glare before beginning to explain, Dean stuck to his belief that it would be better to tell the truth. "Right. So…uhh, well…see there's this cave system outside of town…" Sam began.

The tall hunter went on to explain what had happened the day before, quite succinctly actually, which also helped wrap up for the sex demons how things had led to this warehouse tonight. None of them seemed upset after hearing Sam's explanation of his unintentional summoning of them, the only real response being Cam's, "Huh. Guess that explains the lost time and why that chick started yelling at me suddenly," to which the twins giggled and Charis and Lindsey shook their heads.

It seemed that given the night's events and having witnessed first hand the lengths the Winchester brothers would go to save Sasha, the incubi and succubae were willing to overlook such a minor and uncontrollable transgression. No one had gotten hurt—Cam's pride aside—and as long as Sam promised to never do that again while in his right mind they were willing to forget all about it. The fact that none of them actually _remembered_ it definitely helped.

Dean figured they were probably being extra accommodating because they had basically almost fucked all of them over, but he didn't mention that; he knew when to count his blessings. Sam seemed sane, Sasha wasn't possessed anymore, and both of them were breathing.

It was decided that Dean and Sasha were well enough to be brought back to the hotel, much as Sam and Sasha chastised Dean a little more that it might be better if he went to the hospital. The sex squad insisted that they would at least stay long enough to be sure Bobby and the girls returned safely.

As they were heading out the door, Dean walking mostly on his own power save Sam's hand annoyingly on his back, he turned to Sasha walking next to him, supported now by Lindsey who had taken Epica's place. "Hey, one thing," Dean said, stopping in his tracks.

Sasha stopped too and looked at Dean expectantly. There was turmoil in those blue eyes that Sasha wasn't sharing yet. Dean would make it his mission for the rest of the night and their lives to keep those eyes forever bright and glorious.

"Just forgot something," Dean shrugged. Then he took the single step necessary to be all in Sasha's space, hooked the back of Sasha's neck with his hand and drew the incubus down for a deep, slow kiss. This was classic PDA seeing as how they had an audience of _six_, but Dean didn't care. He needed to kiss Sasha. _Sasha_. The soft lips so perfectly fit to his own, that demanding tongue exploring his mouth, and the way Sasha reached up and clutched at Dean's shirt for support as their lips moved against each other and they hummed in harmony.

A great exhaled breath came from Sasha when they pulled apart, the redhead flushing close to the color of his hair and smiling even with all that sadness still marring the perfection of it. It wasn't just that Dean needed to kiss Sasha; Sasha had needed that too.

"I hate when I forget things like that," Dean grinned, licking his lips and staying pulled in close to Sasha for a minute. He could see Lindsey just beyond Sasha, caught somewhere between bug-eyed, scowling, and almost looking like he might smile. Then Dean focused on Sasha again, who looked like he might start sobbing for how the incubus' eyes welled with tears and he gasped like he wanted to say something but never got around to forming words.

"Ahem," interrupted Charis, who was actually very good at that—subtle and not at all haughty sounding, especially since she also sounded like she was smiling.

"So…what were you thinking for a more permanent solution to the charms, Sasha?" Sam asked, smirk in place but smartly avoiding any teasing remarks as they all began to make for the doors again.

Sasha kept a small smile, the expression still a little flat, but there was mischievousness there too that made Dean feel much better when Sasha said, "Just, uhh…hear me out on this, okay?"

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"No chance in _Hell_. How many ways can I possibly say this," Dean said as they arrived back at the motel and went to the room they had been using as their common room, usually considered Sasha and Dean's, "No force on Earth is getting me inside a tattoo parlor unless it's to see some guy tattoo my name next to that clover on your ass." He shot a finger pointedly at Sasha as the two of them were helped over to the nearest bed and sat down on it. They didn't need to be quite that fussed over but they had allowed Sam and Cam—Dean still really hated that—to finish their supposed brotherly duties.

Dean had long since accepted that while he only had the overbearing Sam Winchester as baby brother, Sasha's siblings included the entirety of the sex squad who had accompanied them back to the motel. All of them seemed to have some deep-seated need to take turns taking care of _his_ incubus.

The actual root of Dean's possessiveness went far beyond dark pheromones, he realized.

"Clover?" Cam commented, raising an eyebrow at Sasha, "Dude, you have a frickin' four-leaf clover on your ass?"

Sasha shot Dean a mock-murderous look that for a moment made him seem entirely like his normal self. "You were sworn to secrecy, you bastard," he tried not to grin.

"You can punish me later," Dean replied with a waggled eyebrow, "But can we think of a less scarring way of keeping demons out of these sexy bodies. Please."

"Sasha does have a point," Sam shrugged. He was at the table, firing up his laptop that had remained in the main room even though Sam had slept in the other one last night. He didn't need to look anything up at the moment; it was just habit. He had already called Bobby and the girls for their ETA's and it seemed the group had a while yet until they would have company. What Sam didn't go into with either Bobby or the girls was the past few hours. They could explain that in person.

"Dude," Dean said, holding up a hand to stop Sam's thought process, "No tattoos. My body is a temple."

Sam snorted. "Since when."

The gathered sex demons all snickered, but before Dean could send any snarky comments back at his brother, he noticed that Sasha's guise of wellness was starting to slip again. He thought maybe it had something to do with him scoffing at tattoos, so he figured it couldn't hurt to add, "Hey, you know I love your tats, baby. Sexy as hell. And _natural_. That's my whole point. I got enough foreign marks on my body. The clover, by the way, is exempt coz I think its kinda kinky. Shut up," he said immediately to Cam, who, in his defense, only looked slightly like he might have commented.

"Fine," Sam smiled and shook his head, probably filing the idea away to be brought up again later, "But we have some time yet. I know it's really late. You all don't really have to stay, you know. We can handle things from here."

"It's not about having to, Sam," Epica said beside him, sitting at the table along with her sister and Charis. Lindsey was standing just behind his wife, hand rubbing her neck in a way that seemed entirely unconscious, and Cam was still hovering near Sasha and Dean on the bed. They made quite a crew, and there were still three yet to show up.

Charis smiled across the table at Sam much like Epica had. "It just wouldn't seem right to leave. Everything that happened, well…it's still very much wrapped up in this cave you told us about. We'd all feel better knowing it was taken care of before we left, even if the demon behind it is dead. And even if we won't be able to go along to help."

"You were…really something else back there, Sam," Attoinette chimed in softly. Her long blonde hair in contrast to her sister's choppy bob spiraled around her shoulders in ringlets. "Eppy and I never got to see what your powers could do until tonight. It was…crazy awesome."

Sam smiled humbly, not wanting the attention nor knowing how to respond to it, which again reminded Dean that Sam had to be okay. He was powerful enough that if he really had crossed over to the dark side, he wouldn't need to keep up any ruse.

Then Lindsey opened his mouth and ruined the quiet contemplation.

"What are you?" he asked plainly, not bothering to censor his slightly fearful and troubled expression as he looked down at Sam from his place behind Charis.

"_Lindsey_," she reprimanded right away.

"I'm sorry, but I'm an incubus in the lion's den, as it were," Lindsey gestured to the hotel room, "And I think I have the right to ask." He turned to Sam again, clearly struggling to remain calm and not come across as if he saw Sam as anything monstrous. Dean understood the difficulty. "The things we've seen you do…you stopped a kid's heart and started it again. You…obliterated that demon. I know of nothing human, psychic or otherwise that should be capable of that."

That was true enough. No research they ever dug into in regards to what Sam was ever dredged up anything even remotely similar. They usually just said he was demon-infected or demon-triggered and left it at that.

Sam had mentioned more than once that it would be interesting to get an MRI and see how many usually dormant brain cells were active for him. It didn't make him less human in that regard. Just different. New. Or maybe Dean just kept telling himself that because it was easier. Because he couldn't stand to think that his brother might one day switch on like a god damn robot just because the Devil wanted him to, and nothing would ever be the same.

"It's…complicated," Sam said.

"Saying it's complicated is just a way of avoiding the question," Lindsey replied evenly.

Sam sighed. "Or it's the only answer I can give you…because I don't have another one. We don't really…know. All my abilities, they came from a demon, a powerful one, and the more I use them, the stronger I become. It's all demonic, all wrapped up in demonic things. That's why I can't stop even with all we don't know. If I can use my powers to help save Dean from Hell then it's worth any risk."

There went that diehard Winchester martyrdom again. "Hey," Dean interrupted, because he didn't need to hear this right now, "I'm with you, Sammy, pissed as you can make me for being so damn gung-ho about all this, but right now all I can think about is taking a long hot shower and trying to get some rest before Bobby and the girls get here. No offense meant to our company, but I think I'll go to the other room for a bit." Dean stood painfully, hating how sore he felt pretty much everywhere. He was still able to stand, keep his lunch down, and cast a hinting gaze at Sasha before he started to make for the door.

"I'll come with you," Sasha called after him, standing and smiling maybe a little strained when Dean turned back, "We…both need the rest. But I don't want to put any of you out. We'll be okay in the other room. Sam, will you let us know when the others get here?"

Sam nodded, a tight smile playing at his lips as well. He wouldn't say anything against them leaving, and Dean was pleased that none of the others did either. It felt a little mean leaving Sam to the whole sex squad, but Dean needed to get Sasha alone. The redhead would never admit to just how wrecked he was in front of his friends, all gathered and watching over him like that. It seemed they understood that as much as Sam and Dean did, and Dean was grateful.

There had also been a brief moment there where Dean wondered if Sasha would let him go and not take the hint, more than likely on purpose. Sasha had to know what was coming. Dean had already shaken off his own fallout from this; the only therapy he needed was being able to make Sasha's smile real again.

They went into Sam's room, not having spoken during the short trip down the hallway. Dean's things were still in this room but he had no intention of showing just yet. It's not as if he needed the med-kit either. The whole of their injury list was bruises.

It almost made Dean smirk that when he opened the door the first thing he noticed was Sam's bottle of Ibuprofen on the floor next to the water bottle he himself had brought over. Then it struck Dean how not funny that was because the room was just as they had left it. The sheets on Sam's bed were rumbled from activity and various other things were strewn about the room from the fight. It made Dean want to usher Sasha right out again.

But it was too late for that; Sasha sighed deeply as he entered after Dean, shut the door behind them. He looked for a moment at the mess his body had helped make. "Go ahead and shower, Dean," the incubus said in a bland, controlled voice, "I can…pick up. I might take a shower later. I'm not…all that tired."

"Then why'd you come with me?" Dean asked, stopping Sasha with a hand on the redhead's arm to keep him from actually picking anything up, "Just to make sure I wasn't a dumbass and slipped in the shower? It's not a full-blown concussion. I'm fine. See." Dean grinned cheekily, all teeth, hoping to get Sasha to laugh—_really_ laugh.

The corners of Sasha's mouth stretched, seemingly like a smile but the expression wasn't right. Dean could feel the tidal wave coming but Sasha was fighting it, still trying to ignore it and refusing to be bowled over. "I…I know. Just…didn't like the idea of you over here alone. The way things have been lately, do that and I might as well just hang a sign on you that says, 'Please take my Winchester'." A laugh followed the joke, but not the laugh Dean had been hoping for. Now that they were alone Sasha's ability to feign being okay was slipping quickly.

"Baby…" Dean tried, seeing the way Sasha's eyes were swimming and yet his face was holding like stone. Dean gently squeezed Sasha's arm but Sasha pulled away, snatching up the Ibuprofen and water from the floor.

"You should take a few of these, for the headache and the bruising," Sasha said, even though he was walking away from Dean and setting the pills and water on the nearest nightstand when he could have just as easily handed them to Dean.

Dean couldn't allow that, the easy avoidance. He followed after Sasha and grabbed Sasha's arm again. His hand closed over the hole Sam had left in Sasha's jacket, the charred skin already healed perfectly. "_Sasha_," he said more firmly.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Dean threw right back, squeezing tighter, trying to see around Sasha's body where the incubus was hiding his face, "Don't want an honest expression or word from you right now? Sorry, but this is a two-way street, remember? You don't get to pester me about this kinda shit if I can't do the same in return. Now look at me. _Talk_ to me. I know you're still thinking about her. I know you're still beating yourself up over nothing."

"Nothing?" Sasha practically snapped, whipping around suddenly to show Dean red eyes; not the red irises Dean loved, but blue eyes made red from holding back tears. They were falling slowly since Sasha refused to give into them. "It's not nothing, Dean," he said, shaking his head furiously and yanking his arm from Dean's tight grip, "You…you think this was like normal possession? You know it wasn't. Nothing about it was…normal. I can't just…say it was her…and be okay. I'm sorry, I…" Sasha looked stricken then, ashamed, his anger melting as his tears fell more steadily and he gripped Dean's shirt like he had when they kissed in the warehouse.

Somewhere Dean had missed an important detail and it was rearing its head now, mocking him for not understanding. "Sasha…what are you saying? Not normal, okay, I got that. She basically had to force her way in even with that demonic signature deal, but…but what are you trying to tell me?"

Sasha shook his head and Dean thought maybe the incubus wouldn't respond, and then he was whispering, "She…said it. She told you so many times," he sobbed, just clutching at Dean and holding close, their foreheads almost touching but not quite, "All wrapped up, coiled, linked, fused together. She…she wasn't just…controlling me, Dean. I was there too…for everything. Possession, normal possession, most of the time the host body isn't aware at all—blank space, lost time. Sometimes, they're aware for some of it. But never all. Never full…" he choked on a fresh sob, the tidal wave upon him now, "Never everything. I saw…felt…_everything_…"

And it had felt as if it was _him_ doing those awful things, not her, not Meg, just him. Dean didn't need Sasha to confess that to understand that that was what his lover was trying to tell him. It filled Dean with fresh hatred for that damn demon.

"It felt like I was…_letting_ her. Like I should have been able to do something, Dean, but I…I couldn't. I let her…touch you. I let her…I…_let_ her…" Sasha's face twisted as he lost himself to his tears, falling forward against Dean so that his hand on Dean's shirt became wedged between them and his wet face pressed to the crook of Dean's neck.

Dean's arms wrapped instantly around Sasha. He knew the word Sasha couldn't say next in that sentence, a word he also hated. But that hadn't been what happened; Dean had been unknowledgeable not unwilling. He wasn't sure if there was a right way to explain that though. "Sasha…you didn't let her do anything," he said, "I can't imagine how it felt for you but…but it doesn't matter what she did or what she made you do. She didn't get what she wanted. It's over."

"I…I'm so sorry, Dean," Sasha whimpered, the words muffled against Dean's skin. The incubus felt so frail, so weak and bodily exhausted in Dean's arms. "You're the one she…did that to. You're the one who got hurt, who had to _see_ all that," Sasha spoke as if he was apologizing for getting so upset when only Dean was the one who had that right.

It was almost laughable, because Dean could never see things that way. "Yeah," he breathed against Sasha's silky hair, "Seeing you macking on Sammy _was_ torture. We're gonna need to have some crazy kinky wild sex to make up for that."

Sasha seemed to choke on another sob then only this time it was more like a chuckle. "Dean," he said through sniffles, "How can you make jokes about this already?"

"Eh, it's a gift," Dean shrugged.

Another combination of chuckling sniffles. "The only way I got through it," Sasha said, more pleased really than heartbroken right then, "Was because you never doubted me. You knew it wasn't me, Dean. You _knew_."

Suddenly, all the humor dripped out of Dean and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. "But…I didn't know," he said forlornly, squeezing Sasha tighter against him, "That night…all day, god, I…I should have been able to tell, but I couldn't. Baby, I'm so sorry."

"No," came Sasha's voice right away. The incubus pulled back, both hands clinging to Dean's shirts now and twisting the fabric. His eyes were swollen from crying. "No, Dean. You knew. You knew when it mattered. When she was being me, in my head and apart of me, that was different. But as soon as she did something you knew I could never do, you didn't doubt me for a second. You knew it had to be someone else. I was so thankful then, Dean. Really." At last Sasha's forehead fell against Dean's, resting there.

That felt right. Not the sharing blame and shedding of tears part—therapeutic as that may be—but just leaning into each other, supporting each other without trying, Sasha clinging and Dean holding. "Well…of all the things I could never imagine you doing, baby, _Sam_ is definitely on the top of that list," Dean grinned.

Again Sasha laughed, the way he was supposed to, _real_. "When he finally ripped her out of me…I just wanted to cry in your arms for the rest of the night," Sasha admitted with a great exhaled breath.

"You still can. If you need to. Course I will have to rib you for it mercilessly in the morning, but I'll give you a free pass til then."

"Heh. Jerk," Sasha said lovingly.

Dean had to bite his lip to keep from saying his customary 'bitch' in reply, tempted as he was.

"I just…don't want to think anymore about how close of a call it was," Sasha went on, his voice falling sway to breathless sorrow again so quickly, "That night…she would have killed you if it hadn't been for the pheromones messing up her plans. I was terrified the whole time. Then with Sam, if he hadn't been able to fight back the way he did, she would have…god, right in _front_ of you…"

"Ooo-kay," Dean happily interrupted, gripping Sasha's shoulders so he could hold the incubus out in front of him, "I don't need to remember either. It's over. It's done. And we're here. So why don't we take that shower, huh? _Together_. Then we can catch a few winks before Bobby and the girls get here. We deserve the R&R. We deserve a shit-ton more than we're gonna get, but I'll take whatever's offered," Dean grinned, staring up into those blue eyes that were finally starting to rediscover some of their brilliance.

Despite the sparkle in those eyes, however, there was a shadow that crossed Sasha's face before he spoke. "Dean…I…I don't know if that's…such a good idea."

"Baby, I'm sore as Hell, and half the time the room's still spinning. I'm not exactly up for sex," Dean explained with a crooked smirk, "Now, once we're in the shower a certain part of my anatomy might disagree with that, but it's not what I'm looking for. Doesn't mean I want this to be the beginning of a trend though either. I don't want you ever afraid of being with me. _You'd_ never hurt me. Like you said yourself, I don't doubt you, Sasha. Never could. And I don't plan on needing three frickin' weeks or some other ridiculous amount to get over ourselves this time. _Fuck_ Meg. In my head, I was with you last night. And fuck emotional fallout too coz I refuse to let that bitch get to me after she's dead."

Sudden, easy laughter spilled from Sasha's lips. "Good," he smiled with more resolve and confidence than Dean had seen from the incubus in too long, "So…does that mean you'll get the protection tattoo?"

Dean frowned. "Did I say that? Coz that certainly didn't sound like the words that came out of my mouth." Dean dropped his arms and tried to step back so he could scowl at Sasha properly, but the incubus immediately moved back into Dean's body.

"Ease my mind, Dean. Please. It could be right here." Sasha gently touched the pads of his fingers to the fabric covering Dean's heart.

"It'd cover up your scar," Dean said, thinking of Sasha having the same tattoo, which was the plan.

"That was kinda the idea," said the redhead. For the protection spell to work at its best it was supposed to be placed over the heart.

"But I like your scar," Dean said, reaching out to touch Sasha's heart in kind.

"Then it could be something just for us. A mark like I have on you," Sasha said, "Claiming me as yours."

"And Sam's," Dean grimaced, since the real idea was that Sam would get the tattoo too.

It was Sasha's turn to frown. "_Never_ Sam's," he said with great weight punctuating each word.

That lifted a small weight from Dean's chest; maybe that was all he had needed to hear. Fuck emotional fallout. Right. "You realize that matching tattoos is…pretty gay," Dean said as matter-of-factly as he could manage without smirking.

"Would you like me to make a list of all the _exceedingly_ gay things we've done?"

Dean was seriously tempted to say, 'yes, please, and in detail'. "I'll think about it," he conceded instead, meaning the tattoo not the list. He managed to free his hand and carefully pushed Sasha's jacket off the incubus' shoulders, "Yet another ruined jacket, baby. You're gonna run out of clothes soon."

"You wish," Sasha smiled.

"Every day. Shower?" Dean said in a tone that he would never admit sounded needy. He insinuated his fingers between Sasha's jeans and the hem of the incubus' shirt, pawing lightly at bare skin. It was all intimacy, not sex. It didn't have to be about sex.

Even when they finally reached the shower, having left a trail of discarded clothing behind them, the touches each of them gave between actually showering and enjoying the hot water were light, comforting, _intimate_, but not foreplay. It was strangely even more erotic that way and indeed a certain extremity of both Dean and Sasha's assumed other things would eventually happen, but not tonight.

They stole clothes from Sam's bag that were baggy and comfortable, curled up in Sam's bed without either having to say why they just couldn't sleep in the one Meg had seduced Dean in, and fell into easy sleep.

It felt like they had only been asleep a few minutes when Sam knocked gently on their door and was soon walking up to the bed. Dean was awake enough that he noticed Sam before the tall giant could startle him. He had been spooning Sasha close, the incubus curled into a smaller version of himself that fit perfectly back against Dean's chest.

Dean looked up at Sam without an ounce of shame at being found that way; Sam was used to it after all. "Hey…Bobby and the girls here?" Dean whispered since Sasha was still sleeping peacefully.

"The girls are," Sam said, also whispering, "They're introducing themselves to the others. Bobby's not far."

"Everything okay with the sex demons and extra hunters showing up?"

Sam cracked a smile. "Seems like a double standard actually. None of them are nearly as antsy around the girls as they were with us. If only they knew them like we do, huh?"

"Got that right," Dean smirked. He looked at Sasha, the redhead's chest rising and falling evenly. "I'll wake him and see how he's doing. We'll be over in a bit."

"What about you? You okay? How's your head?" Sam was already reaching for Dean like he meant to check for a fever.

Dean was sorely tempted to swat that hand away but given recent events and fatigue—he could definitely blame fatigue—he allowed Sam the habitual gesture for at least a few moments before he batted his brother away. "I'm fine," Dean insisted, "Shower and rest did me good. Told you it was the send you home kind of concussion."

"Right." It continually impressed Dean how Sam could wear a combination of the puppy eyes and bitch-face so flawlessly. "Well, your jaw's still bruised and even more swollen. You should have iced that," he said, combating Dean's insistence that he was okay with a reason that he wasn't.

Talking was enough for Dean to realize that his jaw was indeed sore, though at least his head wasn't throbbing anymore. "Yeah, yeah, I'll ice it as soon as we join you. I'll get some from the machine on our way over, okay? Anything else, _Mom_?"

Sam scowled but Dean could see the hint of a smile hiding in the expression, especially when Sam's eyes landed tenderly on Sasha before he left. Dean had always known it was a Winchester trait and not solely a Dean trait that being happiest meant knowing that the others around you were okay.

Waking Sasha proved to be more difficult than Dean would have guessed, though he should have known better since Sam had slept deeper for weeks after Meg possessed him. Metaphysical recovery through physical rest, he had said. Know-it-all.

Dean finally roused Sasha by spooning him again, holding tight around the incubus' waist, and kissing the back of his neck. The action also dug Dean's nose into the ends of Sasha's still somewhat damp red hair. Dean breathed in deeply and Sasha shuddered.

"Bobby…?" Sasha asked groggily, not moving.

"Uh, no. _Dean_. There something you need to tell me?" Dean snarked.

Sasha laughed in a way that was entirely exhaled air, but it was genuine. "Is Bobby _here_?" he reiterated.

"Almost. Girls are making nice next door. You can go back to sleep if you want."

"No. I'm okay. We should go."

"You sure?"

Sasha turned in Dean's arms just enough so that he could look Dean in the eyes, like it was all the reassurance he needed. He smiled. "I'm sure."

True to his word, Dean filled a bucket with ice on their way over and wrapped it in a cloth to apply to his face, something he wasn't quite able to finish doing until Jo and Sarah stopped hugging them. Dean would almost have assumed Sam exaggerated when explaining what had happened over the past few hours, but he knew the girls would have reacted the same regardless.

He and Sasha hadn't changed out of Sam's borrowed clothes, to which Sam gave them curious, grinning looks. But as Dean had put it, they were comfy and recovering and what did he care if practically everyone he knew saw him and Sasha barefoot and in sweats.

As they waited for Bobby, Jo expressed extreme resentment that she hadn't been present to witness Meg's destruction, having a rather personal grudge against the she-demon after all. It seemed that Sam had decided he did have things to look up on his computer after all, since he wanted to plot the best route for systematically wiping out the demons he could now sense like second nature. Sarah sat with him, the two of them talking hushed, probably about Sam's recent upgrade.

At first Dean thought that the presence of Sarah might attract scorn or jealousy from the twins, but he was way off. Epica and Attoinette both seemed to be cooing over the not-quite couple and eventually joined them at the table to chat. Dean had to remind himself the kind of incubus Sasha was. Always kind and giving and whatever his prey needed at the time. But in order to better that other person not himself. Sasha had waited for Dean before he claimed something just for him.

Apparently, the twins were the same, and thought of their role as being meant to safely see the people they fed from down the path to the person they were meant to be with. Match-making thus ensued.

The whole situation had Dean chuckling though maybe not quite as much as Cam's attempts to hit on Jo.

When Bobby finally arrived it was with a sharp knock, several bags over his shoulders, and a raised eyebrow he tossed around the room before saying, "You boys have anything you need to fill me in on?" That of course meant that the first thing they did was explain to Bobby everything just as Sam had explained to the girls.

Bobby—no surprise really—had the sex demons acting apprehensive and twitchy again, he being more the stereotype of the hardened, gritty hunter. They all soon realized though that that was often more appearance than personality, and before long Bobby even had Lindsey laughing at stories of young, fumbling hunter Sasha. Once Bobby mentioned that he had known Sasha was an incubus since the kid was sixteen, the sex squad was sold.

After working out the details of the ritual to seal the mine, Sam assured everyone that he could handle getting near the cave with his newfound control and wanted to join Bobby and the girls for the task. After they left, the incubi and succubae said their goodbyes as well, having their own lives to get back to. They hadn't had time to make any headway on getting Sasha un-banished from the fae plane, but as much as they wanted to return to working on that they also wanted to offer their help to Dean's cause should they ever be needed.

"All you have to do is call," Lindsey said, shaking Dean's hand while Charis looked on approvingly, "We'll come."

Part of Dean immediately wanted to confess to Lindsey their father's secret, a truth he felt he owed the white-haired incubus, but now wasn't the time. It would sneak upon them unexpectedly, he knew, someday. He just hoped that when that time came Lindsey understood.

Soon it was just Sasha and Dean, lying on their actual bed this time, waiting for the others to return. Sasha fell asleep again, curled in towards Dean like a cat nuzzling for warmth. It was warm, deep inside Dean's gut where he was usually worrying. He had made sure the fallout was minimal but he still felt as though something was haunting them. Something was, of course. Someone.

_Malak_.

"What do you want now?" Dean asked quietly, even though he knew Sasha was completely out of it. He spoke before he even glanced up and saw Malak's male version standing off the foot of the bed.

The well-coifed hair, the perfectly tailored suit, the charming and sinister smile—it was all there. Malak's eyes were blue like the female version had worn earlier. "I was going to say well done, but if you're going to get snippy about it," he mocked.

Dean shifted so that he was somewhat sitting up but still had Sasha cradled against him. "I didn't do anything," he frowned.

"Ah, but if you hadn't been there things wouldn't have turned out at all the way they did."

More cryptic bullshit, Dean thought. Maybe. He wasn't sure how to respond. "I should have known Meg would come after us again," he said instead. He had been thinking that for hours, believing it even without the addition of Malak's prior warnings.

"Yes," Malak nodded casually, "I really hoped you would figure it out. But all for the better."

That made Dean frown deeper and he wanted to get up, get right in Malak's face, but he didn't want to risk disturbing Sasha. "She said Sam's not the most important thing," he said with a narrowed brow, "Just what the hell does that mean?"

"Sam is…_an_ important aspect. But you needn't worry about that yet."

"Yet?"

"Dean," he said so simply and yet the steady utterance of Dean's name made him instantly quiet, "She said something else to you. Something important. Arrogant. But important. Figure out that and you may just find your answers. But not before the end, I think. Time. Is. Ticking," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a gleaming plain silver pocket watch. He opened it. Looked at the time. Grinned. "Tick. Tock."

Dean snarled. "Sam will find all of your demons," he said assuredly. He truly believed that now.

"Oh? Will he? We'll have to wait and see."

Then as was the demon's custom, his image rippled and he was gone. Dean tried to think of what other important thing Meg might have said to him that could give him hints as to what Malak's true plan was, but he was too weary tonight. He stayed awake only because he wanted to know for sure that the mine was sealed before he slept.

Sam and the others returned late but well enough, at least they looked well from what Dean could see out the window. They went off to bed immediately, Bobby to Sam's room probably as he had the extra space now. All of them more than likely assumed that both Dean and Sasha were out cold. Sam didn't go inside with the others though. He stayed out by the Impala just leaning against the driver's side door and looking up, maybe at the stars.

Dean threw on his shoes and his leather and went out to join him. Sam didn't even turn to acknowledge when Dean first leaned back beside him, only scarce inches apart; he didn't need to. After a few minutes Dean bucked Sam with his shoulder and said, "We good?"

"Well…the mine's sealed," Sam chuckled, "I think we'll be okay." Both of them were still staring out ahead and slightly up.

Dean bucked Sam with his shoulder again. "And what have we learned from this little excursion?" he asked ironically.

Sam thought for a moment. Nodded to himself. "Sasha is a really good kisser."

It took Dean far too many seconds to fully register what Sam just said. Seconds after that he was pummeling his now laughing baby brother and hooking him into a headlock. "Not funny!" Dean growled, merciless with his tight hold.

"Then why are you smiling!" Sam chuckled right back, gasping and struggling but not enough to get out of Dean's arms.

Smartass. Dean was not smiling. And he wasn't a few seconds away from laughing along with his brother either. "Shut up. Oversized freak," Dean grumbled, ruffling Sam's hair good and hard before finally releasing him. Okay, maybe Dean was smiling and laughing a little. So what. "I _meant_, you jackass, the all purposeful lesson that your older brother is always right so you should listen to him. Knew something was wrong with this place from the start. Also knew…you'd make the right decision when the time came." His words finished more serious, quiet, but he still accentuated them by bucking Sam yet again in the shoulder.

That boyish, dimpled grin responded, faded a little and then Sam said, "You really think it was the right decision?" not sounding scared or unsure really, just curious.

"You feel all those demons out there, Sammy?" Dean asked, looking out and up again where there were millions of dots of light in the sky, stars undimmed by being too close to a large city.

"I feel them," Sam said softly beside him.

"Good. Coz we're gonna get 'em. All of 'em. Sound good to you?"

"Long as you don't ride my ass the whole time. Jerk," Sam said as easily as if they were still teenagers and not quite as jaded as they had become over recent years.

"Bring it, _bitch_," Dean smirked right back, "I'm ready."

Dean took a deep breath then, looked up at the stars and felt sure, really sure for the first time that they could do this, Malak be damned. Literally. Then Dean's smile faded and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"So, umm…about this tattoo thing."

THE END...of Arc 7...to be continued right here with...ARC 8: DEMONS!

A/N: Sorry for the delay this week. I didn't plan well what with the moving and not having internet. Still don't. Had to work around going to Panera and writing more at work. My bad! Anyway, here's your clean-up chapter for the holidays. I'm sure it won't be until next week that I'll have the first part of the next arc up, but I am very excited for it as it is the most recent winner, Zibila's request for being reviewer 800. And ironically, review 900 should come from this chapter, so whoever you are, you will also get a request.

P.S: I hate Anna. And I had begun to like her so. And disliking her had nothing to do with the Impala scene but rather her true identity. I cannot wait until January. On the plus side it should mean I am less distracted by DeanxCastiel fics and will write more. :-)

If you celebrate it, Have a Happy Thanksgiving! Love you all!

Crimson


	63. Arc 8: Demons, Part 1: The “D” Word

Dianna Wickham, you WERE reviewer 900 no matter how many ways I count it, silly. :-) Sure you don't have any request ideas besides Wally? She might not get to come back until next arc, but she will be in that one for SURE.

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Arc 8: Demons, Part 1: The "D" Word

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"Dean, are you sure you're okay?"

"Do the words 'I'm fine' really have no meaning anymore for you and Sam?"

"When they come from you? Yes."

Dean stopped their constant pace to smack Sasha in the arm. "Hey. It is possible for me to say those words and mean them you know. So I'm a little…antsy. This isn't exactly my scene," Dean admitted, eyeing their bustling surroundings warily, "But at least here we get some options so we can get it all done in one hit."

There was a bemused expression on Sasha's face that Dean was fairly certain he should be pissed off about. "Dean, we're at a shopping center in Denver. A _mall_. I think saying this isn't exactly your scene is a vast understatement. I mean, I'm not really into the crazy urban lifestyle either but once in a while, I don't know, I like a good throng of people around me."

"You can make an afternoon snack out of emotions. Of course you like throngs of people," Dean grumbled, shifting a little in place. He didn't mind tight spaces. It was open spaces with people constantly rushing about him that made him nervous, just like heights and that awful free-falling feeling. Dean just wasn't used to this sort of thing. A crowded bar was way different than a crowded mall. He wasn't even armed because Sasha had insisted that brining weapons would be a bad idea.

"You're the one who suggested this, remember?" Sasha pointed out.

That was true and Dean had done so with good reason. After making sure Iain was safe and insisting that the young librarian keep the extra anti-possession charm just in case, Dean had pleaded for just one more day's rest in Denver before they returned to fighting the good fight.

No one had argued with him.

"That's coz you need a new jacket and some new shirts after the majority of your wardrobe has been destroyed lately," Dean replied, kind of wanting to move again so he wouldn't feel quite so surrounded by the shoppers of Cherry Creek Mall, "Besides, gives us an excuse to leave Sam and Sarah alone. Jo got the hint and tagged along with Bobby for supply shopping. And we all need the break. My chest is still killing me anyway," Dean said as more of an afterthought, wanting to rub but knowing he shouldn't at the itching bit of gauze-covered skin over his heart. Hitting a tattoo parlor the other day had been a first priority after Dean finally gave into the idea.

Sasha must have been able to sense Dean's discomfort of standing in the walkway because he discreetly pushed on Dean's lower back to get them moving forward again. The incubus' tattoo had already healed over. Lucky bastard. "Then let's get in a store and out of the line of traffic," Sasha smirked, "There's gotta be an American Eagle around here somewhere. You could use some new jeans too."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean broke in even though this time he kept his forward momentum going, "This is shopping for you, not me. I'm fine. These jeans have lasted me plenty long."

A scrutinizing blue gaze swept down Dean's body. "Yeah. I can tell," Sasha rolled his eyes, "Dean, those are the only pair of jeans you have that aren't stained out of recognition or barely holding on by threads from falling off at the knees, and they're _still_ full of holes. If you think you get to dress me then I get to return the favor."

Of course it was right then that a group of teenager girls was passing by close enough to have heard that. They giggled as they hurried on and Dean held back a groan. "Baby," Dean whispered, "Could you keep that kind of talk down a notch. It's gay enough we're shopping together."

Sasha huffed. "At least you're not with Sam for a change. Way I hear it you get the same reaction either way. Now come on, there's an American Eagle right over there. Probably as cheap as we'll be able to find in this mall. Quality will be good though."

Dean nodded and continued towards the store with Sasha. He didn't mind American Eagle. He resented that Sasha had teased him about buying all of his clothing at Fleet Farm. It wasn't that he never shopped there, of course, but usually Dean's clothes came from wherever they happened to be when shirts and pants started wearing out. He didn't usually give his wardrobe much thought. He knew Sasha was mostly the same, but there was definitely a tad more style to how Sasha wore his clothes than either Winchester.

As they were nearing the American Eagle, they passed by a store that looked more like a club entrance. There were shutters covering up most of the front so you couldn't see inside and the entrance only displayed a large poster of some smoldering looking male model who didn't appear to be wearing anything.

"What's even in that place?" Dean nudged Sasha with his elbow, "Coz if I'm going off of advertizing I'd have to guess naked guys."

A raised eyebrow was Dean's response before Sasha turned his head and looked at the store they were passing. Dean thought maybe the incubus looked sick for a minute and then Sasha was coughing and pulling on Dean's arm to move past the store faster. "I think even walking buy one of those stores shortens your life by two minutes," he coughed again.

Dean was right there with him too; smelled like someone had spilled an entire bottle of men's cologne all over the carpet in there or something. "If we find a few shirts for you then…fine I'll try on some jeans. Your aunt's buying right?" Dean grinned.

A credit card was suddenly wagging in Dean's face. Sasha's smirk appeared behind it. "The only legit card I have, and only for use of clothes when I finally 'clean up a little.' says Shi. She already extended use to you and Sam, if that tells you anything," Sasha chuckled.

Looking down at his, okay, slightly holey jeans, rather old and worn boots, and a T-shirt Dean had probably had since he stopped growing as a teenager, Dean could admit that he wasn't exactly 'cleaned up' to miss high class succubus' standards. But it only added to his rugged hometown charm. The leather, for example, would always be a staple, like the Impala—classic and irreplaceable.

To be fair though Dean probably could use a new pair of jeans or two so he decided not to complain. They were shopping with real money for a change, even if Sasha's aunt was footing the bill.

One thing Dean was insistent on while they shopped was that he did not want them acting like chicks, helping each other pick things out and shit like that. If Dean passed a shirt he thought Sasha would like or would look good in then he would grab it and discreetly chuck it at Sasha the next time they saw each other. Same went for Sasha finding any jeans for Dean. They did end up at the dressing rooms about the same time though, to which Dean gave Sasha a funny look for needing to try on shirts. Jeans were one thing but shirts you just grabbed, bought, and dealt with.

It was the last straw when Sasha tried sneaking into Dean's dressing room with him. "Dude," Dean held up a hand and blocked the entrance, "What are you doing?"

Sasha blinked innocence that Dean wasn't buying for a second. "I just wanted to help see how they fit. And get your opinion on these," he said, holding up his armful of shirts.

"See, that is just the kind of chick thing I want nothing to do with. If they fit, I'll get them. If they don't, I'll put them back. Same for you. This isn't rocket science."

"Dean," Sasha said in a familiar chastising tone as he pushed on Dean's chest—thankfully sticking to the side without a healing tattoo—to knock Dean back into the dressing room and follow after him, "It'll go faster this way. And I want to see how they look on you. Don't be a baby."

There were other people in this store; someone had to have seen Sasha shuffle in after Dean. Recognizing that and being bothered by it wasn't Dean being a baby; it was being conscientious of social norms, god damn it. "Sasha, people do not share dressing rooms," Dean hissed as Sasha closed the door behind them, "It's like against the shop-lifting code or something."

"You're just worried they'll think we're making out," Sasha shook his head, already tossing his jacket—well, the non-leather jacket of Dean's he had borrowed—aside and pulling his white T-shirt over his head.

At this point Dean knew there was no point in arguing and decided that going fast and getting this over with would be better than furthering the fight. He still had to grumble, "Yeah, well, you're just wishing we _were_ making out," before he turned away from Sasha and started undoing his jeans. There was some light chuckling in response but Dean ignored it.

He had three pairs of jeans, one of which Sasha had picked out, and he only planned to buy two total. He really didn't want to have to go back out or hit any other stores if they didn't have to, so Dean prayed the ones he had would work. He silently cursed when the first pair turned out to be too big. The second pair, however, was perfect, very much like most of his old pairs actually and pretty damn comfortable for being new. That only left Sasha's pair and Dean could already tell that something seemed off before he even started pulling them on.

"Dude, what size do you think I am?" he exclaimed, sliding denim over his hips that could only be described as pornographically tight.

"Those _are_ your size, Dean, they're just a different style," Sasha answered.

Dean turned without bothering to button and zip the ill-fitting jeans to see that Sasha was facing him with one of his new shirts stretching too tightly across his chest. There were a couple shirts on the floor that Sasha must have deemed unworthy of bothering Dean over. The one he was wearing though looked _good_. It was a deep burgundy color that amazingly didn't clash with Sasha's red hair and had the outline of an eagle in black. Sasha had mentioned unsurprisingly to Dean that he didn't buy clothing with the brands prominently displayed because he thought it was tacky. Dean usually just didn't buy clothing from brand names. The eagle was a nice compromise.

"How's this one?" Sasha asked, looking down at himself and then up at Dean again, "I need some good staples. Some of my best shirts have been torn up since I met you Winchesters." He waggled an eyebrow playfully.

It was then that Dean realized that being in a dressing room alone together was an even worse idea than he first thought. They were both surrounded by discarded clothing, their jackets tossed into corners, Sasha was looking way too damn good, and Dean's jeans weren't even buttoned. It filled his head with way too many improper thoughts for a public venue.

Then Sasha was laughing. "I'll take the drooling to mean this one's a keeper. Will you at least do those up before you decide you hate them?" Sasha crossed the space between the two of them and went straight for Dean's waistline.

Once Dean came back to his senses, he immediately swatted Sasha's hands away and did the jeans up himself. "Seriously, babe, dressing me does not mean _physically_." Dean could feel that the jeans technically fit, they weren't pinching him or constricting too much where it mattered, but his ass felt suctioned in like the damn things were made of leather and when Dean looked beyond Sasha into the mirror that thought of 'pornographically tight' struck him again.

An appreciative hum sounded from Sasha. "You're getting those," he said.

"Only if I never go out in public in them," Dean grumbled.

"I'm okay with that."

"Sasha," Dean all but laughed, but he cut off mid-chuckle upon noticing that the incubus was no longer admiring from an acceptable distance, "Hey now…" he started warningly, holding up his hands to keep Sasha back, "What do you think you're doing?"

Damn that incubus strength, Dean thought, as Sasha's arms wrapped easily around him and pulled their bodies close. "Hmm," Sasha hummed thoughtfully, "Maybe I'm seeing how much we can get away with before they kick us out of the mall."

Dean swallowed. "And you wonder why I worry people might _think_ we're making out in here," he said in an angry whisper. Well, mostly angry. In actuality his voice might also be a little ragged and roughened for other reasons, like how much more constricting the damn jeans were starting to feel. "Come on now. This is not an excuse to get frisky. Not that I'm not thrilled you're back to your highly inappropriate self and all, but—"

"_My_ highly inappropriate self?" Sasha laughed, just holding Dean but the way they fit together like jigsaw pieces made that more than enough to make Dean's breath hitch, "Yeah, coz _you_ always behave. I'm just stealing a kiss," Sasha insisted.

That was usually all it took to get them into trouble, but Dean couldn't resist when Sasha looked and felt so good. Besides, some well deserved alone-time hadn't only been planned for Sam and Sarah. "The jeans are too tight," Dean said, pulling in close enough to breathe on Sasha's lips.

"Oh? Let me check."

Sasha bridged the meager gap between their mouths and pulled Dean's bottom lip in with his tongue, sucking gently before turning the gesture into a full kiss. As he did that and Dean sank easily into the liplock, Sasha's hands started sliding up under Dean's shirt and sought out the top line of those jeans. He found it, teased the sensitive skin between the fabrics for a moment, and then fit his hands smoothly inside the jeans down the length of Dean's tight ass.

His large hands squeezed possessively, forcing a whimper to break their kiss. "Feels like they fit fine to me," Sasha whispered.

It was almost as if the past week never happened—the cave, Meg, their new list of injuries and insecurities. Not that any of them were really all that hurt. Aside from some lingering bruising Dean was fine. Even his wrists were mostly healed and no longer needed to be bandaged. The worst pain he was in was the slight ache and itch of the tattoo that he, Sam, Sasha, and, as it turned out, the girls had all gotten the day before. Bobby had opted out saying he'd stick to his tried and true charms regardless of a more permanent solution.

But as much as Dean reveled in a return to the normalcy he loved, this was a little too dangerous as far as hidden PDAs went. He grunted out of their second kiss, pushed at Sasha lightly on his chest and took a slow breath.

"Bad incubus," he teased in a hushed voice, "No public places. At least none that might have cameras," he amended. He pushed on Sasha's chest again, the incubus complying but smiling wide like he had won anyway. "You get that shirt, I'll get the jeans. Deal? Now let's hurry up in here. I'm starving." Dean turned away quickly to change, needing to steady his pulse and ensure he didn't get a full-blown hard-on in the dressing rooms of a crowded store.

Sasha looked annoyingly pleased with himself while trying on the last of his shirts, one of which was a plain bright royal blue that Dean insisted Sasha buy along with the other one. Dean might have praised the benefits of sharing a dressing room after that if not for the stern-looking older store clerk who glared at them when they came out of it together.

Dean nodded at her with a polite, "Ma'am," trying so hard not to turn beat red or start giggling. She didn't chastise them though, just shook her head and said something about how they should know better at their age. Dean and Sasha made quick work of claiming their purchases afterwards.

As soon as they were out of the store Sasha burst into laughter.

"And Sammy says _I'm_ the bad influence," Dean smirked, "Can't stop for lunch yet though. You still need a jacket. Any good leather places in here?"

Coming down from his chuckling, Sasha suddenly scowled. "Seems kind of a waste the way I go through them," he said, "Maybe I should just get something more practical."

That was a big no. Dean liked his baby in leather. Both of them. "Your aunt wants you looking good, right? So don't worry about cost. We'll find you something slick and make damn sure there are no accidental glamour losses any time in the near future. How's that?"

"This is a fairly upscale mall, Dean," Sasha dissented, even though he was following right along with Dean instead of stopping him, "Remember how fast you ran out of Diesel when you saw their jeans were 200 bucks?"

Dean grimaced. That was just plain ridiculous. Most of the time he didn't even like spending 50 bucks on jeans. "Leather's different. Hey, if there was a cheaper place, I'd be all for it. As it stands we can still get a nice one that isn't out of the park price wise. You need it. Let's check in here." Dean pointed up at the Guess store that they had also bypassed earlier because of the usually over 100 price tag for jeans. There were a few coats in the windows and Dean had a feeling there had to be some nice leather in there somewhere.

As Dean was asking so nicely and all, Sasha conceded and went in with him. It took Dean all of ten seconds to bee-line for a black high-collared leather jacket on a rack that both resembled Sasha's other ones and was also something new, with a few extra zippers and buckled that Dean knew would look hot on the whole package. As soon as Sasha slipped it on over his T-shirt there was no more room for arguing. Dean basked in their efficiency and made sure that Sasha wore the jacket out of the store instead of that borrowed one of his.

Sasha's other jackets had always been dark brown but Dean liked the incubus in black. It made his other coloring appear that much more striking. "So, food," Dean said as they headed off again, "Then…maybe a flick or something? We got plenty of time. I checked and there's some zombie fake documentary thing I figured your geekiness would appreciate." Dean chuckled to himself. It still amazed him sometimes that Sasha was a horror movie fanatic.

Preparing to round the next corner towards the food court, Dean suddenly realized that his partner was no longer at his side. He stopped, looked back with a furrowed brow and saw that Sasha was standing in the walkway staring at him. The incubus looked at the bags in his hands, then at his newly acquired leather and said, "This is a date," more like a realization than a question.

Given their current distance of a few feet, those words had left Sasha a little too loudly for Dean's liking. He crossed back to the incubus quickly. "Hey, I don't think the little old lady in Macy's over there heard you," he grumbled, "What are you talking about, _date_?"

"You're trying to hide it, be all macho 'don't act like a chick', but you've been doting on me all day," Sasha grinned, "Shopping to dress me up, giving in and buying those jeans I liked on you, and now lunch and a movie. This is a date. This is you taking me out on the town, Mr. Winchester. Admit it. You're trying to seduce me," he finished with a crooked smirk.

Nothing could have stopped the chuckle that escaped Dean then, much as he soon coughed his way out of it. "Fine, fine, okay," Dean admitted all hushed like he had been in the dressing room and getting as close to Sasha as he dared without it seeming intimate to passerbys, "It's…a date. And I don't, ya know…_do_ dates. So you should…be grateful or something. With all the shit going down lately and…well all Hell breaking loose more or less, I figured we deserved it. Us, alone. Normal kinda…couple stuff. Or something." Damn, Dean was feeling hot suddenly.

The smirk on Sasha's face stretched to a full beaming smile and he—thankfully—moved on past Dean to continue walking. "You know I would have every right to be pissed that you're treating me like the girl," Sasha said when Dean fell into step beside him again, "But it's kinda cute. And I did pay for all the clothes, so…you're kinda the girl too, ya know."

"You're fucking hilarious," Dean grumbled, "Your _aunt_ paid for the clothes. And don't make me cover lunch and the movie just to prove your ass wrong, _sugar-muffin_. The thing about you and me is there _aint't _a girl, not any way you might think of it. And that's just how I want things to stay." Dean smirked a little sideways at Sasha, meaning his observation on several levels—Meg included. There was no room for a 'girl' in their relationship.

"So," Sasha smirked right back, eyeing the various options for lunch as they entered the food court, "Zombie movie?"

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After the movie, which Dean had to admit _was_ entertaining for modern commentary and zombie obsession, it was late afternoon and he and Sasha decided they should probably check back in with everyone and bring their things back to the motel. They were staying at a pretty centrally located Motel 6, and it was probably the nicest Motel 6 Dean had ever stayed at considering you could still get by for 40 bucks a night. Sasha, of course, assumed that heading back meant their 'date' was over. Dean was fine with the incubus thinking that way too. The night would be much more fun as a surprise.

The group had three rooms total: one Sam and Bobby were sharing, one for the girls, and one for Sasha and Dean. Sam and Bobby's room had become the gathering spot this time, so after dropping off their bags in their own room, Sasha and Dean headed there. Dean had an extra key but he still knocked before going in.

No acknowledgement greeted them before Dean began to turn the knob but he soon saw why. Sam and Sarah were sitting on the edge of one of the beds turned in towards each other. They weren't in any compromising position or anything, just a…well…an odd one. Their eyes were closed and Sam had his hands on either side of Sarah's head.

"Yo. Kids," Dean called as he and Sasha entered fully, "This isn't _Demolition Man_. I'm sure you could be having much more entertaining non-virtual fun if you just tried a little harder." He smirked to himself as Sam and Sarah's eyes snapped open and Sam immediately pulled back, looking embarrassed.

There was a jab at Dean's side as Sasha passed him to sit at the table, but Dean had definitely seen a smile on the redhead's face when he went by.

Meanwhile, although Sarah merely gave Dean an amused look, Sam was busy sputtering explanations.

"Very funny, Dean. It wasn't…anything like that. Sarah was just…I mean, I _asked_ her if I could, errr…she…we…she was just letting me test something on her," Sam finally got out, which of course didn't sound dirty at all.

"Hey, man," Dean grinned, moving to join Sasha at the table, "What you do in the privacy of your own room…"

"Sam wanted to test how deeply he could read a person's mind," Sarah explained before Sam could burst a vein at Dean's antics, "Whether just on the surface or further back, maybe even into the subconscious. We were seeing if he could look into the past two years of mine that he…missed." She flashed Sam a subtle smile.

Maybe what Sasha and Dean walked in on was a little bit intimate after all. "So…how'd that work out?" Sasha asked carefully.

Sam looked back at Sarah, the same subtle smile tugging at his lips too. "It didn't work at first. Sort of a jumble. Too much at once. I'd only ever caught flashes of immediate thoughts before. Besides the cave, anyway. I'd never tried purposely to go deeper. Not even really that time with you, Dean," Sam said, looking to Dean briefly before turning back to Sarah, "But I slowed down, focused. She helped by trying to show me things, project to me, you know? Then after awhile I could just…look." Sam paused for too long, just staring at Sarah as she was staring at him. Then suddenly he seemed to come back to himself and cleared his throat awkwardly. "You know, just…trying to stay on top of things—in _control_ of things," he revised quickly.

That would have been too easy of an in for Dean anyway. "Good. I guess," he said, pleased at the building undercurrent between Sam and Sarah but wary as he always would be of Sam powering up.

Still, Dean liked to think that the more Sam learned to control his powers, the better off they would be, even if Sam giving in too much to his abilities scared Dean sometimes more than he could say. He still hadn't figured out what Malak could have possibly meant about an important thing Meg had said to him. Something subtle but that could also explain everything somehow? Maybe it was just a wild goose chase to drive Dean crazy. They were so close now. They had a course and a plan. Dean actually believed he could be saved. So it really annoyed him that he didn't really feel like celebrating most of the time.

Before Sam could frown any deeper or say anything in regards to Dean's apathetic response, Bobby and Jo suddenly joined them, having returned as well. They brought in their shopping spoils for everyone, including ammo and various other supplies they would need for their soon to be embarked upon task of ridding the world of some hundred or so demons in about a month.

Their arrival broke up what might have turned into a tense situation, and as they all fell into easy conversation, Dean started to forget about worries for the time being.

Bobby gave Jo a stern look once they had unloaded everything and said, "Now, darling, you know your mother is going to want to be in on all this. Best you give that woman a call once we're passing through. I know she's busy with the Roadhouse, but I think our cause is just a little more pressing than hunter lodgings at the moment. She called me not long ago to talk about all this, and…well, you boys better know. We're with ya." Bobby nodded to Sam and Dean, a little too fatalistic for Dean's liking.

They might not really need Ellen's help, or all of the help they currently had. Dean certainly doubted he would ever have to call on the sex squad for further back up. It seemed that with Sam's extended powers, the rest of them would mostly feel like bystanders anyway.

"Sam, why don't you go over that route you've got planned," Bobby continued, settling himself at the table where Sasha and Dean still sat and Jo moved to join them too, "We want to be hitting the road first thing tomorrow, I'm thinking."

"Yes," Sam agreed, approaching the table with Sarah beside him. She stood near Dean's chair while Sam positioned his laptop so everyone could see it, "The Midwest is pretty clean at this point, not more than maybe some minor demon activity back in Minnesota. We can save that til last, head north for now and work our way over and down the west coast." Sam followed his finger along a line he had made on a US map as he spoke. "Then through the south, heading into the mid-states only when we need to. We can grab Ellen then. On through to the east coast, up, and back around to Minnesota. That covers all the points I can sense demon activity."

"And we'll stop in Pittsburg on the way through," Dean added matter-of-factly.

Sam stopped his little presentation to stare at Dean uncomprehending. "Why would we stop in Pittsburgh? We should continue on. This is going to take enough time as it is," Sam said.

"We're stopping in Pittsburgh because we made a promise, remember?" Dean replied, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, "Leven's show is the end of April. We promised we'd go. Now since I intend on keeping that promise we're gonna have to make sure we get that far in time. Gives us some motivation."

Jo snorted, "Coz saving your ass isn't motivating at _all_."

"Dean, I'm sure Leven would understand if he knew—" Sam tried.

"No _way_ I'm going back on my promise to that kid. And we all promised. Well, us three did," he said, indicating himself, Sam, and Sasha, "I won't subject the rest of you to a high school musical unless you feel like tagging alone, but _we_ promised we'd go, so we're going. Down to the wire or not by then, we can take one night off to blow through Pittsburgh."

Unlike Sam, Sasha looked perfectly content with this suggestion. "Guess we're going to have to hurry then if we're getting all the way through this route of Sam's in just a few weeks," the incubus smiled, "That'll only leave Minnesota really. We'll probably need the break."

Dean felt Sasha's sneakered foot toe him in the ankle then and he had to smile. Sam eventually and grudgingly accepted that he had been outvoted, and although the girls had only briefly heard about the adventures with Evelyn and Wade Taylor in Pittsburgh they didn't bother dissenting either.

Only Bobby eyed the others at the table for a minute before finally grunting to get their attention.

"Now either my hearing's starting to go or did you really just say 'high school musical'?"

A quick round of laughs and explanations later with Bobby looking all bemused and shaking his head at them, the group was back on track and had decided where they would be headed in the morning. Bobby had purposely brought along a junker he didn't mind leaving behind so they could take two cars instead of three. It would be weird having Bobby in the Impala. Dean wasn't sure why. Maybe because it was sort of like having your dad in the car and 'Dad' was always supposed to drive.

Since they had the rest of the night off really and any errands or planning they could do before they arrived at their destination were already taken care of, the group headed out as one large mass to grab dinner at the nearest cheap place to eat. Later, seeing as how they were all recovering yet from late nights and sore bodies, it wasn't hard at all to excuse himself and Sasha to go back and rest in their own room fairly early.

What was even easier was how Dean casually mentioned that he had forgotten something in the Impala and then headed off to retrieve it after promising, of course, that he would return right away. Anyone who thought Dean Winchester was without a romantic streak didn't know him at all.

Dean arrived back at their door in under ten minutes. Knocked. Waited for Sasha to answer. And then just stood, hands in his pockets—in his tight new jeans' pockets—grinning coyly. "Now, baby," he said in response to Sasha's gaping expression after opening the door, "You can't expect me to take you out looking like _that_." Considering Dean was in his new jeans, the white button-down—untucked—he usually wore with his alias suits, the nicer shoes he also usually wore for aliases, and all brought together with his trademark leather jacket, Dean looked pretty damn good compared to Sasha's bare feet, dirty jeans and old T-shirt.

The incubus gaped a minute or two longer before breaking into a wide grin and turning immediately on his heels in search of suitable clothing. "Five minutes!" Sasha called as he began to scrounge.

Dean waited just inside the door, watching Sasha change hurriedly into nicer jeans, his new burgundy T-shirt with the eagle, and his new black leather jacket. Since Sasha always looked gorgeous the slick clothes were only a mild improvement but it was enough to make Dean bite his lip and think for a minute that he might rather stay in tonight. But no, he had plans for their last free night in, well, maybe ever, and he intended to stick to them.

"You…_look_…so good in that," Sasha purred once he was dressed and ready, pressing Dean up against the door for a fiercely stolen kiss. Dean could feel the excitement just radiating off of the redhead, which made the whole thing that much more worth it.

"Right back at ya. Now, if you have to go and call this the 'D' word, you go right on ahead and do it, coz, baby, I am taking you out and we're gonna have a good time just you and me. You up for that?"

The glint of deviousness in Sasha's eyes was a perfect reflection of how Dean felt, proven even more when the incubus said, "Maybe so 'up' for it that it'd be better if we stayed in. But I'm ready for whatever you have planned. You know I'd go wherever you lead me."

"Good," Dean said, slipping a hand down Sasha's body from his waist to his backside as he still had him pulled in close. He gripped tightly for a moment, harking back to Sasha's little groping maneuver in the dressing rooms. "Now get that cute little ass in the car and let's get gone."

Dean had already filled Sam in on this little excursion so no one would worry should they come calling for Dean or Sasha later in the night. All his younger brother had responded with was a grin, a chuckling shake of his head, and a pat on the back. Good enough for permission in Dean's book, not that he was looking for a blessing or anything; the people around them had more than given their approval of what seemed such a natural relationship for the both of them. Which really said something given how the hunter crowd wasn't exactly known for being broad-minded.

Since they were in Denver, another urban nightmare for Dean traffic-wise, he had considered taking a cab instead of his baby, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave her out of the fun. She would be necessary for what he had planned later after all. So he had located the place he wanted to go, trying his damnedest to make sure it wasn't too far from their hotel. Amazingly, he had managed, and was even able to park—granted paid parking—without any trouble. The parking garage was for several of the nearby establishments so it was difficult to narrow down which one they were heading to. Dean could tell Sasha was getting anxious trying to figure it out.

"Can't take the surprise?" he teased, walking just a little slower as they headed for the doors down to street level.

"You're an evil bastard sometimes, you know that?" Sasha grinned back, "I know you're sweet. I know you're romantic. I know you like a good time. But all of the above at once with you getting all dressed up for me and everything, you're outdoing yourself Mr. Winchester."

Dean shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips as self-satisfied as he could make it. "Well, Mr. Kelly, figured we deserved it, especially just us since that's so rare a thing these days. And…sometimes it's nice not to have to pretend. Right?" Dean winked, picked up his pace to move past Sasha and opened the door for his friend that lead down to the club he had chosen for them, "Now I know I said this last time, but this isn't going to happen often, so don't get used to it," Dean added, the name on the door not enough for everything to click for Sasha quite yet, but that final phrase seemed to do it.

"No way," Sasha said disbelievingly as they headed down the stairs. They could already hear the strong beat of techno dance music below them.

Answering outright would spoil the fun, so Dean just grinned and kept on going. By the time they were at the parking lot door, showing their IDs to the bouncer, the cliental inside was the final give-away.

"You know, it was in a bar just like this that we first spent time together," Sasha whispered loudly into Dean's ear as they moved through the club to order a beginning round of drinks. The lights of the place were a little spastic for Dean's taste, the music a little too recycled, but you couldn't deny that every man around them was having a good time.

"Oh?" Dean called back, "Where was that?"

"Minnesota," Sasha laughed, "When I first mortified you. Little place on Hennepin Avenue called…'The Gay 90s'."

Damn. How could Dean have forgotten that? Of course they hadn't gotten the chance to experience that club in full swing. Not like this one. "Well what can I say, baby," Dean said, as loudly as he ever said that nickname when other people were in hearing distance, "I felt like dancing with you somewhere that wasn't just our hotel room and that wouldn't have dicks in it wanting to beat the crap out of us. Not too many places for that." Of course Dean still felt strangely exposed being in a gay club, especially with the large amount of looks he and Sasha were getting as they crossed to the bar, but he knew who he was with. That's all that mattered.

"We gotta have shots," Sasha said, grinning madly.

There was a fairly large gathering at the bar but they managed to elbow their way in and even snag some stools when a couple of other guys ditched. "Being in a gay bar doesn't mean we have to act like chicks," Dean teased.

Sasha rolled his eyes and some other guy behind Sasha gave Dean a look that he promptly ignored. "Admit it, you Oprah-loving, daytime TV watching, Bon Jovi fan, you," Sasha said, "You love shots. And you have as much of a feminine side as the next guy."

"Which next guy?" Dean chuckled, lowering his voice a little since there was a guy in pretty much spandex everything down the bar and a lot of the other men around them had some form of makeup on.

"Purple Nurples," Sasha informed the bartender, holding up two fingers. The bartender nodded and flashed Sasha a smile.

Dean scooted his stool an inch closer to Sasha then and gave his best 'he's mine' glare. The bartender just smiled. "Guess I can't argue with a shot choice like that," Dean said to Sasha, "Want anything more solid before we hit the floor?"

"Are you sure you want to go out there?" Sasha asked seriously, "This place is pretty different from Wade's. I mean this is all strictly men and they look a little more…rambunctious. I don't want you having a panic attack out there or something."

"Ha, frickin' ha," Dean huffed, "I'm more likely to have a seizer," he said, thinking of all the damn moving lights, "Don't worry about me. All I have to focus on is you. It's all I need."

"You know they usually have gay porn through a secret door in the bathroom in these places," Sasha grinned cheekily.

"Don't push it."

The shots were downed with practiced ease—Dean had forgotten how much he enjoyed that particular shot and planned to have more of several somethings before the night was over—and as promised, Dean grabbed Sasha by the hand and led him out onto the dance floor.

It was the opposite of Dean's usual scene on a scale that made being in that mall earlier pale sharply in comparison, but damn it, Dean was going to enjoy himself. As long as he focused on Sasha like he had said, he knew it didn't really matter where they were. Being in a place like this just made it easier for them to be a couple out in the open. Dean may be as anti-PDA as a man could get most of the time, but even he liked those rare times they didn't have to hide.

The dance floor was hot as hell, and as much as Dean distrusted coat rooms in places like this, he eventually agreed to drop their jackets off before they hit the dance floor again. Two shots later, Dean was convinced that this place had never heard of a slow song, and he wasn't really going to complain, but as soon as he heard the familiar and surprising voice of Mary Wells' "My Guy" he knew the truth was a lot worse.

Dean was certain he wouldn't be able to dance to this song. Too cheesy, too hokey, too…_gay_. But Sasha grabbed hold of his hips and kept him close, unwilling to let him run from the dance floor like he wanted. The incubus was laughing as they danced and the cheesy 1960s lyrics sent Dean right over the edge too.

What Dean never could have expected though was for the rarely heard acoustic version of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" to begin playing next. He pulled from Sasha after the first bar, immediately recognizing what song it was. "How'd you request this? When?" Dean asked, knowing it couldn't be just a coincidence.

"Guy in charge of the music was right by the coat room," Sasha grinned, "You were so engrossed in making sure your precious leather would be safe, it was easy. The guy actually said he was thrilled to play it. Kind of fitting for this place if you listen to the lyrics." Sasha pulled Dean back in close again, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and holding his waist. Dean mirrored him, eyes closing as he drank in the very song that had sprung the words 'I love you' from his mouth for the first time. At least the first time it really mattered.

_So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters_

_Never opened myself this way  
Life is ours, we live it our way  
All these words I don't just say  
And nothing else matters_

_Trust I seek and I find in you  
Every day for us something new  
Open mind for a different view  
And nothing else matters_

_Never cared for what they do  
Never cared for what they know  
But I know_

_So close no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
And nothing else matters_

"You know something?" Dean whispered as the song began to fade off. He still had his eyes closed, but he had seen how many other pleased couples had stayed or joined those on the dance floor to slow dance to this song too.

"What?" Sasha breathed back.

Dean smiled into Sasha's neck. Kissed the pale skin there. "I think I still love you."

The most blissful laugh left Sasha's lips. "Good. So do I."

Another slow song played, one Dean didn't know, but they danced on anyway until the speakers blared with rave music again. After that Dean could tell by the look in Sasha's eyes that now would be a good time for his second surprise. "Wanna get outta here?" Dean asked with a waggled eyebrow.

Sasha chuckled again, eyes shimmering. "Wherever you lead, I'll follow," he said, looking at Dean with such trust, such raw emotion that Dean felt like he was the one with wings. Dean knew without a doubt that no one had ever made him feel like that before, like he mattered more than anything else, like he was special, and wanted, and worth something.

He pulled Sasha through the club, retrieved their coats, got to the Impala and out of the parking lot as quickly as he could manage, and headed out of Denver.

"Uhh, Dean?" Sasha questioned as soon as he realized Dean was getting on the highway, "Where are we going?"

"Hey, I thought wherever I lead, you follow," Dean snarked back.

This of course had Sasha laughing again, the incubus maybe a little buzzed, over-tired like they all were from the past week, and looking all amused at Dean instead of annoyed. "I will. I'd just like to know what trouble you're going to get us into. We need to leave first thing, remember? And we should get some actual sleep tonight."

"Don't worry, I'll have us back by curfew," Dean grinned, "Place we're heading isn't far. Just this spot I found a few years back when we were pulling a job in Aurora. I'll be right up front with you. Yeah, I took a chick to this place. And oh did I ever get lucky," he whistled, "But believe me, she wasn't nearly as worthy of this place as you are. Still trust me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of his head towards the redhead beside him.

Dean had one hand resting between the seats, driving with the other. Sasha reached over and took that inviting hand and laced his fingers over the top of them. "Til Hell and damnation," Sasha smirked.

It was just the kind of inappropriate joke that made Dean love the incubus all the more. "_Hell_ yeah."

True to his word too, the trip only took them twenty minutes out of town, just a little out of the way place, fairly secluded and high enough to give a damn nice view of the Denver skyline.

Now Dean had always been more of a landscape kind of guy as far as breathtaking views went, not that he ever had much time to sit back and enjoy those kinds of things, but there was something beautiful about a cityscape too. Maybe it was because Sasha seemed to fit better with that backdrop, down-to-earth as the incubus might be.

If Dean didn't trust his baby on harsher terrain, he might not have left the road, but he remembered this path and the lack of foliage gave them a clear ride to the hill he wanted, overlooking the city. Sasha was grinning ever wider when Dean shifted into PARK. Dean would keep the car running too as it was pretty damn cold outside.

"It's beautiful," Sasha smiled, looking out at the lights.

Dean swept his eyes over Sasha's face. "Sure is from where I'm sitting," he said softly.

Sasha's smile quirked up on one side, crooked but pleased, so pleased, and relieved, and happy. He scooted across the seats, his hip pressing against Dean's, hands seeking whatever holds they could find, and just looked at Dean, seeing him like no one else ever could. "You really have no idea how wonderful you are, do you?" Sasha asked.

"I'm not wonderful."

"Yes. You are." Sasha reached one hand up to the back of Dean's neck and ran his nails through the short strands of dirty-blonde hair.

It felt so good—the closeness, the warmth, everything. Dean closed his eyes. "I can't figure for the life of me why you love me so much."

"You want me to list all the reasons?" Sasha whispered close to his face, "Because I can. You're brave, and noble, and sweet. You care so much about everybody else, even people you barely know, that you usually forget about yourself. And you make me laugh, and make me feel like I'm…actually worth something to someone."

That got Dean's eyes to open. "Hey now. Don't go singing my tune. I hate that song," he tried to chuckle.

But despite the incubus' self-deprecating words, there was nothing but devotion in Sasha's eyes, even missing the sorrow that usually lingered there. "Oh, and I can't forget the best part. I also love you because you are so blindingly, absolutely and unfairly _hot_." Sasha flicked his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip as he said that.

"Can't argue with that one," Dean smirked. He slipped his hands inside Sasha's new leather jacket, feeling just how warm the redhead was. "Hey…wanna see how roomy that back seat can be?" he whispered as he pushed the jacket easily off Sasha's shoulders and down his arms.

Already Sasha looked flushed, and he eagerly pushed Dean's leather away too. "It is the kind of back seat that was just _made_ for…certain things," he replied, eyeing the back that was all smooth black leather.

The hunger in Sasha's stare was the very look Dean had been missing. It made it significantly more difficult to make it into the back seeing as how Dean lunged for Sasha then, kissing his lips like he was starved for them.

There was a sudden, telling thud, and then Sasha cried out, or rather somewhat whimpered since their mouths were suctioned together at the time.

Dean lifted up immediately to see that he had accidentally knocked Sasha's head into the passenger side door. He would have apologized if Sasha wasn't giggling up at him. "Masochist," Dean shook his head at the incubus.

Sasha just laughed harder for a moment and then suddenly pushed Dean forcefully away and started scrambling over the seats into the back. As he was hurrying, he ended up with his rear in the air and in easy reach for a good long while, but by the time Dean had righted himself to take advantage, he just narrowly missed grabbing a handful of incubus ass. He would remedy that soon.

"Now you _know_ I'm gonna come and getcha," Dean grinned as Sasha stretched out in the back.

"You better," he taunted, stretching long like a cat so that his burgundy shirt hitched up and there was that low line of tattoos painting Sasha's hips.

Being an old pro at naughty activities in the back seats of cars, especially his own, Dean was over the seats with practiced ease in moments, claiming and covering Sasha's body with his own. He couldn't help noticing, however, that his tight new jeans did not aid in that process at all. "These so aren't coming out on hunts," Dean grimaced, shifting within the constricting denim with a motion he soon turned into a slow grind down against Sasha.

The incubus laughed, head pressing back into the leather cushions beneath him at the feel of Dean. He reached up for the buttons on Dean's shirt then and began to undo each one. When it fell open, revealing the bandages covering Dean's heart to protect that still fresh and healing tattoo, Dean noticed Sasha frown. That wouldn't do at all.

"You already don't like it?" Dean smiled crookedly, "I haven't even taken the gauze off yet."

Sasha's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's, apologetic. "No, I…I guess I just got reminded of the last time you had bandages over your chest. Christ, Dean, we…we've been through so much, and it's barely been over half a year. Could have sworn someone, somewhere said 'life gets easier'."

Dean had to huff at that. "If they did, they were lying," he said, "Can't imagine it gets easier from here."

"No…"

That faraway, sorrowful tone was not what Dean wanted to hear right now. He scooted back, put the flat of his hands right where Sasha was teasing him with visible skin, and trailed up beneath the incubus' shirt, raising it as he went. The tattoo came into view—the new inked one—like a pagan sun over Sasha's heart and that all-important scar. The scar wasn't completely hidden. Dean could see the cracks, the jagged lines. It gave the tattoo character.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed, sorrow leaving as raggedness returned to Sasha's voice.

"That's why we gotta take this time when we get it," Dean said, tracing the healed and perfect tattoo with his fingertips. He probably could have taken his own bandages off earlier but his tattoo wouldn't be as smooth as Sasha's for some time. "And you know what else…?" Dean whispered.

"What?"

Tugging Sasha's shirt over the incubus' head, Dean let it fall between the seats, dipped down to capture a kiss, and ran a hand through Sasha's soft red hair before saying, "I know why it's you. Why it always had to be you. Because all those things you said before?" He looked hard at Sasha. Looked. And loved. "You believe them," he said.

With a glowing smile in reply, it was Sasha who grabbed Dean's face, kissed him deeply, adoringly, and didn't let go. Dean's shirt fell from his shoulders to join Sasha's on the floor. Then Sasha's jeans were tugged down. His shorts. And Dean's that were not so surprisingly more difficult to remove so that both of them were laughing by the time they were finally sprawled naked on top of each other in the back of the Impala.

Dean wanted to worship Sasha tonight, wanted to make up for everything that had happened, Meg especially, and show Sasha that everything the incubus saw in him, Dean saw in Sasha too. And then some.

He re-mapped that body he knew so well with the pads of his fingers, the whole of his hands, and with gentle swipes of his tongue. He let the incubus writhe and stretch out, climbed down Sasha's body, and sucked him in at the tip with eager lips.

A gasp left Sasha and he bucked up into Dean's mouth, clutching suddenly at Dean's hair like he hadn't felt this in months and, god, it felt amazing. Dean was good with his tongue, even more so with his lips, and he had learned all the ways of making Sasha breathless. Swallowing Sasha deep and then slowing pulling away was one of the things that always made the redhead whimper.

Dean was surprised, therefore, when Sasha clutched at him, pulling him back up his body so they could kiss hungrily again. Then Dean felt one of Sasha's large, soft hands reach between his legs and take hold. Sasha found the wetness Dean was weeping liberally and smoothed it over the shaft that had been hard since even before they climbed into the back.

The way they fell upon each other after that, kissing with deeply probing tongues, biting and sucking at each others' necks, anywhere really, made it impossible for Sasha to keep his hand between their bodies. But then they were grinding, the heat so strong and slick where they connected that Dean moaned loudly up at his baby's ceiling, with his other baby beneath him.

Spurned on by that sound and given such a sweet opening with the way Dean arched up, Sasha strained forward and licked a long trail over Dean's Adam's apple. Damn, Dean wanted the incubus so badly he could taste it. And he did, licking at the inside of Sasha's mouth and kissing him hard where there was the lingering taste of the shots they had had at the club. Between them they were wet and sticky from themselves and from all that wonderful friction.

"_Dean_," Sasha said in that demanding voice that Dean had learned the first time they were together meant _'now, do it now, take me now'_.

Obligingly, Dean wet his fingers, moving back to fall between Sasha's legs that spread for him so willingly. Dean couldn't help grinning at the sight of red flickering in Sasha's blue eyes and the glint of revealed fangs. Dean had missed the familiarity of that.

He stretched Sasha with one finger, with two, enjoying so much all the noises that spilled from Sasha's lips whenever he did that. Even when Sasha bucked up, impatient as Dean added a third finger, Dean worked the digits inside of Sasha for several minutes more, drawing out those pleading, pleasured moans. Only when Sasha gripped his arm too tightly with fingers that were turning black did Dean give in, position himself, and press.

The thrill of all that tight heat got to Dean every time, more so with Sasha than ever before with someone else. He felt Sasha wrap his legs around him, heels pressing into Dean's backside. With the red eyes and fangs too Dean was brought blissfully back to their first night together on Bobby's guest room floor.

Every thrust forward had Dean trembling. Sasha too. It wasn't until they had built so close to climax and Dean could feel the circuit—something he should have recognized was missing when he was with Meg—that Dean realized it wasn't just pleasure running between them. There was also grief, a fierce grief that Sasha was giving over to Dean and allowing him to slowly burn away.

Dean looked closely at Sasha's brilliant red eyes then and saw that his friend, his love was crying. He would have worried if he didn't understand. "Baby…" he breathed, running a thumb under each of those eyes and leaning down to kiss Sasha gently, "It's okay, you know. It's gonna be okay."

And instead of arguing, Sasha just nodded, smiling through the shimmer in his eyes. "I know. But that doesn't mean you get to…tease me about this tomorrow, you bastard," he said, playing at a pout.

Dean couldn't stop the barked laugh that left him. "Crying during sex?" he balked, "You better believe I do."

"Jerk."

"_Angel_."

Sasha laughed, his fangs gloriously prominent. "Not quite."

"Eh, more so than me," Dean shrugged. He bucked forward to pick up their pace again then, missing that wonderful rhythm.

It was only moments later that Sasha came, staining both their chests with heat like an exhale. The circuit echoed what the incubus had felt and strengthened it, guiding Dean to his own climax like gently, loving hands that filled Dean with constant rivulets of pleasure. When he finally came to follow after Sasha it was hard and shuddering. He pulled out just before and as much as it might make things more difficult to clean up later when they finally caught their breaths, Dean couldn't resist falling on top of Sasha and lying there with him, tangled up and content.

The car was so quiet without the radio, just their breaths and the rumble of the engine. It made Sasha's words clear and unmistakable when they left him.

"I love you, Dean," the incubus whispered.

Those words were once something Dean feared above anything else, and now they filled him with peace, with hope. "Til Hell and damnation," he promised.

No matter how literal.

tbc...

A/N: Obligatory fluff! You deserved it. All presented for Zibila, who also had requested Sasha on top and to be all incubused-out, but sadly I will have to get to that later. Hope you liked! Things will be back to a more normal setting after this and we'll get through to the end of the deal fairly quickly I'm thinking. Watch out for Lilith. ;-P And yes, Leven shall return, if only for a chapter. Sorry for the lateness, please review and remind me you are there for the holidays! I meant to post last night in honor of the show still being gone. Oh well. I'll try to be better. I want to finish this arc before January 15th when they come back. Love you!

Oh and the whole Deus ex Samina is totally Blueeyesgreen's invention which I had to use. Love that wording.

I forgot! The Abercrombie comment--unnamed store that shortens your life when you walk past--was to reference that Chase Crawford was an Abercrombie model before being an actor. Hee.

Also, before I forget AGAIN, deangirl suggested another DRABBLE CONTEST. Shall we say you have until xmas eve, so lots of time for more entries, and I'll announce the winner after New Years? Therefore, the prompt really has to be 'presents'. Have fun!

Crim


	64. Part 2: A Hex of a Problem

Part 2: A Hex of a Problem

-----

Following Sam's demon trail of the American northwest was the easy part of the first few days. They slept in shifts, never stopped driving, never got motel rooms, just worked their way through the demons Sam led them to with the most speed and precision they had ever used while hunting. Several of the demons already, usually when there was more than one together, were actually clever enough to escape Sam for a time. Dean kind of liked those demons; it gave him something to do.

Amazingly, however, their whole hunting sextet had proven to be useful. Bobby, who had taken to hanging back as their last line of defense, had demonstrated more than once how necessary a factor he was. Quite a few of those swifter, sharper demons were dispatched solely by his well-concealed devil's traps, quick flicks with holy water, and well-honed skills with exorcism. Dean was even more impressed with Jo and Sarah as he had not yet gotten to see them really work as a team. The most impressive was when Jo guided Sarah almost blindly to spot an escaping demon from clear the other end of a factory, and Sarah shot it down for Sam using the paintball gun they had converted into a sniper rifle for holy water pellets. The gun had been Jo's idea.

That was Sydney, Montana at the end of their first two days. They were less than an hour from reaching Spokane, Washington when Sam called Dean from the girls' car to say he was starting to doubt his tracking skills.

Something about the next demon, one he was sure was singular, wasn't coming across his senses as precise as before. Sam still felt a presence in Spokane, but it seemed off somehow and that feeling was worsening the closer they got to the city. Sticking with Sam's initial senses anyway, they soon discovered why. Sam was drawn to the basement of an abandoned house that held no demon but did present them with a well-hidden hex bag.

"A trick?" Sasha asked when they found it. It was late at night and they were all gathered in the basement of that house to regroup.

Sam was holding the hex bag and sighed as he studied it. "A decoy," he said, "It's giving off a signal almost identical to what I normally sense from demons, but it's not harmful, just something to throw me off the trail."

"This demon knows you're after it?" Sarah questioned.

"The hex bag might not be for me specifically, but I think it's pretty much guaranteed the demons know we're coming for them. Word's probably traveling fast and it'll get harder from here. But they shouldn't be able to sense _me_. That'll still help us."

That had been a great asset to them so far, but wild goose chases like this could really slow them down whether they still had certain advantages or not. Dean could tell from all of the others' expressions that that thought was already weighing heavily on their minds. "So what do you sense now?" Dean asked his brother.

"Southwest. Kennewick, I think," Sam said with a growing scowl, "But this one feels off too. It has to be another decoy, maybe a way of marking Washington as this demon's territory, I don't know. Problem is, I didn't sense this new demon energy at all until we found the hex bag."

"Which, bad news as it may be," Bobby broke in, "Probably means we won't be finding the real demon til we've tracked down every last one of these damn bags. And who knows how many of those there'll be."

Jo huffed and crossed her arms. "Could be all over the whole damn state."

Wonderful. Dean should have realized by now that whenever luck seemed to be working in their favor, the ground was already falling out from under them. "Then we better get moving," he said.

As it turned out, Sam's guess about Kennewick was right, including that their discovered culprit was merely another hex bag. That opened up Sam's senses to the one in Kelso. Then Aberdeen. Then on the way to Port Angeles, with days wasted and everybody's nerves shot, Sasha asked the logical question, "All these hex bags in a sequence, revealed one at a time to Sam, have to mean we're being led somewhere. More than likely to find a trap, not our demon." A few of the hex bags had already had minor traps that one or more of the group had spotted in time to take care of. "How do we know we're not playing right into its hands?"

"We don't," Bobby said, "Beauty of the hunt, son. We've probably been lucky so far. This one's smart. If it's really trying to guard against you, Sam, maybe it thinks you're alone. Numbers give us some advantage there. My guess is, a real trap, one that nearly gets the best of us, that'll be the sign we've almost found the demon."

The clatter of a half-full glass slamming down on the tabletop shot everyone's eyes to Sam. He had been the most visibly and increasingly agitated since the first hex bag was found, even more so than Dean. Or at least more than Dean chose to show outwardly.

The six of them were crowded together in a large booth in the corner of a diner. None of them had had a good night's sleep in over a week. They needed rest, but no one wanted to be the one to admit that and to have to slow them down when their progress was already backed up by several days.

"We can't keep wasting all our time on this one demon," Sam snapped, "But we can't skip over any either. Malak said all. We need to find it now. Dean, I could summon those hex bags in seconds, one after the other until we finally got to the demon, if only you'd _let_ me—"

"No," Dean said warningly. He hated back-tracking over old arguments that had already been decided.

"But why not?" came the expected dissent, only not from the expected person, "If it's only one, one at a time, one hex bag and then the next," Sarah continued, "Then we know Sam can handle that. With everything else we know he can do, Dean, I don't understand why you're so hesitant about this one thing."

It was Jo who gave an apologetic look and spoke up before Dean could. "We've all seen enough freaky things and know enough about them to understand that not all supernatural things are bad," she said with a sympathetic glance at Sasha, "But I'm still on Dean's side for this one. It's not that we don't trust you, Sam. We know we can trust you. What I don't trust are the things I _don't_ know. I don't trust the demons we're after. I don't trust this Malak for damn sure. There are too many unknowns not to play it safe."

In response, Sam's hand slammed down onto the tabletop next to his glass. "Playing it safe won't mean shit when Dean's in Hell," he growled, far too loud to be inconspicuous for a public place.

That was it. Onlookers be damned, Dean slammed his hand down onto the tabletop too. "Enough, Sam. If anyone gets to be in charge of this crusade to save my soul then it should be _me_. We've had this talk already. You. _Listen_. Now Jo made a point back there that means a helluva lot more than us worrying about you turning on his from being overpowered. We can't trust these demons to play fair. Who's to say a hex bag further down the line isn't the trap itself? Just because so far they've just been decoys doesn't mean it won't be otherwise later. And what happens when you do get to the demon? You won't know for sure it's the demon until you've brought it to us, and by now it's pretty damn obvious that this asshole was a witch once or at least learned some pretty nasty tricks in the pit. Summoning it won't give us any chance to scope things out before we need to fight. Can you at least appreciate the sense to all that?" He looked to Sarah too, and Sasha, since Dean was pretty sure the incubus was thinking along Sam's lines as well.

All three of them looked uniformly cowed. "I'm with you too, Dean," Bobby nodded, "Too risky otherwise. We keep moving, we'll get through all the hex bags soon enough. Damn demon couldn't have put around too many more, I'm thinking. Long as we keep our wits about us for traps, we'll get it."

That seemed to close the conversation and no one spoke about changing their current plans again. Dean could feel the frustration in Sam, see fainter echoes of it in Sarah and Sasha who seemed more comfortable overall with Sam's insane powers. Dean wasn't surprised by where the group split on that account one bit. Jo and Bobby trusted Sam as much as Dean did, but they were born to be skeptical, knew better than to trust anything they didn't understand, especially when that something came from the enemy. Dean was glad for the evenly weighed opinions, and even gladder that he had been named leader above Sam's powers and Bobby's experience. That way if they failed he knew he could only blame himself.

Port Angeles was a close call, close enough that Bobby was certain it must have been the last hex bag when they were all checking over each others' wounds from the curses that had rained down upon them. The worst they had come out with though was merely Jo with a twisted ankle and Sasha's hair being a little singed.

Sam frowned as he held this supposedly last hex bag, because although he sensed a new presence, he shook his head and said, "Seattle. But it still feels fake somehow. It's…stronger. There might be more of them. Maybe all over the city. The demon is in Seattle, but we're not going to have an easy time tracking it down."

Wonderful, but at least their next destination was set.

As they were leaving this newest run-down building where the last hex bag had been found, the fatigue bearing down on all of them was starting to show more than ever. They'd be in Seattle in time for the sun to rise and no one had gotten a turn at sleeping for at least twenty-four hours.

It was a brave and desperate thing when Sasha stopped his sluggish following of the others and finally said what all of them had been avoiding.

"We need to rest. Really rest," he called ahead to the others, "I know we're behind, and I know this isn't going to be any easier once we're in the city. It'll probably be worse since we won't be dealing with abandoned buildings anymore. But if we don't get some decent sleep, all of us, we're not going to be much use for finishing this. When we get to Seattle we need to take the time to really regroup and _really_ rest."

Dean loved the incubus so much when he made beautiful sense like that. Even Sam, resistant as he had been up until now to even stop for food, looked so haggard from the past few days that he didn't protest. "What did you have in mind, Sasha?" the younger Winchester asked.

Sasha grinned and pulled out his cell phone. "Well, it just so happens I know someone in Seattle with a place big enough for all of us."

-----

"Sweetheart!" Shiarra exclaimed when they appeared on her doorstep. Of course Sasha had called ahead since Shiarra often left Seattle for 'personal reasons'. And it was doorstep figuratively as the well-to-do succubus had one of those ridiculous lofts Dean used to shake his head at on reruns of _Frasier_. "So glad you finally took me up on my offer," Shiarra continued, releasing Sasha from a quick embrace and looking past him into the elevator at the gathering of hunters, "Though I see this is more business than pleasure. Not that that's ever stopped me before," she grinned, "Bobby! So good to see you again."

Dean felt mildly disturbed by Shiarra's exuberance as she stepped back to allow them into her apartment. Actually seeing the place for what it was though put the ones on _Frasier_ to shame. This was like a fancy hotel lobby, not one person's living quarters on the 23rd floor of a 4th Avenue downtown Seattle apartment complex. "Jesus Christ!" Dean exclaimed, looking about the spacious, well-decorated loft with way too many windows, "You have some nine-to-five we don't know about? How do you afford this place?"

"Oh please," Shiarra scoffed, leading them further along towards what appeared to be a living room area, though it could very well be one of many, "I haven't paid rent on this place a single day I've lived here. I introduced the head of the board to her husband. I also perform several important functions for certain influential people about the city. And not always in ways that lead to the gutter, like where your mind just went, Mr. Winchester. I'm an event planner. And a damn good one. I assume a posh party isn't why you've arrived though. Shiarra Brennan," she introduced herself suddenly to the girls, extending a hand first to Jo.

"Oh, uh, Jo Harvelle," Jo said, little flustered as she accepted the offered hand.

Then onto Sarah who seemed at least a bit more at ease. "Sarah Blake. You're home is very beautiful, Miss Brennan."

"_Shiarra_, darling. Shiarra. Brennan's only for business purposes," the succubus said, "And this apartment, lovely as it is, is really only a place to come back to on occasion." Her eyes swept down then and Dean couldn't help noticing how the succubus was looking the girls over with pleased scrutinizing. "Forgive me, but I must admit I didn't expect the feminine side of hunting to be quite so lovely. Of course Sasha has told me only good things about you, my dear," she smiled at Jo.

"Aunt Shi," Sasha laughed maybe a little nervously, "Stop embarrassing everyone. We're actually on a pretty tight schedule right now for, umm…well, something very important. And we have a few favors to ask you."

A quick glance from Shiarra and Dean understood that it was time to come clean. He was glad none of them had bothered to sit down yet, tired as they all were. He crossed to Shiarra. "She knows," he admitted to the others, "Sorta came up during our fun in Maine. We can all talk freely. Made an amendment to the deal not long ago," he explained to Shiarra, "We get rid of some demons, I'm off the hook. But one of the demons we need to take care of is hiding somewhere in your city. It's powerful enough to fool Sam's senses. We need a home base. And frankly a place to sleep."

"Well of course you can all stay here," she said right away, "Three bedrooms. Plenty of sofas. Food. Whatever you need. Though I do expect to remain involved in the hunt for as long as you're here if you expect me to offer my hospitality. I know this city better than anymore, and not just the upper class either. Why don't we get you all settled and rested up and you can full me in on what I need to know." She promptly took both girls by the arms and started leading them away.

The four men of the group were left to stare dumbfounded a moment before Dean said, "Did she basically just…take over right there?"

"She's good at that," Sasha shrugged.

Sam just chuckled and shook his head, at least looking a little less frazzled and homicidal for the time being.

It was Bobby though who Dean couldn't help noticing was watching maybe a little too closely the way Shiarra's hips swayed as she walked, covered alluringly in a tight blue skirt. She was also wearing a burgundy sweater, but instead of matching heels Dean almost giggled to see the succubus in Garfield slippers.

"Now _that's_ a woman," Bobby grinned appreciatively, completely unapologetic of his assessment, "Come on now. Rest. Then we'll figure out our next move. Lord knows we need it."

Amen to that, Dean thought.

He didn't sleep though. Not really. Not deeply. He and Sasha had been allotted one of the bedrooms, and while they were definitely too tired for anything recreational, and Sasha conked out fairly fast, Dean's mind was buzzing too much to let him get the sleep he needed.

He woke up after only a couple of hours and walked out into the large kitchen—there was a large everything in this place—where Sam and Shiarra were talking quietly over coffee. "The new superpowers mean you don't need sleep?" Dean teased as he pulled up a stool next to his brother, "Coz your ADD lately sure leads me to believe otherwise." Dean snatched away Sam's coffee and took a swig. Bad idea as it tasted like slightly off hot chocolate with a shot of caffeine in it. Dean grimaced.

"I'll get you a more suitable cup," Shiarra offered with a smirk, being a 'coffee, black' person just like he was.

"I tried to sleep, Dean," Sam started right in on the defensive, "Not the easiest thing for me these days. And you're not one to talk anyway. I've only been up a few minutes. I'm too wired."

They were all wired. Wired and over-tired, the worst combination because you never felt rested or satisfied but more like there was always something you needed to do and yet you never had enough time to do it. Dean hated that feeling—his life the last eleven months and counting. "We'll be back on track in no time," he said with fake ease as he patted Sam's back, "Whatcha working on there anyway?"

Although Dean hadn't noticed at first, Sam had a pad of paper and pen and was jotting things down. It appeared to be a long list. "I was telling Shiarra about some of the other events lately that she's missed. Apparently, Charis already called to tell her about the Meg thing."

Ouch. They had sworn they wouldn't tell Shiarra about that for Sasha's sake. Dean tried very hard not to notice her sharp look as she handed him a fresh mug of coffee. "Good thing your spies are so diligent," Dean snarked as he nodded a thank you. He turned to Sam again. "So what's the list?"

"Powers. Mine," Sam said shortly, "Figured you'd want a new account of them now that there are so many. Well, more enhanced mostly, but…I tried to get everything." He passed Dean the pad of paper that was fairly well covered in Sam's usually neat scrawl.

Reading down the list, Dean took another sip of coffee—Shiarra did make good coffee when it was the way Dean liked it—and started to call them off out loud. The first were the ones he recognized best. "TK. Strength. Agility. Constitution. Electric pulse—or melting power," Dean couldn't help adding, which included everything from burning an enemy's skin to stopping or starting a heart, "Mojo," he chuckled then, "Nicely put. Sense demons. Control demons. Exorcize demons. Summon demons. Telepathy. Runic spell casting. Almost forgot about that one. And…" Dean trailed on the last addition to the list. He looked up and caught Sam's anxious hazel eyes. "Visions? Waking or dreaming? I thought you hadn't had—"

"I'm not even sure if I am," Sam interrupted, "It's just…a feeling. And dreams, not waking. No…pain or headaches like before. It's…it's why I haven't been…sleeping so well. Lately."

"Lately," Dean repeated, having pretty much forgotten Shiarra was still there to overhear them, "What's lately? Lately, since the cave? Since Castle Rock? Since _Meg_? Or lately…since Malak's first communal visit back in Pittsburgh?" Dean wasn't stupid. His own nightmares had all but stopped then. He had noticed on more than one occasion, however, that Sam seemed to be making up for that.

"Malak?" Shiarra said with a venomous whisper. Much as they had filled her in on the details of the past couple months, Malak's name hadn't actually passed any of their lips until now. Shiarra did not look pleased. "The holder of the contracts is Malak? That is a dangerous name, even in the fae plain. This isn't just some demon you're dealing with."

Dean huffed and took a moment to scrub at his eyes. He wished the coffee was hotter, hot enough to scald his tongue. "Yeah. I know. I get the irony. I sold my soul to the _Devil_. And he fancies me something awful. All we know is that it has something to do with Azazel's plans for Sam, but not everything. I don't know why he wants me. But he still gave me a way out, and god damn it we're gonna finish this. But _only_…if we're not leaving anything out anymore." Dean looked up sharply at Sam.

It wasn't puppy eyes that looked back at him; there was something too harsh, too determined and desperate in Sam's expression to be the puppy eyes. "I haven't said anything, Dean, because there hasn't been anything to tell you. I always dream the same thing. That same dream I had the night with the twins. Armageddon. _Terminator_ style kind of D-day, barren and dead _nothing_. But it's not just nothing. There's people and something to lead and we're there, _us_, to lead them. Just you and me. And Sasha. But I won't listen to it," he growled, "Whatever it really means, I don't care. It's not a prophecy if we don't let it happen."

The future was always in flux, Dean had heard that before, even from Missouri who he pretty much figured knew everything. But it didn't ease his mind to think that way now.

It didn't seem to ease Shiarra's mind either.

"This is too big for me," she admitted, "And you can bet I've been around long enough to have seen my fair share of war, impossibilities, and chaos. But this fight, it's bigger than saving your soul, Dean. I don't like how wrapped up in it my boy is, but I know I couldn't and wouldn't change anything about that now. So," she said more confidently, downing the last of her own cup of coffee and setting it down with a thunk on the countertop, "You need to track this demon by cutting through some interfering hex bags hidden around town. Am I right?"

Sam and Dean shared a look, both knowing that there was much unsaid between them as always, but for now they simply turned to Shiarra and nodded.

"Okay then. That I think we can manage."

The others woke up by dinner time, looking refreshed enough to go on if not a little ragged yet. Sasha was the first to appear in the kitchen after Sam and Dean, and he was a little upset that Dean had left him. It always spooked the incubus a little to wake up alone.

After apologizing fervently and earning Sasha's forgiveness, there was only enough time for everyone to change, for a few to take showers, and for Shiarra to give free reign at the refrigerator, before Dean made sure everyone was gathered together. He and Sam needed to explain that they finally had a plan. Well, at least a step one.

When dealing with witchcraft, call on another witch.

-----

"So this is Glinda, the good witch, right?" Dean was asking, waiting along with the others in Shiarra's foyer for their late night dinner guest to arrive, "You trust this woman? Coz if we're looking for a séance here, can't we just use the neighborhood psychic?"

Shiarra had replaced her coffee table with one from a back room that was covered in symbols. She had also set out several candles that were clearly not only for air freshening purposes. "It's not a séance," the succubus said, "At least not the kind you're thinking of. This particular locating spell needs a sorceress powerful enough to avoid detection. Wendy Goodwyn is leader of her coven here in the city. They're very responsible. It's a wiccan community, tightly run. They sell propaganda to the poseurs, free love and blessings on Mother Earth to the feminists, and maintain a very small group of legitimately practicing witches. We've had…a few encounters."

Something in the way Shiarra's smirk twitched as she said that had Dean wondering just how intimate those encounters might have been. He knew there was no way Shiarra always drove stick.

Sam, Sarah, and Jo were on the sofa, Shiarra was leaning against it, and Sasha had taken a cushy-looking chair while Dean sat propped on the arm. Bobby was just coming from the kitchen, carrying a tray of fresh coffee for everyone that he had helped Shiarra make.

"You keep any kind of tabs on these witches?" the experienced hunter asked.

Shiarra smiled at him, not at all offended at being questioned. Dean had long since learned that this woman had a role she liked to play and ways she liked to play it, and few things would ever change that. "No. I do not keep tabs on them. But to the best of my knowledge the most harm they have ever done to anyone has only been financial. And that's on the legitimate business end. Wendy's family owns a rather successful manufacturing company."

"That makes what?" Jo asked.

Another shrew smile. "Wax products. Makes getting fresh candles a hell of a lot easier," she smirked, "But to the point, yes, I trust her. You'll still do well not to pass around your hunter cards too eagerly. She'll guess, no doubt, but she trusts me too. Not all witches gain power by selling their souls to a demon. There are other beings to align oneself with."

Dean had never been a fan of cryptic answers like that. Neither was Sam, who beat him to a response. "So what exactly did this coven make a pact with if it's not a demon?"

"Now _that_," Shiarra replied, "Is as dangerous a question, my dear, as asking a woman her age."

It was just then that the buzzer rang, signaling their guest had arrived and effectively silencing any other nervous comments.

Shiarra admitted her friend into the apartment with the same affection and courtesy as she had shown them, kissing the woman on both cheeks even and commenting at length on how gorgeous she looked.

Once he got a good look at her, Dean supposed this Wendy character was a year or two shy of 40. She had short auburn hair with striking blonde highlights, and a full-bodied figure that claimed presence in a room like an opera singer. But she wasn't dressed at all like Dean would have guessed of one of Shiarra's high-class friends. Wendy wore jeans, a violet shirt and blouse combo that looked as much like it might have come from Sears as anywhere fancy, and she didn't have on a spec of jewelry. Dean would have thought suburban housewife before he thought rich bitch, and especially before he thought coven leader.

"Wendy, you remember my nephew," Shiarra began with introductions, "And these are his associates who have…called upon your expertise." She went around then giving each of their names but Dean might have missed his as he was busy staring at Sasha for not having mentioned before that he had already met this woman. The incubus just shrugged, looking apologetic like maybe he had forgotten.

"Well isn't this a crew," Wendy smirked at them, "A group of hunters including both sexes, an incubus, a former debutant, and…" her gaze passed over Sam and she paused, "Hmm. Well you're something, sugar, but it's not everyday that I'm stumped on what. You must be why someone's had my city so heavily veiled for the past few weeks. And you," she turned to Dean, "Are the reason we're all here. You got a shadow over you, honey. A Devil deal without the middle man—direct. That's ballsy. How's Ol' Scratch been treating you so far?"

A frown pulled at Dean's lips. He wanted to like this woman, found a certain soothing quality to her voice that occasionally slipped into Southern like maybe she had grown up a few years in Louisiana and couldn't help going back to that drawl once in a while. But being casual about how he was going to Hell was _his_ job, not a stranger's.

"My mistake, hun," Wendy amended with a warm smile, "You got a light about you too. That's rarer than any Devil's shadow, lemme tell ya. Now, you're looking for a demon, that right? Hiding in this city and using hex bags to do it? I wouldn't want to face this old damned witch myself judging off the power I've been sensing lately, but I should be able to help narrow things down for you. Let's get started."

Undaunted by the presence of hunters, in full knowledge of Sasha and Shiarra being sex demons, and overlooking entirely that Sam was something without category—Dean was definitely going to have to tease Sarah about the debutant comment—Wendy, the (seemingly) good witch said she only needed the men's help for this and sat right down on the floor. She had them sit around the coffee table with her.

"You sit next to me, handsome," she said to Sam, "With the raw power you're giving off, you might be all the extra channeling I'll need, but it's best to have a circle."

"Why just the guys?" Dean had to ask. Being singled out always made him feel exposed, at least when it wasn't by his own doing, and especially with Shiarra, Sarah, and Jo standing over them watching.

Wendy grabbed hold of Dean's hand as he was sitting on her other side. She had said they all needed to be linked, and she had one damn strong grip too. Not surprisingly really since she was about as tall as Dean and rather full-figured. "Oh, honey, believe me it is a male vibe I've been getting off this haze covering my city. No doubt about that. Fight fire with fire, as they say."

"Male?" Sasha questioned, next to Dean in the circle around the coffee table, then Bobby and back to Sam, "Male witches from back in the day were a lot more dangerous than women if this guy practiced in life. They didn't follow the same rules or codes at all. No male covens," Sasha explained.

Dean remembered that much, but these days it usually didn't matter; male witches were even rarer today than they had been back then. Men usually followed different paths if they wanted to go the supernatural route. "Hey, uhh…Sasha's not gonna mess up the process or anything, is he?" Dean asked with a nod at his lover.

"For being an incubus? Not at all," Wendy dismissed, "Male is male. You know that well enough, I think," she smiled secretively.

Right. It was always nice to know that Dean's 'I belong to the redhead' sign was still intact. "Okay, so…what do we do?" Dean asked. Bobby, Sam, and Sasha all looked fairly wary too.

Wendy's smile stretched a little too wide, Dean thought, like she was preparing for one hell of a good time instead of a locator spell. "Honey, when real power's involved, all you have to do is focus in the right direction."

The surge of energy was immediate. Dean's back straightened as if a rod had been shoved down the center of his spinal cord. His teeth clenched at the feel of foreign power flowing through him, reminding him immediately of all those months ago when he first felt the circuit like white-hot fire and it knocked him flat on his ass.

This was worse because it wasn't pleasure, it wasn't pain either, it was just energy running so damn strong and hot that it made Dean feel like he might blow apart. He couldn't turn his head, but he could tell with his peripherals that Wendy was definitely having a harder time with this than she had predicted. Her eyes were wide and flickering between a general glow of her own and an echo of Sam's yellow. So far, the white eyes in Sam only appeared when his powers were pushed to the brink, something Dean assumed meant that his brother still had a few levels to go before he was as strong as he could be.

"Focus," Wendy said, Dean wasn't sure to them or to herself, but her voice sounded like rushing wind, all hisses and whispers that made his hair stand on end. He might have jerked his hand away from hers if he could have moved.

Then Dean had to wonder, maybe Sam was the one he should have worried about for this, not Sasha. Dean knew it was mostly his brother's power he was feeling, overpowering Wendy, Sasha, and even the natural energy Dean knew must be coming from Bobby. They were all connected, all feeding this spell, and just when Dean was certain it was all clearly more than Wendy could handle, she squeezed his hand tighter.

"Got it," he heard in that same rushing whisper, and he knew without having to question her that she meant she had a handle finally on all of their combined energies. She channeled it all into guiding them through the city, seeking out the decoy demons. Dean knew the moment it started to happen because he could see it as clearly as he knew the others were all seeing it too.

Suddenly, they were no longer in Shiarra's apartment but spiraling off the side of her building down to the streets below. Dean flinched, feeling the air rushing past them, knowing that there was something real about where they were and what they saw, but before they could hit bottom Wendy steered them upright. It was fully sensual, like being _inside_ an IMAX screen, not just in front of it. They tore down the street with amazing speed.

If Dean focused hard enough he could differentiate between each of the energy signatures that made up their singular moving self. He could feel Sasha's knowledge and recognition of the streets, the incubus' intense emotions trying to find bearings. He could feel Bobby's anxiety over trusting this witch, and also a powerful desperation to help overcome the deal that Dean never would have guessed Bobby felt so strongly.

He could feel Sam too, so uncanny with power, all those listed off powers lying in wait to be used when necessary like secret weapons. To feel all that as Sam did, to really feel it, Dean was overwhelmed, but he could feel how much Sam wasn't. It was Sam's senses right along with Wendy's that guided them to the pulse of demonic power.

A sharp turn at Union Street, then down 1st Avenue and they were at Pike Place Fish Market near the water—Dean was amazed with their shared knowledge of the city, so accessible that Dean felt like he knew the city too. The first hex bag was there at Pike Place. Dean could see it like an infrared beacon glowing at them through the walls.

As soon as they had all seen it, the next decoy opened up to them and they turned, speeding the other direction down 1st Avenue again, up Yesler Way, to 4th, and finally to Uwajimaya's on 5th Street. It was a huge Asian market with a food court, bookstore, and grocers. They found the next hex bag hidden amongst Japanese novels.

Then they were off again, crossing over Highway 5 towards Seattle University. At first Dean thought they would go straight through the walls into the building but they turned sharply, finding a third hex bag at the crossroads of 13th Avenue and Cherry Street.

Again, back towards the pier they raced through brightly lit streets, past people walking and cars at standstills at intersections. They passed right over Alaskan Way, right off the pier into the water. The fourth bag was on a houseboat locked into harbor.

By now Dean recognized there was a pattern here and he felt that the others had all realized that too. None of them were surprised then when they raced straight down Yesler Way once more towards what they knew was the fifth and final hex bag. They stopped abruptly at Yesler Terrace, the decoy glowing brightly at them to confirm their suspicion.

The presence that opened up to them then was far stronger than any decoy, but it was still veiled, Dean could feel it like a haze of mist settling back at the center of what they had just drawn over the city with the hex bags as their points. There had been five of them, five points creating a reverse pentagram over downtown Seattle. The perfect protection for any witch or demon, just as the opposite had worked for Samuel Colt in guarding the Devil's Gate.

For the last time they raced back the way they had come, heading for the center of the pentagram. The demon wasn't necessarily at the very center, but somewhere within that much smaller section of streets and buildings in the middle, greatly narrowing their search. Dean's guess for their final destination was one of the city buildings that spattered the area, and although he was correct, he was surprised that the city building they finally came to was the Office of Arts and Cultural Affairs.

The entire building was pulsing red, covered no doubt in hex bags that made it impossible to even begin looking for the real demon. They headed for the main doors anyway, ready to raid the whole damn place no matter how long it took, but as soon as they attempted to cross the threshold of the building they were suddenly snapped back to Shiarra's apartment.

It took Dean several moments to realize he was no longer holding anyone's hand but was lying back flat on the carpet, trembling. What remained of the energy from the others was seeping slowly out of him and as it left he felt strangely isolated and alone, having been so completely interconnected while they were together.

A moment later he was back to his senses and pushing back up into a sitting position. "What the hell just happened?" he spat, hating the fast beat of his heart and how much his hands were shaking, "We had him, we found where he is, what happened?"

The others were in much the same state as Dean, all shaky and out of breath as they steadied themselves and sat back up. Dean could see now that the girls had all gone to someone's aid. Jo was just behind him and Sasha, Sarah by Sam and Bobby, and Shiarra was helping Wendy to her feet and leading her to the sofa.

The witch looked the most drained, having guided them along, channeling them into one great pulse of energy while she led the spell. She had been smiling up until now but now she looked shaken.

"I…I can't help you from here," she shook her head, holding tight to Shiarra's hand even as she was being eased down onto the couch, "Out of my league. And you can bet you won't find a stronger witch in this town. Whoever this demon is, he's up the ranks. That barrier spell that knocked us back here…it might have killed me if not for you, sugar," she said to Sam.

Sam, of course, looked completely shocked. "I…I didn't do anything," he said.

Even Dean knew that Sam hadn't used any of his powers save helping them sense the demonic energy; they were so inside of each other then that all of them would have felt it. But Wendy shook her head. "All natural, honey," she said, "You got some sort of…built in neutralizer. I'm guessing most demon powers don't work too well on you, do they? Lucky too. The barrier knocked us back, but it shouldn't have alerted the demon. Means he won't know you're coming. I'm just sorry I couldn't bring you further."

"Well, you still brought us pretty damn far," Bobby broke in, "We know now where we're looking. Only problem is it's a city building. Can't just go storming in there or looking around waiting for Sam here to spot our demon."

"The spell led you to a city building?" Shiarra questioned.

Bobby nodded. "What was it now? Arts and Cultural Affairs. Not too far from here."

"Goodness, then the demon is probably on the council or part of the Seattle Arts Commission," Shiarra said with a hand dramatically on her chest, "I probably even know the bastard."

"So how many potentials are we talking here?" Jo asked.

Shiarra considered that, looked to Wendy for a moment as if to confirm, then said, "Thirty, I suppose. Another fifteen on the Commission."

"We need to get them all together somehow," Dean said, painstakingly getting to his feet, something he was very grateful Sasha helped him with after a moment. He stared only briefly into those gorgeous blues, slightly dimmed by fatigue, and couldn't help being a little pleased that the most lingering of all the presences from the locator spell was Sasha's, bold and intense inside of him. "Don't suppose we're lucky enough that there's some kind of—"

"Fundraiser," Shiarra exclaimed suddenly, "How could I forget. Saturday. The Arts Commission is holding a fundraiser at the Seattle Municipal Building. The members of the council should all be there too. It's on Level 3, sort of the Commission's personal floor. Granted, there'll be countless members of the upper class to clutter our already high numbers, but we'd have all night to search out the demon."

At hearing that, Sasha made a sudden beeline for the kitchen, calling back as he went, "Aunt Shi, do you still keep that map? I need to check something." He was already opening drawers by the time she answered.

"No, no. On the end, sweetheart. Should be right on top."

Sasha found what he was looking for and returned, spreading out what appeared to be a map of downtown Seattle over the coffee table after the others hastily removed the still lit candles. Sasha also had a sharpy. "Do you mind?" he asked Shiarra, already uncapping it. She shook her head and he immediately made five points on the map. Dean recognized them as the places they had found the hex bags. Sasha then drew in the pentagram and pointed at the safe spot in the center. "The Municipal Building is still in the safe zone. I'm guessing this guy lives, works, everything right in this area. It means even if we do find him at this party, he's going to be at his best, protected, amped, you name it."

The girls only took a moment to register the bad news of the reverse pentagram before Sarah was asking, "Shiarra, can you get us tickets to this fundraiser?"

"Well…I'm sure, but…not for all of you," she replied, "How many would you want? Surely, it wouldn't be a good idea for all of you to go. You'd be far too conspicuous."

"Bad idea for us to all go _legitimately_," Dean agreed, "But Sasha's right, this guy is going to be buffed, and if Miss Head-Of-Her-Coven says he's out of _her_ league then we're gonna need everybody on standby. I say we have a couple of us at the party and the others wait it out on the roof."

"Uh, Dean, the Seattle Municipal Building's roof is rounded," Sasha pointed out.

That was something Dean had seen for himself even before their astral projection tour. "I know. But it still has a spot for maintenance. Easier to stay off the radar up there. Harder to get to though, which is where you come in, baby. Roof access is restricted for sure, but not for someone with wings."

"But who's going to go?" Jo asked, "What cover? And how are we supposed to spot this demon anyway if it's so super-powered and protected?"

The logical answer seemed to be that Sam would have to be one of the ones at the party, but none of them needed to say out loud what they were all thinking—a demon of this caliber would almost for certain feel Sam coming. They couldn't exactly go around saying 'Christo' to everyone or dusting Seattle's upper crust with holy water.

But before anyone could offer another suggestion, Wendy was getting up.

"Not that I'm against you getting rid of this sore on the face of my city, whoever he may be, but I think it would be best for everyone if I stayed out of it and know as little as possible. Shiarra, darling, you can have my tickets to the fundraiser. I'll gladly give them up." Then Wendy was moving remarkably swiftly for the door to excuse herself. She said quick goodbyes, gave her assurance that it had been a pleasure to meet all of them of course, and disappeared down the elevator.

Dean felt better concerning their use of the witch, but he didn't feel much better about their current situation. They had been left with several questions still unanswered. As important a decision as it was who went, it was more pressing to figure out how they were even going to spot this guy. Most of their tactics weren't exactly kosher for an exclusive party.

After several minutes of sitting around the living room offering dead-end ideas—even some of Bobby's best suggestions required more privacy than this party would allow—Sam finally raised his hand to get the others' attention like an insecure student.

"I'm not sure if it would work," he began slowly, "But with the success I've had lately using my telepathy, it's possible I could…well, tag along with whoever went to the party."

"Tag along?" Bobby repeated skeptically.

Sam nodded. "I'd physically be somewhere else, but getting into their mind I could look through their eyes, see what they see, and hopefully spot the demon once we come across it. Then we only have one person to try and lead out of the party, check to be sure it's them with holy water, Christo, whatever, and finally get rid of them. I know I can keep him from sensing me as long as I'm outside the building, assuming he even sets that one up with the same wards as the office."

"He will," Bobby said right away, pressing a finger to the safe spot on the map, "I'm betting this old witch comes with a radius. Wherever he moves, the wards move with him, but only so long as he's in this zone. Worse comes to worse, if we're set up on the roof then we might be able to fly him outside the pentagram, even just outside this spot would be enough," he tapped the map, "To give us a better advantage. If you think you could handle that," he looked pointedly at Sasha.

The incubus quirked the side of his mouth. "I think I'd rather drop him, but assuming there's an innocent body involved, I can manage that if it gets that far. There's a lot of details we'll need to work out for this in a couple of days. We don't even know for sure how powerful this demon is. And we still haven't said whose going."

"I think I might have an answer to that," Sarah smiled. The whole of the group stared at her for a moment but she kept her attention focused on Sam and Dean. "There should be three of us that go. Shiarra can handle introductions. She's already invited and she knows most of the people who will be there." Sarah looked to Shiarra, who nodded, then turned again to Sam and Dean. "Okay. Then I'm the obvious next choice. Or did you forget what I used to do for a living?"

Dean cracked a grin at that. Of course Sarah was the obvious choice; that debutant comment was more than a supernatural guess. There was something about the way Sarah carried herself that just spoke of natural-born class. She also already knew the art world and probably knew at least by reputation some of the people who would be attending the party.

"I can act as an agent," Sarah continued, "A personal spokesperson and seller of my client's work. I don't even need an alias. And it'll get me on the radar to throw my Dad a bone. All we need is my up and coming artist."

It was a given that all the remaining hunters looked around at each other skeptically. "Sounds like a solid idea," Jo began, "But if we make up an artist, I can't imagine these kinds of people caring about some nobody."

"I said up and coming," Sarah corrected, "Not a nobody. Crispin Webb has been a recluse artist for the past few years. He's never been seen in public or been photographed. A perfect cover. He's already established and no one would know we're not the real thing."

"But couldn't that backfire if someone knows anything about the real guy or where he is right now?" Dean said.

Sarah smiled secretively. "Not if the real thing is dead. It's just lucky for us no one knows that."

Again the group had to stare at Sarah a moment. It was Sasha who finally braved the question, "Then how exactly do _you_ know he's dead?"

Another enigmatic smile . "Because. Six months ago outside of Cleveland, I'm the one who killed him. Turns out he was already dead. His first few paintings were real. Sold well. But he killed himself soon after. His father, who had been living with him at the time, apparently didn't want all that _talent_ going to waste."

"Urg," Dean grimaced, "Dad zombied up his son so he could keep making money off the paintings? Not cool." If there was something Dean hated more than witches, it was definitely zombies.

"The father got his just desserts, I'm guessing," said Sam.

"Webb Senior didn't know how to control that kind of magic," Sarah nodded, "He was Crispin's first kill. One of many. He was using human blood in his paintings when I found him. Still selling them too. He was such a recluse in the art community anyway, six months off the radar isn't too strange. We'll just say he was…working on a new style."

That would have been a story to share over beer, Dean thought, but this was serious now and the playing field kept getting narrower. He had also realized something else. "So our third guy's obviously gotta be me or Bobby," he stated the obvious, "And since this sounds like a younger guy, why do I get the feeling you're grinning like that coz you've known from the start I'm the one who has to wear a damn tux?"

-----

Malls were not Dean's scene. Gay clubs? Definitely not. But hob-knobbing with Seattle's rich and famous, people he had less in common with than Mic Jagger had with Rockmoninov, was enough to make him feel like he might break out in hives. He could con with the best of them as a PI, cop, or even a preacher, but he knew next to shit about high class. Never cared to either.

Sarah had said that as his agent she would do most of the talking anyway, and after all he was supposed to be a recluse—Dean did like the idea of free food and champagne—but he couldn't get the song 'which one of these things is not like the others' out of his head. And they hadn't even left yet.

"Dean!" Sasha pounded on the door, "We have to leave in five minutes! Will you stop hiding in there! I'm sure you look fine." Sasha's voice turned gentle at the last of that, trying to coax Dean out.

The elder Winchester had purposely been the last to start getting ready. He knew he couldn't pull off a tux. "You're just trying to get me to come out of the closet," he snarked, stalling for time. And it was Shiarra's ridiculously large walk-in closet with floor-length mirrors too. He didn't want to know why she already had his size in a pressed black tux.

Sasha laughed from the other side of the door. "If I was still waiting for that, we'd be here all night. Now come on! Bobby and Jo already left. Sam wanted to wait for you so we could be sure you guys have the synching thing down. So please, Dean. Will you just come out of the—"

Dean opened the door, effectively rendering Sasha speechless in under half a second. The incubus gaped at him, eyes sweeping over the tux to stare in utter incomprehension. Damn it. Dean knew he was right. "I look ridiculous," he grumbled.

"Dean," Sasha shook his head, eyes suddenly vibrant and tongue darting out over his lips, "Ridiculous is…_not_ the word." Then Dean realized what that look really was—Sasha's _hungry_ look. The incubus was literally trying to devour him with his eyes. "I think you need a Bond Girl on that arm," he teased.

"Will I do?"

They both turned towards Shiarra's bedroom door, just in time to watch as Sarah made her entrance. Sam came in behind her, smiling smugly, to lean against the doorframe, but they weren't looking at him. Sarah was a knockout. Her long dark hair was up, gathered in curls with two long pieces falling at each side of her face. Her makeup was subtle, prominent only in the smoky look to her eyes. She had borrowed diamond earrings and a necklace from Shiarra, but it was definitely the dress that left both Dean and Sasha without the ability to speak.

It was so simple. Just a halter dress, floor-length and form-fitting on Sarah's generous curves, but it was a deep midnight blue with same-color sparkles covering every inch of it like stars. She had a diamond bracelet too. And the way she moved was the epitome of the very class-act Dean knew he didn't have.

"_Damn_. I mean, umm…err…what was the question?" Dean attempted.

Beside him Sasha chuckled, a little more on top of the untying his tongue part. He moved to meet Sarah across the room. "Bond Girl is putting it mildly for you," he grinned, swooping in to peck a kiss on her cheek, "At least I know I don't have to worry tonight. You'll knock 'em dead without even trying."

Dean couldn't see Sasha's expression when the incubus shot Sam a look, but he knew that it had to include either a raised eyebrow, a wink, or at least a smirk. "My, my," he said, finally finding his own tongue again, "Is that really my date? I don't know, my boyfriend might get jealous." Sasha chuckled again as Dean slipped in around him to take Sarah's arm. There were a few perks to playing Mr. High Class after all.

"_Dean_," Sam said in a familiar warning tone.

"Yeah, yeah, hands to myself."

"Not…_that_," Sam fumbled, obviously trying very hard suddenly not to blush or murder Dean on the spot. "I was _going_ to say," Sam started again sharply, "That we should synch up before we leave so we can test distance. This is serious tonight, Dean. You sure you're okay with all this?"

Dean couldn't count on one hand anymore how many times Sam had asked him that the past few days. "Dude, I'm good. The seeing through my eyes thing works without blowing out the back of either of our heads, we have every base covered—hopefully—and I've got a hot date on my arm," he pat Sarah's hand, "What more do we need?"

"Ahem. Your chaperon," entered Shiarra, looking just as stunning as ever in a teal gown cut well below her bust line. Her hair was down and gently curled, and although she did have an air of authority and experience about her, being seemingly twenty-five did not make her look like much of a chaperon. "Lovely, my dear," she said to Sarah, "And Dean…_my_."

Okay, the hungry look from her too was definitely more than Dean needed right now to give him both the willies and to confirm that he must look pretty damn good after all. While Sasha was still chuckling, Sarah and Shiarra smiling at each other looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, and Sam standing there rolling his eyes, Dean kept hold of Sarah's arm and started to lead her out of the room. "Tonight, just call my Winchester. _Dean_ Winchester."

tbc...

A/N: Why do I feel so slow. Am I slow? Do I suck yet? I have plans to have them hit one more miss step with demons after Seattle before they reach Pittsburgh, and Minnesota is going to give them...all sorts of problems. This arc should still be the usual ten parts, but who knows what they'll do to change that. I do think I like this chapter but I need feedback. It seems whenever I like one it actually sucks, and when I doubt you all love it. go figure. :-P

Anyone know Seattle? I have been to all of those places and was baffled to realize they made a pentagram. The things that inspire this story. Man, could I go for some Seattle's Best. Mmm. Please review! And do not forget about the drabble contest! Less than 100 words again, of course, with the prompt 'presents'. I'll post my entry when I write it. But have your entries before Xmas Eve please! More soon!

Crim


	65. DRABBLE: Presents

Happy Birthday, Sasha! What a horrible mother I am; I nearly forgot. But Diana Wickham, winner of the 900th review, reminded me by sharing this:

Here's an old Irish saying, to Sasha Kelly and Dean Winchester:

Here's to lying, cheating, stealing, and drinking.  
If you lie, may you lie together.  
If you cheat, may you cheat the Devil.  
If you steal, may you steal each other's hearts.  
And if you drink, may we all drink to your happiness.

Thank you so much for that! I will definitely have to fit in your requested Wally chapter some time during this arc. :-) So, here it is, my dears, my contribution to the drabble challenge, 100 words or less, prompt 'presents'. New REAL chapter will be finished by tomorrow, promise. :-) Enjoy! And please, get me your entries!

As deangirl1 would say, 100 on the nose, baby!

-----

Incubus Drabble: Presents

-----

Sasha wasn't used to getting presents on his birthday. There was always something from Shiarra, usually something expensive and not quite befitting the hunter lifestyle.

But being ambushed by everyone Sasha cared for, with all of them sporting some kind of wrapped gift, was far better than anything that might lie beneath colored paper.

"Dude, mine next," Dean was saying.

"No, mine," jumped in Jo.

Sarah nudged both of them, knowing she stood no chance.

Sam won in the end as his present floated down—cheating with TK—into Sasha's lap.

Bobby and Shiarra looked on. Laughing.

"Happy Birthday."

-----

THE END

A/N: Here's hoping for a happy ending. ;-)


	66. Part 3: The Duke of Hazard

This chapter and its demon are dedicated to .xXHellfireXx. who should be able to tell why. Hope you enjoy! I have a few entries for the contest but could definitely use more!

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Part 3: The Duke of Hazard

-----

Dean should have known there was nothing to worry about. He had a bombshell on each arm and the looks he was getting as they made their way around the party had nothing to do with thinking he didn't belong. Even if his normally suave demeanor hadn't been enough to make him look good in his tux—which he was starting to realize he looked damn fine in actually—the girls would have helped him fit in purely by association.

After two days of organizing and preparing, Dean was fairly confident that he understood the plan they had come up with. The alias part was easy; no one Shiarra introduced him and Sarah to suspected that he was anything other than the real Crispin Webb. Jo was doing her part with some of the technical aspects, Sasha was already on the roof, and Sam was hiding out on scaffolding outside the 14th floor—just outside the wards—watching through Dean's eyes for signs of their demon. That was probably the only thing Dean didn't like about this plan: Sam was in his head. And he was being way too chatty for a disembodied voice.

'_Dean, will you keep your eyes on the crowd and not the buffet for two seconds,'_ Sam's voice came over loud and clear, as distinctive as if Dean were wearing an earpiece, which he wasn't.

He had almost opened his mouth to reply before he reminded himself yet again that he did not need to talk out loud for Sam to hear him_. 'I'm frickin' starving, okay? I haven't gotten a plate yet and Shi keeps moving us further from the food. I'm just trying to blend. Normal people do eat at these things, ya know.'_

'_Normal people don't eat like you do,'_ Sam snarked back.

'_I'm supposed to be eccentric,'_ Dean defended.

In response Dean actually heard Sam sigh mentally. _'Shiarra's introducing you to someone again, Dean. Pay attention.'_

Right. Pay attention. _'It'd be a helluva lot easier if someone wasn't barking in my ear the whole time,'_ Dean thought, not necessarily meaning for Sam to hear him but not caring either that his brother probably would.

He turned his eyes more directly forward then and saw that Shiarra was indeed introducing them to another rich and important looking man in the middle of his mid-life crisis, at least if the 20-something blonde beside him was any indication. Sarah was already shaking both of their hands.

"And of course my client's work should speak for itself," Sarah was saying, "Mr. Shaughnessy, this is Crispin Webb, recently returning with some new work after a…small hiatus." Sarah smiled tightly, her words coming across perfectly as the glossed over explanation of an agent about what might have been her client's most recent bender.

Dean gave a wry smile and reached to shake the man's hand, then his date's. "Hey. And which well-to-do art guy are you?" Dean heard Sam groan in his head but ignored it. He knew what he was doing; if he fit in too well no one would think he was the reclusive Crispin Webb. Crazy, psycho zombie painter that the guy was.

The man, Mr. Shaughnessy, was giving Dean a placating smile. "I'm the Project Manager for the Public Art Program," he said, "Were you thinking of lending your skills to one of our new building projects? It's always our goal to have more murals than graffiti around the city." He laughed at what he must have thought was a joke, and a pretty damn good one too.

Since Shiarra and Sarah both managed to laugh politely, Dean forced one of his own and gave the man's back a firm pat. "Hey, who knows," Dean said, "I've just finished a few new paintings. Been looking for some projects to keep me busy. Might even move to the city. We should keep in touch. Even some pro bono work would help get my name back in the public ear right?"

'_It's not him, Dean,'_ Sam's voice said flatly.

Damn it. Dean gave the guy's back another pat. "Miss Blake here's all over getting me into less self-serving work. Good causes, ya know. I'm sure she could set something up some time." Dean flashed a smile at his 'agent' and tried not to grimace visibly. They had only been at this fundraiser for half an hour but Dean already felt like they must have talked to at least thirty people, all brief, fake-sincere conversations, and boring as hell.

Mr. Shaughnessy expressed a mild sort of interest in Dean's—that is, _Crispin's_—offer and then promptly turned to Shiarra who, like everyone else, he seemed to know fairly well. At least to the best of his knowledge. "Shiarra, always a pleasure," he said, as if he meant to take his leave of them, but then couldn't help adding, "I'm surprised though. Isn't there usually a worthy date on that arm? Not to belittle Mr. Webb, of course, but it seems his arm is already taken."

Dean took that as his cue to reattach to Sarah and he once again took her arm with an acknowledging smile. He couldn't help it, he really couldn't, when his gaze drifted over and then down the length of her form-fitting midnight blue gown.

'_Dean,'_ came Sam's harsh, warning tone.

'_Hey, man, that was for you,'_ Dean defended, _'Just letting you enjoy what you can, me being by her side and you hanging from fourteen stories and all. And, hey, I'm sure she'll let you help her _out_ of that dress later if you—'_

'_Dean!'_

"Actually, here he comes now," Shiarra was saying, having explained that her date had been detained and would be late to the party. Dean looked over as Shiarra snatched the newcomer's arm and pulled him into the group, unable to keep the smirk he had already been wearing while teasing Sam from growing wider. "Charles," Shiarra continued to Mr. Shaughnessy, "This is Robert James, a _dear_ friend."

The two older men shook hands and Dean had to hold back a chuckle at the thought of Project Manager Charles Shaughnessy having no idea that he was actually shaking hands with hunter and scrap yard owner, Bobby Singer.

Though Dean did have to admit that Bobby looked damn good in his tux too, and yet also slightly naked without his customary ball cap.

"Fine party you boys throw," Bobby said, "Already had my eye on some pieces while walking in here that would be worth adding to your fundraiser for. I see you've already met young Mr. Webb." Bobby glanced pointedly at Dean and Dean gave a subtle shake of his head to say, nope, not our demon.

After a few more pleasantries, 'not their demon' number who knew by now was on his way over to the buffet table with his young blonde—where Dean would much rather be—and the group was able to take a moment to touch base.

"Jo got in place, no problem," Bobby said, having used himself as decoy to help Jo break into the controls for the service elevator, hence his late arrival since he had to change into his tux, "She'll ride up to join Sam once she's done, check in to finish the traps there, then up the rest of the way to Sasha on the roof. I'm still thinking this is one risky plan, Sam," he said at Dean, knowing as they all did that Sam was eavesdropping, "Your powers I trust. The traps, sure. It's getting our guy up there that worries me."

'_That's why we're not trying to trick anyone all the way up to the roof,'_ Sam said, which Dean then repeated aloud for the others, _'The offices start on the 16__th__ floor. The mechanical level is just below that. We can do this.'_

They took a brief moment to collect themselves and then Shiarra was saying, "Well, word should be spreading fairly fast about Crispin. We can split up now. Bobby and I will do our best to point potentials in your direction. Just let us know when you find the bastard. Shall we?" she smiled at Bobby, both of her delicate looking arms wrapped tightly around one of his.

Bobby was very much enjoying himself, Dean could tell, but he still had to comment before they could get away. "So, uh, Shiarra, you're not worried that all your high class friends might think you're a gold digger for being with a guy so…_slightly_ older than you?" he chose his words carefully. Of course Shiarra was only twenty-five in appearance, and actually passed for early thirties in this crowd, but none of them knew she was really…damn, Dean really needed to figure out this broad's age one of these days.

"Darling," Shiarra began, leaning into Bobby all the more, who really was eating up all of the attention, "I have plenty of my own money not to need to sleep my way to any more, something that is well known among these people. Besides, they won't be surprised. I often favor men of…higher quality," she batted her eyes at Bobby none to subtly at all, "Do be careful," she added then before stealing the elder hunter away.

"_That_ could be dangerous," Dean commented as they left.

Sarah just laughed. "Let them enjoy themselves. Once we find that demon the party will be over pretty quickly for us anyway. Sam," she said in a softer whisper—Dean was really hating being a three-way radio, "You still don't sense anything? Even through Dean?"

Sam explained that the hex bags creating the wards around the building were causing too much interference, and Dean passed the message along. Sam was certain, however, that once he saw the demon, even using Dean as a looking glass, he would recognize it for what it was.

Now that the crowd was hopefully buzzing with the news of Crispin Webb's return to the art world, some of their prospects should start coming right to them. Dean also had Sarah to play agent and introduce him around as Shiarra had. At some point they were bound to run into their demon.

"Sarah?" came a voice from off to their left, "Is that Sarah Blake, Daniel's little girl?"

Both of them turned and Dean saw another middle-aged rich looking gentleman dressed to the nines. This man was balding and grey, even throughout his beard, but looked distinguished even more so because of that. He also had surprisingly honest and friendly blue eyes considering so much of this crowd seemed disinterested in genuineness, at least in Dean's opinion.

He approached them with open arms toward Sarah and pulled her in for a hug, something she didn't seem at all averse to. "Goodness, it _is_ you," the man said happily as he embraced her, "How have you been? How's your father? I haven't seen you in…well, at least five years, I think. What a lovely woman you've grown into." He released her only to hold her out in front of him, smiling like a proud uncle or grandfather.

"Cecil," Sarah was practically beaming and clearly surprised, "I…I'm wonderful. My father too, still in New York, manning the auction house. How have _you_ been? I think you're right, it's been five years at least."

"Oh, same old, same old for me, enjoying the west coast still," Cecil replied, "When I still had my gallery in New York I can remember a very young Sarah Blake dancing about the studios." He laughed heartily, full-throated like a man twice his size.

Sarah blushed and laughed with him, looking for the first time a little at home being back in her high class lifestyle. "Well, I only do that on the weekends these days," she joked, "Cecil, I'm sure you've heard of Crispin Webb. I'm representing him now to get him back to a more community-based presentation of his work. Crispin," she said with stress on the name to remind Dean of his alias, "This is Cecil Ballard, a dear friend of my family's."

Dean couldn't resist sending a mental message to Sam as he shook Cecil's hand. _'It's not him, is it?'_ he asked.

'_No, Dean. Just a normal guy.'_

'_Right,'_ Dean thought, _'Coz that would have been way too convenient.'_

"So you knew Sarah growing up, huh?" Dean spoke aloud to Cecil, "She's quite a pistol, ain't she? Couldn't imagine a better agent. She knows her art as good as her dad, that's for sure. Probably better now since she actually handles work from the living these days," he laughed.

Unlike most of the other people Dean had attempted to joke with, Cecil actually laughed in reply. "So true. Why I used to tell Daniel how much he was missing out in art on that account, but the auction house is good business. Sad thing is, of course, you never know how quickly art from the up and coming will becoming art from the recently deceased." Cecil started the laughter this time, full-bodied and rumbling.

Dean liked this guy.

"So tell me," Cecil went on, "I've seen some of your work in LA. What do you consider your style, modernism or remodernism? There did seem to be a certain hidden spirituality in your work that harkened back to Childish and Thomson. At least to this old man's eye anyway," he smiled.

Crap. Maybe Dean had spoken to soon if this guy was about to inadvertently blow his cover. Dean appreciated art. He could look at some of the work around him on this floor even, the paintings and sculptures, and see things he liked, but he knew next to nothing about forms and terms and periods. "Uh, well…" he searched his brain for an answer. Then he searched Sam's but the kid's response was that he hadn't seen an example of Webb's work so he couldn't say. _So_ very helpful.

"To be honest, Cecil," Sarah thankfully jumped in, "Crispin continues to deny any label in relation to his work. He embraces what he considers the true meaning of contemporary art, that labeling work before its time invokes far too much influence on today's artists. Something I tend to agree with and one of the reasons I've enjoyed working with him so much." She smiled warmly at Dean and Dean was halfway to hugging her for that amazing rescue.

"Exactly," Dean was able to continue, "I say, do what you do and be who you are. Maybe that's something new altogether, maybe it's something already classified, but if you try and tell me today what I am, I might never get to discover what the truth really is. And _that_…would be a real shame." Dean felt a strange pang in his chest after he had said that and wondered if it was Sam. Damn kid always did read too much into things.

"Eloquently put, Mr. Webb," Cecil nodded, sincerely impressed, "Perhaps I will have to keep my ears open for you. Maybe some of your work will be featured in our next fundraiser. In the meantime, I don't suppose you would mind if I stole this fetching woman away for a moment. There are a couple of other old friends of your father's in attendance tonight, my dear, who I am sure would be just as thrilled to see you."

Splitting up with Bobby and Shiarra had been part of the plan; being knocked down to a solo adventure, however, was not. Dean tried to think of a reasonable reason to either tag along or keep Sarah with him, but his mouth was still fumbling for words when Cecil was already leading her away. Sarah looked back apologetically, holding up a finger to say that she would only be gone one minute. Dean supposed that allowing her to be stolen a moment was better than thinking up some lame excuse.

Besides, he could look around a bit and still keep Sarah in his sights. It also gave him an excuse to finally snag some food and champagne.

'_Dean, at least keep your eyes peeled. If __we spot the demon we're going to have to act quickly to get everyone together again.'_

'_Got it covered, Sammy,'_ Dean had already snatched up a plate and started filling it with baby quiches and a couple of unknown things he was more than willing to try. At least he knew what caviar looked like so he could avoid that. _'I can see all three of them from where I am. Sarah in that group of geezers. Shiarra and Bobby over by that framed quilt thing talking to another couple. If I have to beeline, I can do it. Now will you shut up for two seconds and let me eat? This is a good chance to people-watch.'_

'_Sorry,'_ Sam huffed, not sounding at all sorry really, _'I'm just worried that people-watching won't be enough. That's why we planned this alias, remember? Talking to people gives me a much better look at them.'_

Dean had filled his plate with an acceptable and not quite excessive amount of food and snatched up a glass of champagne from the end of the table. _'I'll take a peek in the other room quick,' _he offered, since they had yet to make it clear of the main gallery, _'The one setup like a ballroom for dancing. That should be easier for eyeing people than the crowd in here anyway.' _ He caught Sarah's eye and made a motion towards the door to the ballroom. Sarah nodded.

'_Not too long a look,'_ Sam said, _'You know what usually happens when we split up on hunts.'_

'_I end up saving your ass?'_ Dean thought back with a grin. He passed a lot of ceramics on his way to the ballroom that to him looked more like medieval bongs than artwork. _'Ah, come on,'_ Dean said when Sam didn't respond, _'I know it's just as often the other way around. Hell, lately you've been too good at saving my ass. Ease up on my manhood a little.'_

As Dean made it into the ballroom, seeing a good amount of couples dancing to jazzy music out on the floor, he leaned back on the nearest wall and watched, sipping champagne and munching some of the nondescript hors d'oeuvres. He was actually a little disgruntled at his brother since he thought Sam would at least laugh at that last bit.

'_Come on, Sammy, lighten up,'_ he said. There still wasn't a response. _'Sammy?'_

"Hello, Dean."

Every nerve in Dean's body gave a jolt. That was not a voice that ever made him feel comforted. He turned, champagne in one hand, plate in the other, quiche still being chewed, and saw a woman that he could admit put both Sarah and Shiarra to shame tonight.

It was Malak. And he jokingly thought of Jessica Rabbit as he took in what the demon was wearing—thankfully, the _female_ version. It was the dress and gloves and heels perfectly, only the entire ensemble was black. The dress sparkled like Sarah's with a million tiny black stars. It shaped a heart over her chest and hugged her trim form. There was even the red hair of course, the pale blue eyes, screaming at him, 'temptress'. The perfect pale skin was enticingly displayed with the way the dress was backless almost too low to still be considered classy. With her heavily darkened eyes and red lips too, Dean could admit that his jaw dropped.

"Oh, you flatter me, Dean," Malak grinned with a dismissive air, walking up and plucking the plate and champagne flute from his hands to place them on a nearby table, "We should talk. Come. You do know how to dance properly, don't you?" There was mischievousness in her tone as always as she grasped his hand and began to lead him out onto the dance floor.

Finally, Dean snapped back to his senses. "Hey. What happened to Sam? If you did—"

"I haven't done anything to him. I'm merely blocking your little mind trick for the moment. Wouldn't want him overhearing our…private time," she said, unwilling to let Dean go as she abruptly yanked him closely into her body, placed one of his hands on her bare lower back and brought the other up for a proper dancer's hold.

The song playing was one Dean knew fairly well from his occasional Frank trip, especially with Sasha being such a huge fan of the Chairman of the Board, as well as Michael Buble who sounded so eerily like him. Dean didn't see much point in refusing Malak unless he wanted to publically scorn a beautiful woman who was currently attracting most of the attention in the room. So he decided he had better just go with it and avoid a scene. It was lucky for Malak that Dean knew how to two-step better than Sam did.

_All of me - why not take all of me  
Can't you see - I'm no good without you_

_Take my lips - I want to lose them  
Take these arms - I'll never use them_

_Your good-bye - left me with eyes that cry  
How can I - ever make it without you_

_You took the part - that used to be my heart  
So why not - why not take all of me_

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean sneered, hating how hot he thought Malak looked in that incredible black dress with hair so perfectly coifed that 1940s dame way and so crayola red like Sasha's, "Private time? I don't want private time with _you_. Please tell me this hunt hasn't just been some game of yours, or I _swear_…"

"Oh, there's a demon from the Devil's Gate here," Malak said in her slightly gruff, Lauren Bacall voice, "He can't sense me of course. I'm not allowing that. Just thought I'd drop in to check on your progress. You're doing rather well, you know. Shame for this roadblock. Tell me. Do you really think you can finish off all the demons in the short amount of time you have left, Dean?"

If Dean wasn't keeping himself amused by imagining Jack Nicholson—_ever dance with the devil in the pale moon light_—he might have spun Malak right into the live band. "You know I really don't get you," he said, pulling closer to better whisper and still be heard. Their proximity made Malak's smirk widen. "You tell me I'm doing well. Then you tell me I'll never make it. I don't know if you want me to win or lose in this."

"Dean, haven't you heard that life is about the _journey_?" she whispered back with a clear taunt.

"So…what? You don't care whether or not I go to Hell just so long as I keep fucking things up in your favor along the way? No matter what you may think of my brother, _Malak_, he's never going to fight on your side. I don't care what the bigger, grander scheme is beyond him."

Malak seemed somewhat annoyed with Dean's petulant tone. Dean had already realized as they continued to dance that although he appeared to be leading she was the one guiding their steps. "You should call me something more appropriate for this venue. 'Malak' calls too much attention," she said, ignoring Dean's protests.

This was getting ridiculous; Dean needed to get back to the hunt. "So what should I call you?" he played along, hoping to get rid of the demon that much faster, "You went with the chick suit again, so you wanna be…what? _Lucy_?" he snarked. One of these days he was bound to get a rise out of her.

But as always Malak merely grinned back at him. "Do you think you will have accomplished something if you manage to piss me off?"

"It would certainly _feel_ like an accomplishment," Dean grumbled.

The song they were dancing to had long since faded into other jazz pieces. Dean realized that Malak's subtle leading had brought them into a mostly empty corner. Her eyes, blue and strangely hypnotic, swept over Dean's tux-clad form. She leaned into him and said, "You don't care what happens to you. I know that. Sam is the same. He doesn't care what happens to _him_ in all this. Even the incubus would sacrifice everything to save either of you. That's a rare thing. Useful too…in the end. You'd like nothing more than to all be together. You really should be more grateful then that I am striving so hard to ensure that that is exactly what happens."

Fire burned in Dean's gut to hear the smug assurance that she already had them in her clutches. "Now you listen to me," he said without fear, breaking their dance and grabbing Malak by the shoulders, "I know there's nothing I can do but accept your damn help when you give it, trickery or not, or I might have already failed at this. But you're not getting any 'thank yous'. Not for cryptic warnings. And not for bringing Sam back after Meg either."

Dean expected another smirk or smart-assed comeback, but he did not expect Malak—for the first time since he had met either gendered version—to look suddenly concerned and take a step back. "Bring Sam back?" she repeated, "What are you talking about? I'm not about to give away anything for free if Sam gets himself killed prematurely. _Rules_, Dean. You'd have to make another bargain for that. Or someone would. I can assure you, however, that I wouldn't be too thrilled about repeating myself."

"Wait," Dean held up a hand to stop her, concerned himself now, "You saying you _didn't_ bring Sam back? Meg almost killed him. He was one step from goodbye forever and he said _your_ voice spoke to him when he was brought back. Who else could that have been?"

If Dean didn't know better he would swear there was something like panic in Malak's eyes that mixed suddenly with venomous hatred. "Never you mind. I didn't see that. I assumed Sam was left alive. I can't be expected to watch you every second, you know."

"But you do. You always know what's going on. So if you don't know this…" Dean wished he could grin and enjoy Malak's discomfort, but he was worried now too, "Then that means someone kept it from you. Jesus, just how many sides are we dealing with in this damn war?"

Malak huffed and crossed her gloved arms over her chest. "Just the usual _two_, Dean," she said haughtily, "But within that there can be many differing agendas. Why do you think I want you to return my poor, wayward children home to me? They're getting a little too arrogant for my tastes."

"Like Meg?" Dean pressed. The other couples around them were still dancing but as large as the party may be Dean still felt secluded and alone whenever he was with Malak.

"Still trying to figure out the truth," Malak taunted him, regaining her usual confidence and ease, "Why Sam was tapped? Why you're so…necessary? The grand, unknown plan? Don't worry, Dean, I'll show you," she said, stepping back into Dean's body. He flinched on instinct like he always did when Malak got especially close to him. This time took the cake, because her Jessica Rabbit dress and perfect body pressed in against him, her lips leaning up towards his ear as she breathed, "When you're mine, Dean…I'll show you."

A shiver shot through Dean's body and he had to close his eyes. He knew that when he opened them again Malak would be gone, and the demon didn't disappoint. There wasn't even an impression or silhouette left of the redhead in the black dress. Dean was alone in one corner of the dance floor. He really, really hated it when she did that.

But now Dean had another mystery. How many other players were there? The two sides Malak mentioned meant good and evil, Dean figured, but was there some other demon just as powerful as Malak? That wouldn't exactly make much sense if Malak really was the Devil, but then who's to say any lore on earth about the hierarchy of Hell had any real truth to it. That didn't explain why this mystery demon would use Malak's voice though, unless it was just to throw them off.

_Dean's not ready yet._

Dean shook his head. He didn't have time for this now. They were in the middle of a hunt and he had already taken too long in the ballroom. The bitch had also made him lose his champagne and food, god damn it.

'_Dean?'_ came Sam's voice suddenly, enough to make Dean jump as he was making his way around the outside of the ballroom back to the door. It took quite a bit of effort to appear outwardly as if he was fine when inside his head he was frantically speaking to his brother.

'_Damn it, Sam, you about gave me a heart attack!'_

'_Me? You went off the radar for ten minutes!'_

'_It wasn't me,'_ Dean tried to explain, _'I had a little run in with our favorite demon queen, looking way too hot in the I'm-just-drawn-this-way kinda way, and insisting on dancing with me while spewing more annoying bullshit in my face. I'll fill you in later. What about you? You okay?'_

'_Wait. Malak? You mean Malak? She's at the party?'_

'_Later, Sam,'_ Dean persisted, _'I have to get back to Sarah and check on everyone.'_ Dean was back at the doorway between the ballroom and main gallery in moments. He paused briefly to check if his food and champagne were still on that table, but apparently the waiters here were way too good at their jobs.

Just as Dean turned to actually enter the gallery, his shoulder bumped into another man headed the same way. "Whoa, sorry, dude," Dean apologized, patting the man on the back. He was older again, like most of the male half of this crowd, but certainly better taken care of than most. He was trim and fit, handsome, Dean supposed, with dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. His perfectly trimmed mustache and goatee gave him an especially exotic look.

"Just as much my fault," the man replied, "Excuse me." He headed on through the gallery while Dean stopped to survey the room and better track down his companions.

'_Okay,'_ Dean thought to Sam, _'Sarah's still over there. And I think—'_

'_Dean, wait.' _

The stress attached to that utterance made Dean pause immediately mid-sentence and ask, _'What is it?'_

'_That man you just ran into.'_

Dean jerked his head to follow after the trail of the dark-haired man, who appeared to have stopped at a group of younger women. _'Mr. Euro-trash?'_ Dean questioned, even though the man hadn't seemed to sport any sort of accent, _'What about him?'_

There was barely even the barest pause before Sam said_, 'Him. It's him. He's the one. He's our demon.'_

Fantastic. Well, at least that solved Dean's problem of feeling like he had wasted the past ten minutes.

Cutting through the crowd straight for Sarah, Dean should have known that 'I'll only be a minute' never actually meant that. As soon as he reached her, he expressed deeply his regret in having to steal her away but explained that the 'person' they had been waiting to arrive finally had and they really needed to talk to him. Sarah got the message loud and clear and the two of them immediately went in search of Bobby and Shiarra.

Lucky for them, the older couple was just around the bend of one of the archways, partially hidden but not all that far off from where Dean had last seen them. They were just parting from yet another conversation with the art-savvy when Dean and Sarah rushed up to them.

"Show time," Dean said.

-----

"I still can't believe it's Vincent," Shiarra was saying as they prepared to have her introduce them to their discovered demon, "Everybody loves Vincent. He's the Curator for goodness' sake. And has been an acquaintance of mine for years."

Dean couldn't resist allowing a small smirk. "And by acquaintance you mean…"

"_Dean_." This time it was Sarah who spoke to him warningly. She gestured ahead at the possessed body of Vincent Morgan, Curator for the Public Art Program and therefore colleague of Charles Shaughnessy, who he was currently chatting away to without the presence of the blonde bimbo. "This is our best chance, all the better that you know him, Shiarra. Do we have to worry about a date tagging along to complicate things?"

At that Shiarra released a derisive laugh. "Vincent never brings a date. It would spoil his chances to pick up someone new."

"Bachelor?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, I think he might be between wives again," Shiarra replied thoughtfully, "Well then. Introductions I can handle. Even convincing him to make a quick trip up to his office. It's the afterwards that worried me. Dean, do you still need to put that charm on him so Sam can get into the building?"

It had been a major priority to solve that problem so Sam could actually be in the building before they started springing traps. Dean had a tiny charm attached to Velcro that would dampen the demon's senses without him even realizing. Sam would be able to get off that scaffolding and climb to the 15th floor, blending perfectly with the signature of the hex bags.

Or so they hoped.

"No problem," Dean assured the others, "Let's get this over with." He eyed the demon determinedly as they made their way through the crowd. To him the bastard was just one more stop sign keeping him from a free life. Dean almost wished he could see what Sam saw that told him, _demon_.

'_No you don't,'_ whispered through his mind.

"Vincent, darling," Shiarra started in, "I do hate to interrupt any boy's club time, of course, but I do think you've been trying to elude me." She grinned wide and presented her cheeks for what seemed a customary greeting of European kisses. Dean remembered how Shiarra had once explained to him that hunters and sex demons were really conmen in arms.

"Speak of the Devil," Shaughnessy said, moving to allow the four of them into their conversation, "I was just telling Vincent about young Mr. Webb's presence at the party. Your friends Mr. James and Miss Blake as well," he finished introducing.

As was usual with demons living a persona, Demon Vincent didn't give himself away at all. "Actually, Mr. Webb and I already met," he smiled at Dean, "My apologies again."

Dean couldn't have been given a better opening. "Totally my fault, man. I hope I didn't bang up your shoulder too bad," he said with a laugh. Then reaching out towards Vincent's shoulder—charm cleverly palmed—he gave the man a friendly pat to stick the Velcro to his tux. The charm was small and black and should blend in well enough for their purposes.

'_Sam?'_ Dean thought to his brother then as he fell into conversation with the others.

'_I'm going for it,'_ Sam replied, _'Watch him closely for any sign that he might feel my presence. If he doesn't, I'll meet up with Jo and we go ahead as planned.'_

That sounded easy enough, but then so did this whole plan whenever they were just talking about it. Vincent hadn't noticed Dean's covert placement of the charm though, and as Dean watched it didn't seem that the demon had sensed anything of Sam either. All they had to do now was get Vincent to the mechanical level where Sam was waiting for them.

Shiarra was handling that part brilliantly. "Oh, please, Vincent, just for a few minutes," she said, hanging off the demon's arm the way she had been hanging off of Bobby's all night, "Sarah is a dear friend. You know I wouldn't ask otherwise. And I do so adore Crispin's work. Now I know it was presumptuous of me to send along his new paintings to your office here, but I'm only asking for a moment's time for you to have a look at them." Of course all of that was utter bullshit.

"The prestige of this building and its city would make it an honor for Crispin's work to be displayed here at your next function," Sarah continued on behalf of her 'client', "We think his new style would be most suited for you. I know how the Public Art Program thrives on local talent and Crispin wants to be just that, a return to his home state."

The demon, continuing to play the part of Vincent Morgan flawlessly, seemed hesitant enough that Dean feared they might have already lost him when he suddenly said, "Well, I suppose it is at these very functions that the most beneficial deals are often made. I can spare a few minutes. Charles, will you be joining us?" he asked Mr. Shaughnessy.

Damn it. The demon had chosen the perfect host for their purposes, even helping give them the best excuse for whisking him away by being the Curator, but an audience would in no way benefit their cause. Dean quickly nudged Shaughnessy before the man could respond. "Hey, uh, not to put a damper on things, pal, but I think your friend over there might be trying to get away." Dean indicated the young blonde that had been accompanying Shaughnessy this evening who was currently across the room flirting with one of the few younger men at the party.

To his credit, Mr. Shaughnessy managed to quiet his sudden scowl and smiled politely at the group, "Another time perhaps, Vincent. If you'll all excuse me," and then swiftly made way for his misbehaving date.

"Well then," Vincent said to the others, "We wouldn't want to miss anything important by waiting until later. Why don't we head up now and see what we can do for each other?"

Bingo. Dean also liked their odds right now as it would be him, Sarah, Bobby, and Shiarra against one demon. They also had Sam waiting on the mechanical level where every possible trap they could think of was set up, and Jo had set up even more after finishing her work on the service elevator, which of course was their next task.

Shiarra made the suggestion, back to hugging Bobby's arm—which the elder hunter seemed rather pleased about—by explaining that it would help them avoid any crowds or questions if they took the service elevator instead.

"I didn't realize you had that much sway, my dear," Vincent said with a sly grin. The demon certainly played the smarmy, attractive older gentleman rather well.

"Please," Shiarra said dismissively, "I have sway with _everything_ in this city."

Of course that wasn't entirely true, and there was no way to be sure whether or not Jo had been successful until they tried this. She had spent half an hour working on getting the service elevator's key code changed to the one they had agreed upon. The moment came when they reached the elevator and Shiarra typed in 'VALKYRIE', Shiarra's own suggestion and what she considered a rather sharp-witted joke.

They could all breathe again when the elevator gave its customary 'ding' and opened before them. "You see, Vincent, we'll make much better time without distraction this way. 16th floor, isn't it?" Shiarra said, eyeing the others to be sure that someone distracted Vincent while she pressed '15' instead, a floor only accessible through the service elevator since it was strictly for maintenance.

"Now, I believe," Sarah began, gently taking Vincent's arm and speaking in a calm, swaying voice, "That Shiarra aided me in sending over _three_ of Crispin's recent paintings. I do hope the most recent is among them. A sort of tribute to the city itself. I'm sure it will sway you if nothing else does."

'_Okay, Sammy,'_ Dean thought, one ear on the conversation as he talked to his brother, _'We're on our way up. We'll be there in seconds. No sign he suspects a thing. Has Jo started for the roof yet? I don't like the thought of Sasha being up there alone. Damn wards and being too risky to use cell phones. Can't believe this demon might actually be able to eavesdrop by—'_

'_Wait, Dean, go back,'_ Sam interrupted, sounding suddenly concerned, _'I wasn't watching. I had to set more traps after I got up here. They weren't ready. You're already in the elevator? How? I haven't seen Jo at all. I don't think she made it.'_

'_What?'_ That didn't make any sense. Jo had had more than enough time and the elevator code had been changed just like they planned. If Jo hadn't set that up then…

Dean's eyes snapped to Vincent. The demon was playing it cool, playing his part perfectly because he already knew the truth. He was on to them.

_Ding_. The elevator stopped and opened on what was obviously a mechanical level and not the first floor of offices. Vincent didn't look at all put out or surprised though, which was the final clue that they were already screwed.

Dean only got out half a warning, a cut off cry of, "He kno—!" before being suctioned back against the elevator wall just like everybody else. Like everyone other than Vincent that is.

"You know, I'm disappointed," the demon began, casually rolling up the cuffs of his nice tux and carefully loosening his bowtie as if he were merely returning home after a long day, "So much hype for so easy a prey. I thought you Winchesters came with a _warning_." Vincent smiled smugly over at Dean.

The nice—or maybe not so nice in this situation—thing about the service elevator was that it wouldn't move again until someone somewhere else called for it. That wouldn't be easy seeing as how the code had been changed. That kept the doors open. But then again Sam was somewhere out on that level waiting for them. Not being able to sense Sam might be the one thing that wasn't an act with this guy.

'_Sammy,'_ Dean called. As far as he knew they were still synched, and even though he didn't receive a response back from Sam, Dean knew his brother had heard him.

"So," Dean tried, a little strained since he was once again pinned to a hard surface. He really hated the demon force-hold thing that every demon above the lowly grunts seemed to be so good at. "That whole…'reputation precedes us' thing…actually worked against us this time, huh? What gave us away, my…rugged good looks?"

Vincent clearly wasn't concerned with Dean, or the others who were remaining quiet only because they were all desperately trying to think of a way out of this. The demon stepped over to Dean's side of the elevator, looking him over completely unimpressed. "And you think _we're_ arrogant," he scoffed, "Just because every demon topside is smart enough to know the faces of the Winchesters doesn't mean you're anything worth fearing. I am nothing like those other lowly examples of my kind. I sensed you coming a mile away. Did you think my wards only offered me protection?"

"No," Dean admitted readily, "But I do think…they're doing a fine job…of messing with those senses now." Dean glanced over at the elevator door just in time to see Sam's long arms reaching inside to yank Demon Vincent out of it.

They fell from the walls of the elevator as soon as Sam had a hold of the bastard. This guy may be powerful but he was spread thin with all of his wards and couldn't defend himself and hold all of them stationary at the same time.

"Find Jo!" Dean called to the girls as he pushed up onto his feet, "Bobby, help me!" There wasn't time to even be sure the others were listening to him before Dean was out of the elevator after Sam and the demon.

They hadn't gone far, just outside the elevator doors, but they were already grappling impressively. Jo had set up devil's traps throughout the level, but she was supposed to have added more outside the elevator entrance as well, among others, that clearly had never been made.

Focusing on the fight before him now and leaving Jo to the girls, who immediately darted off further into the level in search of her, Dean thought of what little help he could offer Sam. He looked to Bobby. With a shared nod, the two of them flanked the viciously fighting pair and each pulled out their hidden flasks.

A few flicks of their wrists later and Dean's stomach sank to the depths of his gut. Upon impact the double hit of holy water didn't sizzle. Dean assumed Malak was immune to such things, of course, but the only other demon Dean had visibly seen escape the affects of holy water had been the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

Who in Hell was this guy?

A good shot knocked Sam several feet on his back to skid across the floor. Vincent turned with a grin then, his face and parts of his tux wet but otherwise fine. "More than you bargained for, boys?" he taunted them. With nothing more than a wave of his hand, he threw Bobby across the room and right into Sam on the floor. But when he turned to Dean he merely huffed and began moving in the direction of the girls.

If this guy actually thought he could ignore Dean then he didn't know shit about the Winchesters. Dean wished Sam's power would have more effect right now, but they had already anticipated that most of them wouldn't as long as the demon was still inside the barriers of the building. They had to go along with the original plan, even if there were a few less devil's traps along the way.

Dean hadn't brought a gun, too risky at a party like that with only a tux to hide anything, but he never went anywhere without his ankle blade. He retrieved it from its sheath and dove after the demon, stabbing a firmly planted blow with the knife right into Vincent's thigh. The host could live through that.

While Vincent snarled and whipped around to push Dean away, Dean couldn't help noticing that he wasn't thrown halfway across the room like Bobby and Sam. "Whatsa matter, Vinny?" Dean grinned, seeing in his peripherals that Bobby and Sam had recovered and were coming up to flank him, "You're not scared of…_Malak_, are you? Since you're so smart, I guess you know I'm a favored toy of the Big Bad's. Kind of makes it hard to get an upper hand in the fight, huh?"

Vincent snarled again, plucking the knife free and throwing it at Dean's feet. The wound was probably already healing for the demon. "Vacation time isn't freely given, you know, even among those of us with real power. Everything's about the mission, the ultimate goal. Well I needed a break. And that mishap with the Devil's Gate was just the opportunity I needed. Malak will forgive me for that when I return, brutal as my punishment may be, but I won't lie. It would be a very different outcome if I dared harm _you_," he sneered, clearly not a fan of Dean, or any of them, "But that doesn't mean I don't have the upper hand."

Once again, Bobby and Sam flew backwards while Dean remained fine. There was a railing not far away that went all throughout the level, as most of the area was piping and heating ducts and other important structural aspects to the building, leaving only an area around the elevator and several walkways that were actually safe. Another good throw like that and Bobby and Sam might fly right over the railing. It wasn't a long drop, but there were a lot of pieces of machinery to not so nicely break their fall.

It was also dark, dark enough that the devil's traps were less obvious to the naked eye. That's why Dean had sent Sarah and Shiarra together, in case the succubus accidentally found herself trapped in one. Dean couldn't risk Sam getting caught ceaselessly either.

Dean picked up his knife. "There are plenty of other non-lethal places I can stick this, buddy," he said, ignoring Bobby and Sam for now since he knew they were okay.

"You think you can trick me into one of those?" Vincent replied, pointing a ways away at one of the devil's traps on the ceiling.

"Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and you'll just trip," Dean shrugged.

Then he was moving forward, right at Vincent like a linebacker with his knife brandished. He knew where he needed to get this guy eventually; it was just a matter of maneuvering and any devil's traps along the way could prove useful.

But before Dean could actually plow into the guy, Vincent caught Dean's wrist and spun him too easily away from him. Anyone else would have tried to pull Dean in for a hold, but this guy wanted Dean out of the fight completely. Good luck; Dean wasn't going to make that easy.

Turning and steadying his footing, Dean caught sight of sparks flying from Sam's fingertips at Vincent like bolts of lightening. The melting power, TK, strength—all of that would work fine. It was the mojo and demon control that wasn't going to be cooperative. Dean could see that Sam was trying anyway, maybe trying to sway Vincent's mind just enough to get him into one of the traps. Vincent wasn't at all struggling though, just aptly dodging Sam's attacks one after the other.

"Where's Jo?" Sam yelled suddenly, advancing on Vincent while Bobby tried to block the demon by coming from the other side, making the three of them a triangle around him.

"Who?" Vincent sneered, "You mean that little girl trying to play mechanic? I caught her as she was trying to change that code of yours. Doubtful she would have managed it. I had to completely start over so you wouldn't catch wise before we got here. I know a few things about mechanics, you see. And goodness, I may have been a bit rough with that girl," he said with mock concern, always moving, searching for the best way around or through the circle of hunters trying to box him in, "Maybe those other lovely ladies of yours will find her in time, maybe they won't."

Light flashed in Sam's eyes and suddenly they were yellow. His arms shot out and Vincent was pushed back towards Bobby. Then Sam was rushing forward before the demon could get his bearings back, hands sparking with electricity and heat. He grabbed Vincent's shoulders and singed right through that nice tux down to the skin.

Still able to feel pain even if he could quickly heal, the demon screamed but couldn't collect himself fast enough before Sam had pushed him back with all his strength towards the closest trap.

For a moment Dean thought they might have the bastard, but before Vincent actually tumbled back into the trap, his feet stopped, gripped, pivoted like an animal and he was fine. He leapt to the side and rolled just out of reach of the trap's hold.

Sam and Dean weren't the only ones with tricks up their sleeves, however. Bobby was closest to the demon now, and while Vincent was still mostly on the ground, he pulled out his hidden weapon—two steaks of Palo Santo wood. They wanted to keep the host alive, of course, but they also had a priority to stop the demon. Bobby compromised by stabbing the steaks one into each of the demon's shoulders, immobilizing him.

There was something almost eerie about seeing Bobby in action like that while wearing a tux, but maybe the elder hunter thought the same thing about Dean. Only Sam was in his customary jeans and layered shirts.

The hunters gathered around the demon that was now pinned. "So, you're some high roller down south, huh?" Dean said, "Guess we gave you a little more of a run for your money than you were expecting. Just who the hell are you anyway?" It annoyed Dean especially that the bastard still had Vincent's dark but otherwise normal human eyes. They had yet to go all and out black.

Then Dean saw why. As the demon looked up at them, not admitting defeat but smiling proudly, he allowed his eyes to flicker to their true state—a sickly mottled _green_. "Vapula, Duke and loyal follower of our Lord," he said.

Dean honestly had to mull that one over for a moment. "Uh…what?" he finally snickered, "_Vapula_? Dude, seriously, you're pulling my leg with that, right? That's like some bad Transylvanian knockoff or something."

"_Dean_," Sam said with the same kind of warning he had used several other times that evening, so that Dean had to wonder if his brother was still speaking to him inside his head. Sam's mouth had definitely moved though and when Dean looked at him, Sam was leaning in close. "If he's telling the truth, Vapula is one of the 72 demons accounted for in the _Goetia_. _The Lesser Key of Solomon_." He raised his eyebrows to stress his point.

Several gears clicked into place for Dean. "You mean the book the devil's trap and shit comes from?"

That couldn't be good.

Bobby had already taken a step back when Dean looked down again at the demon. Vincent—or rather _Vapula_—was still smiling, still sure of himself and unimpressed with the hunters trying to get the better of him. What was even worse was that the Palo Santo steaks were starting to melt.

"My turn," hissed the demon.

Suddenly, it was as if a thousand tea kettles were going off at once, valves opening and pipes bursting all throughout the floor. Distantly, Dean heard the surprised shrieks of Sarah and Shiarra, reminding him that they were still out there looking for Jo. And in _eveningwear_, he thought with disgust. If nothing else, they had to make sure that this bastard didn't try to go for the girls again.

There was steam and water everywhere, making it almost impossible to see. Dean recognized the shapes of Sam and Bobby still near him, but there was no sign of Vapula on the floor. "Sam! Bobby!" Dean called over the symphony of machines.

"I know!" called back Bobby, "Stay near the walls!"

'_Dean.'_

Dean whipped around at the sound of Sam's voice, steady and clear inside his head where no one had to yell. Sam was still right next to him, yellow eyes prominent and glowing. _'Jesus, Sammy,'_ Dean thought back, _'Warn a guy first. You sense this Vapula guy anywhere?' _ It was getting increasingly harder to see.

'_Everywhere,'_ Sam answered gravely, _'That's the problem. Vapula's like the…the patron saint of machines in Hell. He was never a witch. He was one of the first demons men and women made pacts with to become witches. He taught mechanics and science, Dean. This is his building with all these wards following him. He can probably control every machine on this floor.'_

Shit. That was more than bad, it was deadly. Everything on this floor was a machine. _'Can you synch with Bobby too? Talk at him? Anything? We can't let this guy get to the girls.'_

"Bobby!" Dean yelled aloud, motioning over the silhouette of Bobby Singer.

It took Sam only seconds to be able to speak to Bobby mentally the way he was with Dean, something Dean knew startled the older hunter as Bobby's eyes went very wide. He wasn't as used to Sam's powers or the yellow eyes.

It wasn't a conference call though; Dean couldn't speak to Bobby directly or hear him, but they had a link and that would have to be good enough as they split up to track the demon down.

The only weapon Dean had was his knife, which at the most would only buy him a little time. This poor guy's body had already been beaten enough as it was_. 'Think of it this way, Sammy,'_ Dean thought as he made his way slowly left—Bobby heading straight from the elevator and Sam right_, 'This'll make it easier for us.'_ The steam and water was making Dean sweat, his nice tux damp pretty much everywhere.

'_How will this make things easier?'_ Sam asked shortly.

'_Because. We figured a regular devil's trap wouldn't hold this guy anyway, not inside the building. That's why we came up with this plan, remember? We just gotta lead him to the right spot. He's practically heading right there on his own. So don't start getting all—"_

'_Dean!'_

Dean turned, even though the sound of Sam's voice had come from inside his head and not any actual direction.

'_Bobby says Vapula just passed him. He should be right in front of you any minute.'_

Well that was just perfect since all Dean could see in front of him was more steam and smoke, and a little of the platform he was standing on. At least that awful noise had died down after the pressure was released. One thing Dean could be certain of though was that if the demon _passed_ Bobby then there had to be another walkway ahead that ran perpendicular to his.

'_The window's that way, Dean,'_ Sam said, _'I'll hurry around the other way to cut him off with Bobby.'_

'_No. Let me take him alone. We already know he won't risk hurting me. And if you come around from behind we won't be able to back him into the right spot. There are devil's traps all around here. Catch up from where you are and be ready to have my back.'_

There was a moment of silence. Dean was almost to the intersection of walkways, he could see it. He knew Sam was doubting him but damn it, he was in charge and he knew what he was doing.

'_Just do what I tell you,'_ Dean commanded.

A moment later Dean was at the crossroads and not at all oblivious to the irony of that either. Vapula should be coming from the right. Straight ahead of Dean led further into the maintenance area—more pipes, machines, and steam. To his left was the window Sam had climbed through from the scaffolding, open and huge, looking out at the city. The platform led straight to it. Dean could see it now easily through the haze because the window was where all of the smoke and steam was trying to escape.

Standing as still as he could right in the center between all four pathways, Dean listened for sounds of Vapula's approach. He didn't trust that it would be signaled by running feet and he was right. The last of the tea kettle noise had waned enough that Dean heard movement above him just in time to look up. A loosening cylinder of piping was spiraling towards him from the ceiling. Dean swerved to avoid it but his footing slipped from under him on the now wet metal walkway, landing him hard on his back. The piping came to a thunderous stop inches from crushing him.

Usually, Dean was afraid of falling, not things falling on him.

"You may be off limits, Mr. Winchester," came Vapula's voice from somewhere above Dean, "But there is no such stipulation on your brother or any of your friends. Tell me then, _Dean_, where is that incubus of yours, hmm?"

Nearly crushed or not, Dean was going to get up. _Now_. He strained his neck, able to see Vincent Morgan's expensive black shoes just behind his head. He didn't think. He grabbed onto those ankles and pulled himself between Vapula's legs, giving himself just enough room to roll back, slam his legs up into the demon's above him and coz the bastard to fall over backwards with a crash. No one threatened Dean's baby.

'_Dean, we're almost to you,'_ said Sam, _'Do you have Vapula in position yet?'_

'_Thirty seconds,'_ Dean replied confidently. He was already getting to his feet while the demon was still snarling and trying to clamor back onto his.

"You fool!" Vapula spat at Dean, apparently a little protective of Vincent's body since he had a gash on one of his arms now, "You think I can't see all your devil's traps?" he gestured wildly to several of them, more visible being this close to the window. There was also a larger platform by the window where even more traps had been drawn, except for right in front of the window where Sam had come in.

"You can see them," Dean didn't deny, "But can you avoid them?" He didn't need his knife; Dean charged like he had before, only this time it didn't matter if Vapula sidestepped him or pushed him away as long as Dean got the demon to back up where he wanted.

It was almost too easy. Vapula was concerned enough with not causing too much harm to Dean that he merely grappled rather than throw Dean aside. Every time Dean tried to push, trip, or manhandle Vapula into one of the nearby devil's traps the demon managed to avoid it, backing them closer and closer to the window. Dean actually almost got him into one of the traps then which might have been good enough, but their real plan was better.

Just in front of the window, Vapula finally used physical and mental force to throw Dean off of him onto the floor. Dean smiled up at the demon, sore but successful. He could hear Sam and Bobby approaching.

"What are you grinning about?" the demon growled, his mottled green eyes as vibrant as the crossroad's demon's and YED's, "I am a Duke of Hell. I command legions. I am not so easily dispatched as you might think." The demon roared then, truly roared, and with the smoke and steam still billowing out the window past him, for a moment Dean saw what appeared like a shadowy lion with wings overlapping the form of Vincent Morgan.

"Right," Dean huffed, still kicked back on the floor and unwilling to be spooked, "So you decided to possess the Curator for Public Art for a little while and have some wine and cheese and a few nice suits? I'm trembling in my Brooks Brothers over here."

Vapula's eyes flashed brighter and again flickered the image of a smoke and shadowed lion.

'_Any time now, Sammy…'_

And it was just then that Vapula's eyes rose up past Dean to where Bobby and Sam had finally arrived. The demon was not deterred, but merely smiled sinisterly. "I've been kind until now because of how much I've enjoyed my vacation. No more. You didn't really think these devil's traps could catch me, did you?"

Dean looked up above him and could see Sam grinning, only slightly out of breath as he said, "No, actually. We didn't. Probably wouldn't have done us much good anyway, seeing as how your powers extend to the whole building. Well, except for the roof," he reminded the demon, "Haven't you ever heard that too much defense isn't always the best way to win? Take the defense away…and you can't do anything." Sam's hands shot out towards the window and Vapula, great Duke of Hell that he was, actually ducked. But the only thing that happened was a red light flew outwards into the night and headed straight up.

The demon turned back to them and snarled, "What are you firing now, parlor tricks?"

"Nope," Dean said, finally getting to his feet, "A runic spell. A runic _devil's trap_ to be exact. Funny thing about them versus the normal kind is that as long as they're above or below you it doesn't really matter how many floors are in between."

Mottled green eyes sprung wide. Vapula charged at them but immediately came upon an invisible barrier stopping him from going more than a few feet. A devil's trap written in glowing red on the roof was holding him captive outside the realm of his powers. He might as well have been on the roof himself. Dean was sort of glad the demon wasn't though, because this way all Sasha had to do up there was make sure nothing broke the lines of the trap.

"All yours, Sammy," Dean said.

"Bobby!" came a sudden female voice calling over the hum of the machines, "Sam! Dean!" It was Sarah, running towards them down the ramp. She was as damp as the rest of them after Vapula's attack.

Sam kept steady on the demon, much as he might have wanted to turn. He had to maintain a very firm hold on the spell that had been cast some 50 floors above them. Dean and Bobby, however, moved to meet Sarah. "What is it?" Dean asked, concerned that Shiarra wasn't with her, "We're about to send this bastard back where he belongs. Did you find Jo?"

As she came to a stop in front of them, it was clear that Sarah was out of breath and that she had run the entire way in search of them, probably following the tell-tale sound of their voices that echoed so well in this place. She nodded. "Shiarra stayed with her. She's still unconscious. That asshole had her tied up near an exhaust pipe, as bad as being locked in a garage with a running car for Christ's sake. She's alive but we need to get her out of here."

"Where are they?" Bobby asked, having the same fondness for Jo as he did for all the hunter 'kids', knowing their parents as well as he had and in Ellen's case still did.

"We moved her back by the elevator."

Bobby immediately turned and headed off. It looked as though Sarah would follow but she hesitated, her concerned dark eyes straying to Sam. Dean of course couldn't help turning back to look at his brother as well, and was a little upset actually that the demon was still standing there, mottled eyes gleaming, like nothing was wrong. "Get a move on, Sammy," Dean chided, walking up next to his brother again, "Send this guy to Hell already."

"I've been trying," Sam said with much strain. His eyes were lighter, the color fading and unifying into a single bright white. Even that didn't seem to be enough though—Sam at his strongest—because Vapula merely stood there smirking.

"How long do you think you can hold me in this thing, hmm?" the demon said, "You're right that a regular devil's trap would hold me even less because of the wards around this place. The runic spell was a nice touch, but if you think you're strong enough to use those powers on me than you really are a fool."

The frustration was building in Sam, dampness from the steam and Sam's own sweat making his face look slick and fatigued. He was pushing with all of his powers and trying to maintain the spell. Vapula was right; Sam couldn't keep at that for long. He wasn't all-powerful.

It was then that Dean noticed Sarah was still with them and hadn't gone after Bobby. She came up on Sam's other side, eyeing the demon with the most extreme distaste.

"He's lying," she said, "This has nothing to do with him being more powerful than you, Sam. He's afraid. Why? Why would he be afraid of you if he thinks he's so much stronger?" Dean flinched when he saw that Sarah was reaching into Sam's jacket for the Colt they had said they would only use as a last resort.

"Whoa there," Dean tried, peeking around Sam and giving Sarah the 'I surrender but please listen to me' hand gesture, "Don't go all Sarah Connor on us, okay? There's a guy in there that doesn't deserve to die if we can save him."

But Sarah just shook her head, already aiming the gun and looking even more disgusted. "No there isn't." She didn't look at Dean, just continued staring at the demon as Sam was, frozen as if she too couldn't dare move for fear of the spell failing. "Think for a minute. Sam's powers should work if the devil's trap is working. So then it's just a matter of figuring out what kind of demon can beat an exorcism. Malak maybe, just for being what he is. And if a demon had a lock, the way you said Meg did when she possessed Sam. But there's only one other way besides those. I've seen it before. It's the only explanation."

Now Dean was hesitating too because Vapula looked scared. Even Sam seemed to understand what Sarah was getting at because his at first confused expression had turned into the same concentrated look of disgust.

Then Dean got it too. He had never come across a case himself, but he had heard of it. Of course he had heard of it. The very idea made his stomach turn.

"Without a lock the only other explanation for a demon who can resist exorcism," Sarah continued, cocking the hammer on the Colt.

"Wait!" Vapula cried.

"Is a willing host."

Sharpshooter indeed, sniping or up close, because the shot fired true, right into the demon's forehead where it crackled like a thunderstorm and crumbled the combined sinners to the floor.

Sam gasped as if he could finally breathe again, able to release the devil's trap and stop concentrating so damn hard finally. He also allowed his white eyes to return to their normal hazel.

The disappearance of the devil's trap would signal to Sasha that they were either successful or in real trouble, so he should be flying down to the window any minute. In the meantime, the brothers turned to Sarah, who lowered the Colt, having it in one hand, while she brushed the hair from her face with the other.

"You figured that one out without batting an eyelash, girl. Not that I ever doubted it," Dean grinned at her, "But you are officially _awesome_."

-----

Once Sasha joined them and they returned to Shiarra and Bobby with a still unconscious Jo, Shiarra worked a little succubus magic and hearthed the lot of them back to her apartment. Her true home was now that very loft and not the planes of her native home among sex demons. Shiarra then volunteered to drive Jo to the hospital since she knew the city best, and if the poor girl had carbon monoxide poisoning then she would need medical treatment no matter how minor a case it may be.

They learned later that Jo would be fine and had woken up on the ride to the ER, but she would still need to stay overnight. Of course she had insisted that everyone get rest at Shiarra's; she didn't need anyone sleeping on waiting room couches just because she needed to be kept for observation. Knowing that she was probably sorer about being caught by the enemy than anything, they obeyed.

Everyone seemed to split their different ways after that, into showers and bedrooms, through the kitchen or kicked back on the sofas and chairs. After Dean's shower—he was too wired to sleep yet—he found Sasha out on the balcony. It was freezing in Dean's opinion, but the incubus was out there without a jacket, just in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, watching the city. Dean supposed the redhead was mulling over the fact that he hadn't gotten to see any action, but as things usually went Dean knew that if they hadn't placed someone on that roof then something for sure would have gone wrong.

"_Sleepless in Seattle_? Or playing out some other sappy romance that has someone staring off a balcony?" Dean joked as he opened the sliding door to join his friend.

Sasha glanced over his shoulder at Dean, a small smile perched on his lips as he leaned on the railing. It was a sturdy railing and at no risk of breaking off—not that it would matter for Sasha—but Dean still had no plans to lean on anything that was that close to a four story drop. "Just thinking," Sasha said, "It's good we got this guy. We can get back on track now. Sam already senses our next target. It'll be nice to…get back into a rhythm." There was tension in Sasha's shoulders, much as the incubus was slouching.

A sigh spilled from Dean's lips before he could help it. He sidled up to Sasha and slid an arm around the other man's waste, feeling how warm the redhead always managed to be just naturally. Dean was freezing, still a little damp from his shower, and was currently shirtless and in only thin sleep pants. "Come on now, it's gonna be okay. I know we lost a few days on this one but…we'll make it. And shouldn't I be the one who's wallowing? I am the one with the death sentence, you know?" He tried to grin coyly but Sasha wasn't smiling back at him anymore.

"I wasn't even there tonight. I mean…I was there, but I didn't _do_ anything."

"There were seven of us," Dean reminded Sasha, "How much did you expect to stand out on this one?"

The incubus tossed him a frustrated look even though he was leaning into Dean's hold. "You know what I mean, Dean. I know there are a lot of us on this, and that's a good thing. But I want—_need_ to be there. When it's the last demon, just one more left to get rid of before we save you, I need to be there to see it finished. I need to see it for myself and know I'll never lose you."

Dean pulled Sasha away from the edge of the balcony and turned the incubus into his body, holding him closer so he could reach up and touch that pale, pretty face. "You won't lose me. Ever. Not to Hell or anything else, you hear me?"

At last Sasha found a bit of that smile again. "That sounded kind of like a proposal," he teased.

If only for that returned smile, Dean managed not to grimace. "I'm not getting down on one knee, got me? But I'm not…running from forever anymore if we actually manage to get it. I know what I want. That's _you_. But let's work on making that an option first before we start handing out 'save the date' cards, okay?"

A boisterous laugh escaped Sasha. "Now I _know_ you watch too much Opera if you know what 'save the date' cards are."

"Wise ass," Dean grinned, already pulling the incubus in for a kiss to quiet that pretty mouth and put it to better use. Whenever Dean doubted, whenever he felt the old fears sneaking up on him, even just a simple kiss from Sasha was enough to remind him why he loved everything about loving this man. The soft lips, the slight flick of a tongue, then a sudden deep press that made Dean want to devour everything in Sasha he could taste.

"Ahem."

Dean was really starting to hate that utterance. He pulled away from Sasha to find his love grinning, and when he turned to look at Shiarra standing with a hand on her hip in the doorway, her grin was much the same. "I know it's your house and all, but you could still knock or something," Dean said.

The succubus was in a fashionable nightgown and robe, shimmering and alluring but still tasteful enough for company. The nightgown was a pale blue, the robe matching but darker. She would have looked ready for bed if she wasn't so wide-eyed. "My apologies. I was only coming to ask if you boys wanted to join us. Bobby and I were going to have a nightcap."

That got Dean to raise an eyebrow. "Now this thing between you and Bobby…"

"Would you like to join us or not," Shiarra went right on, ignoring Dean's question, "It is getting rather late."

Know when to pick your battles, Dean figured. He looked to Sasha and could tell that the incubus was pleased at the idea of spending a little more time with his aunt before they left in the morning. Of course Shiarra had insisted that she would join them eventually, but Dean really didn't want to add any more members to their already bursting team. "Sure, sure," he said, "You ask Sam and Sarah? They still up?"

A sly smile touched Shiarra's lips and she leaned a little more into the doorframe. "They did only recently retire but I don't think disturbing them would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Sasha asked.

It was then that Dean realized Shiarra was holding something. Something midnight blue that had at first blended in with her robe. It was Sarah's dress. "Because _this_," she said, holding it up, "Barely made it into the bedroom." With that and a pointed look tossed at both of them, Shiarra turned and began to make her way back towards the kitchen.

Sasha was laughing when Dean's mouth finally caught up to his brain cells. Really, there was only one thing to say. "That's my Sammy."

tbc...

A/N: Another doozie. Phew. That one was a pain to write but I hope it turned out okay.

To answer Haley's question, a reverse pentagram doesn't HAVE to be in relation to any direction, it just depends on who draws it and how. However, the one over Seattle would be in relation to North. If I ever forget a question from someone who I can't PM, please try asking again as sometimes I forget. :-)

Spent all day on this, must give attention to hubby. P.S. deangirl1's entry for the contest--well, one of her entries--can be read right here on FF, so go read it! Love you!

Oh, and everything about Vapula is true. You can thank Hellfire for requesting him. Of course I took some liberties. :-) But seriously, Google him.

Crim


	67. Part 4: Pray

I am so sorry. The Holidays stole my time, I was sick the Friday before xmas to xmas day, and my plans to post extra were foiled, leaving me to post nothing until now. On the bright side, I should always trust when I am unable to write as it usually means I shouldn't. The time off helped me reconsider a few things and I should much more easily--and hopefully to the benefit of the story as a whole--be able to complete this arc before the boys return on January 15th. All my love to those of you still with me and those just joining the team. Happy New Year!

-----

Part 4: Pray

-----

Dean hadn't actually considered that he could be saved too fast. It never crossed his mind that his time would run out so quickly but with the real promise of salvation at the end of his last month on Earth. It meant a shit-ton of wonderful things, sure, but it also meant—more than likely—that they would never find out what Malak's plan really was. Dean highly doubted that the plan would be foiled simply because he didn't go to Hell. Not that he wanted to sacrifice himself just so he could find out for sure if Malak would actually tell him everything once Dean was hers. _His_. Whatever. But Dean was curious. So damn curious.

And it wasn't even just Malak's part in all this that bothered Dean; it was the unknown figure too. If Malak didn't revive Sam the night they faced Meg then who did? And why?

Dean had come clean to the others about all that soon after Seattle but no one had any insight or any advice except for them to just keep on going as they had been. And oh how they kept on. Sometimes the demons were almost too easy, sometimes they had a few tricks up their sleeves, though none so clever as Vapula.

One couple gave them a few days of headaches in Valdosta, Georgia at the Moody Air Force Base. Used shapeshifter bodies to possess and took on the form of a few pilots after having killed the real thing. Messed up Sam's senses something awful but Sasha's ability to sense a shapeshifter trumped Sam's great demonic powers for a change and they were still able to find their quarry. Those powers of Sam's weren't perfect yet even though everyday they seemed to grow stronger.

What had Dean truly breathless though was that they were already up the East coast with still a couple weeks left on Dean's ticking clock, and yet they remained at a loss for so many answers. As far as they knew Vapula, Duke of Hell that he was, had been the only demon with a willing host body that they had come across, but the very idea made Dean's skin crawl and he had to wonder if they would find others like that some day. It seemed such a dangerous thing, and such a likely, stupid human thing on the part of the host too.

Sure, Dean tried to mask his unease by teasing Sam about Sarah as often as possible, especially in the days that had immediately followed their adventures in Seattle. Dean also couldn't resist tossing in a few teases at Bobby about Shiarra, though he didn't have any proof that anything had actually happened there. If Sasha knew anything on that front he just grinned and kept his mouth shut.

That was Dean's other distraction of course—Sasha. And what a distraction the incubus was. It wasn't often they had the chance to sneak away or have just a room for themselves to blow off a little steam, but damn when they did it was as if Dean was bound for Hell the next _day_ and they needed to get in as much passion and heat as they could.

But Dean was still troubled, still anxious about all the things they didn't know as they headed towards his last few days. They were only half an hour from reaching Pittsburgh, just in time too since the last of Leven's performances was that night. Dean had feared they wouldn't make it. The demons they fought and finished off only hours before had been tough. Or maybe it was just that the one Dean finished off personally had gotten to him a little.

He had been racing through a mall—a damn mall, crowded as the one he and Sasha shopped at in Denver— and in broad daylight too after a trio of body jumpers. These demons were especially adept at switching hosts unseen. They moved so quickly that although Sam could easily sense them he couldn't get a lock to try and mojo or banish them. The fact that this was all happening in a mall in the middle of the day didn't give them many options.

Tattoo smooth and healed now, Dean didn't fear possession. He also had an edge that most of the others—save Sam of course—did not. Dean was less than two weeks from D-day. He wasn't quite to the point of most damned souls, when everywhere they looked they saw demons and shades and horrible things, but if he looked long enough at a possessed person he could spot a demon, something that was becoming sharper and more accurate as his time slipped away.

He understood now why Sam had told him that he didn't really want to know what demons looked like. It wasn't just that it was hideous or nauseating; it was that it seemed to speak to Dean, all those awful faces, telling him that he was destined to be like that one day too.

Dean had been on the tail of the last of their three demons alone, having gotten separated from the others while rushing through the mall. Each time it jumped he lost it for a moment but then he would spot it again and continue the chase. He managed to corner it finally somewhere with no other bodies to jump into—an alcove beneath back stairs where at most there might have been a maintenance man.

The worst of it, however, was that the last of the bodies this demon jumped into had been that of what appeared to be a four-year-old boy. There was a frantic mother out in the throng somewhere and here Dean was pulling out the _Colt_ to point at her toddler's body. He carried the Colt usually now since he was the other most likely candidate to spot a demon but without the luxury of Sam's nifty powers to back him up. He knew he couldn't use the Colt on a little kid though, and the demon seemed to know that too because it grinned at him.

"So cold and heartless, _Dean_?" it had said, mouth twisting horribly on the face of a little boy with short-cut brown hair and big grey-blue eyes, "You'll make a fine addition to the family, yes you will. And dear baby brother Sam and your incubus too. You know you can't stop it."

That had almost pissed Dean off enough to cock the damn gun. "Shut up," he had said, trying to keep his eyes focused on their surroundings in case any passerby happened to come through the doors behind Dean or down those stairs, "What, you one of the smart ones? Think you know what no one else does, huh? Malak doesn't share his plans with underlings. I know. I've tortured enough of them."

The demon-child giggled. "Ah, but there are rumors. Such rumors. If you are who we believe you are, your brother too, then this is a most exciting time. I'll gladly return to Hell knowing what's to come. Unless you _want_ to shoot this boy. I'll be seeing you soon, of course."

If that hadn't been enough, and the smugness with which the demon just stood there and allowed Dean to speak the words of exorcism, the last of the insults to injury was the worst. Just before Dean spoke the very last words to send the evil bastard south, it smiled up at him and said, "Even if you send the last demon on Earth back to Hell…you'll still belong to us."

But it was too late because the last words spilled from Dean's lips before he could stop himself and ask the damn thing what it meant. Afterwards, Dean had carried a crying and frightened little boy out into the hub of the mall to find a crying and frantic young mother, who of course thanked him profusely.

The intelligent part of Dean knew that the demon was merely messing with him, trying to get him to drop his guard, maybe even at the behest of Malak himself. But the rest of Dean, the part of him that was made of action and feeling and instinct, wondered.

He was still wondering and torturing himself with it when the city lights of Pittsburgh began to flash past his window. It was a good thing Sasha was driving because Dean probably would have run at least half the red lights.

"Dean?" the incubus' voice was small and concerned as it had been for days, increasing with worry every time Dean dismissed it or said he was fine. Dean couldn't help that though. He felt so guilty for not being more excited that things were going so well, but he just knew that somehow Malak had a win-win in this that went beyond having misbehaving demons returned to Hell. He just didn't know what it was. He felt like he didn't know anything.

"Yeah, babe?" he turned to Sasha.

Sam was napping in the back, being the worst lately about not getting any real sleep, and not just because of pleasurable recreation with Sarah either. The others—two cars worth now as they had added Ellen some time ago—had only agreed to the pit stop in Pittsburgh if they could continue straight through to Minnesota and start scoping out what could be there last handful of demons.

Much as Dean enjoyed the extra company of the other hunters, it was nice being back to just the three of them for a night. Sasha was steering them through Pittsburgh towards their hotel where they would then have enough time to grab a quick bite before Leven's show. They had called ahead to let Wade know they would be there but had decided to keep things a surprise for Leven.

"You look tired," Sasha said, "We've been going non-stop for so long now. It'll be nice to sit and relax at the show for a few hours. Keep in mind though that this is high school," he grinned, "Don't expect greatness."

That managed to tug a real smile onto Dean's face. "Duly noted," he nodded, even though he knew Sasha probably wanted to say more than just a friendly warning about high school musicals. Dean could still hardly believe he was going to one. But he had made a promise and that meant something to a Winchester. Besides, he kind of wanted to see the kid again before…

Before the end.

"You're frowning. Two seconds ago you shot me that cute as all smile and now you're frowning again," Sasha tried to chide jokingly, "I know a lot is on your mind, Dean, but it couldn't hurt to share the burden a little." That was the way Sasha usually tried to goad Dean into talking, not like Sam who would just come out and demand that Dean tell him what was wrong.

Dean liked the subtle approach better but he still didn't feel like sharing. "Just the 'if, and, ors, and buts', baby," he sighed, "All of the above. Let's not think about any of that tonight, huh? Last mini-vacation we're gonna get. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to bring the kid down tonight when it's his last performance. He doesn't need to know about this mess."

There was no hesitation as Sasha nodded but his blue eyes were bright with sorrow. "Okay, Dean. But you're actually going to have to participate in the having a good time part if that's going to work." With a sly smile quirking at his lips, Sasha glanced up at the rearview mirror.

Of course Dean couldn't see the same angle in the mirror as the incubus but he knew what Sasha was trying to get him to look at. He turned his head towards the backseat where Sam was slumped against the door on Dean's side, seatbelt making it impossible for him to sit or lay comfortably. Sasha was the only one who ever actually lied down in the back to nap.

There was something about a sleepy Sam, face benign and large body scrunched within rumpled clothing that reminded Dean more of a little boy than the adult his brother had grown into. It eased the nagging part of Dean's brain that would always worry about those damn powers. Sam may have some role intended for him in Malak's grand plan but Dean was the catalyst, he just wished he knew what that meant and how he could prevent it.

More pressing at the moment though was that Sam needed to wake up. They would be at the hotel soon, Dean was starving, and he did not want to show up late to the show even if Wade had promised to have tickets waiting for them.

Dean reached into the back, straining against his own seatbelt, and grabbed hold of Sam's nose, pinching it closed. Sasha giggled. Ten seconds later Sam's head started to thrash and he awoke with a gasp.

"Dean!" he glared, swatting away Dean's offending hand.

"Up and at 'em, sunshine, we're here," Dean grinned at his brother, "Figured you wouldn't want to show up in front of all those crazy teenagers with bedhead something like _A Flock of Seagulls_." It only made Dean laugh harder when Sam instinctively reached up to smooth said hair, which of course wasn't all that messed up, not that it couldn't get pretty impressive some days.

"Jerk," Sam grumbled, shaking his head and crossing his arms in a pubescent pout. Dean was laughing too hard now to manage his trained response of 'bitch'. "Where do we want to grab food?" Sam asked, eager to move on to another subject, "This is the hotel, right?" he said, looking at the building they were passing as Sasha tried to find a way into the parking lot.

The incubus nodded, "Yep. Saw a couple places right around here. That way we don't have to find another parking spot. Just here and then off to the school. Wade said everything's been pretty quiet since we left but I still have this creeped out feeling, like maybe we should bring along the EMF meter just in case."

"Already planned on doing that," Dean huffed, "Should we fast food this to save time? There's a McDonald's."

Sasha shot him a disgusted look and Dean could practically hear Sam groaning in accompaniment. They had basically been living off of fast food, more so than bad diner food, for the past month.

"Okay, sheesh. We got plenty of time. There's a Thai place on the corner there," he pointed as they were quickly disappearing up the parking ramp, "We can walk down. Do we, uh…" Dean felt silly even asking this but he thought that he should, "Do we need to dress up or anything for this? I know it's not high class theatre or anything, but…"

"Just look nice, not dressy," Sasha smiled.

"Meaning maybe dig out a pair of jeans that aren't made up of the last twenty remaining threads," Sam added.

Hardy har. Dean had good jeans, and not just that tight-ass pair from Denver either. He felt silly though taking the time to pick out something to wear, silly about the whole damn thing, but it was also kind of nice to be doing something that was more or less normal. It's not as if he would ever be a regular working stiff who has to drive his daughter to musical practice Saturday mornings or bring her dinner to the school during long dress rehearsals. Not that he had ever thought about that sort of thing of course.

Figuring he looked nice enough in one of his layered looks that had seen at least a little less action than some others, Dean called it good.

He knew he was being abnormally quiet as they sat at a table in the Thai place and waited for their food, but then so were Sam and Sasha. Dean wanted to ease into a relaxing night but their days _and_ nights had been filled with hunting, driving, more hunting, and maybe the occasional bit of half-starved, half-exhausted nookie with his boyfriend. He didn't know how to just _be_ after a month of that.

Sam broke up the quiet finally by bringing up part of what they had said they wouldn't talk about tonight, but damn it if their brains could focus on much else. "Sarah's been helping me with a pet project to try and research who this other player might be that's equal to or maybe even more powerful than Malak. Bobby's helped some too. Not that we've had much free time on our hands granted."

The restaurant was small, dark, and fairly well secluded for each table, but the hunters still kept their voice hushed on instinct whenever discussing things the general populous might consider abnormal. "Find anything so far?" Sasha asked in equally dampened tones.

With a clearly disappointed shrug, Sam admitted, "Not really. Lore on the hierarchy of Hell is pretty massive, and most of the different accounts share little in common except maybe a few names and that most demons are associated with a type of sin. Like Asmodeus or other variations of that name are usually associated with lust. But then we know firsthand that there actually is a demon that embodies lust who may or may not have anything to do with that." Sam sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He needed a haircut. And another nap.

"Just how many different accounts of Hell's hierarchy are there?" Dean was hesitant to ask. He knew of some. Knew there had to be several more than he was thinking though for Sam to look so frazzled.

"There's Michaelis', Guazzo's, Barrett's," Sam started rattling off, "Hell, we could even include Dante's Inferno and get some overlap. Most of the details we know to be fact don't line up with one way of thinking. Vapula. Azazel. Malak. The Crossroad's Demon. All if it has different, unrelated lore."

"But that makes sense," Sasha interjected, "We've had thousands of years to get the lines crossed, the truths confused or mixed up with cultural differences and fiction. Some alterations might only be the fault of someone with an accent having said a name differently."

Sam offered a forlorn nod. "And we don't even know if Malak giving us that name has any real weight or if it was just so we'd hear something familiar and draw natural conclusions. He could be staging pretty much everything just to get us to waste time on dead ends."

"No," Dean had already thought of that, "Some things he does just to drive me crazy but this was real. Real surprise. Real fear even. There's someone else. So either Malak's full of it and actually a couple rungs below the real Big Bad, or there's someone in the hierarchy he doesn't want messing with his plans."

There was a moment of silence as they all thought that over. Finally, Sasha leaned across their little round table and said, "But maybe that doesn't have to mean this other player is more powerful. Go back to Dante's Inferno, and to several other more credible sources. What do they have in common regarding the Devil?"

Dean didn't need Sam to answer that. He had read the whole Divine Comedy once, Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise. More to piss his father off by reading something widely thought of as just fiction in hunter circles, but also because it was a hell of a lot more interesting to read fiction than old texts by real as life monks.

Brow furrowed in confusion as to what Sasha was trying to get at, Sam didn't say anything, which left Dean wide open to fill in that important detail.

"The Devil's imprisoned," he said, "Big-ass dragon in Inferno and half frozen in ice, always trying to get out but just making things worse for himself. Hell's a natural order of things in Dante's tale though, not the Devil as God's adversary leading armies of demons. That wouldn't fit with what we know of demons in real life."

"But there are other accounts that depict the Devil as a prisoner in Hell, just able to still command and send out his demons," Sasha countered, "Michaelis' version says that the Devil is chained in Hell but still commands all. What if Malak _is_ the Devil just not as powerful as he wants us to believe? It wouldn't take a more _powerful_ demon then just a clever one, one that knows the plan and has the means to overthrow it. That could be the real reason Malak sent us after all these demons. Maybe he doesn't even know who his betrayer is. It would stand to reason that he'd have less power here than in Hell."

Hearing those words in that perfect explanation, bells clanged so loud in realization inside Dean's head that he almost thought he was standing on the steps of Notre Dame. He slapped the table with both hands and leaned close enough over the center of the table to feel the others' breaths on his face. "Baby, you're a genius," Dean whispered to Sasha, "That's it. That's gotta be it. Malak said, he told me that Meg had given away part of the game in something she said to me. She said…that _Malak couldn't touch her here_. That's why she wasn't afraid of him. She figured she was safe as long as she never got sent back to Hell."

"Whoa, whoa, hang on," Sam broke in, just as hushed now with all three of their heads huddled in the center of the table, "That doesn't make any sense. If Malak's imprisoned in Hell and just acting as commander, wielding lesser power, then how does he even manifest here on Earth the way he does? He doesn't even use a host; he's a real solid demon. And in case you're forgetting, we've felt his powers on Earth _personally_. Didn't feel all that stunted to me."

Well damn, didn't that just deflate all of Dean's excitement. He frowned. "It's gotta work somehow. Maybe it's me," he thought out loud, "Ya know, coz I'm his property and all, maybe that means he can only manifest in front of me. And…and…"

"And his powers worked on us by association?" Sasha asked with a quirked eyebrow, "That would kinda suck. Too much of an unfriendly loophole if you ask me."

Dean's frown deepened. There had to be an explanation for all that, and whatever it was he felt certain that it all had something to do with him. "Might suck…but might be true anyway. Means our mystery player could be anyone, but it's probably one of the last demons we have to get rid of, hiding in plain sight right where big bad Lucy can't get to it."

A brief pause. Then, "Lucy?" Sam and Sasha asked in unison, immediately looking at each other with mirrored grins.

"Shut up," Dean shot back, "Call it an inside joke. Look, can we just forget about all this for tonight? I mean, I thought that was the plan. One night where I'm not thinking about any of this shit. No hunting. No open road even. Just the boys, ya know?" he grinned, thinking fondly of the times when it was just normal hunts, just Dean, his brother, and his incubus.

"Just the boys," Sam nodded with a twitching smirk, "And a _Little Mermaid_ musical," he snorted. Sasha quickly followed suit, breaking into laughter easily. Dean chose to ignore them while glaring in a way that both promised a beating later and also thanked them for finally getting the point and letting a little of their amassed burden go for the night. Heaven knows they deserved it, even if Dean doubted he could let that burden go even for a moment.

-----

They didn't see any sign of Leven when they got to the high school. No surprise there since the kid was probably in stage makeup and costume, waiting for curtain.

Wade met them at the ticket table, sideways smirk and hip cocked. Dean had forgotten how curvy the short woman was below the waist, which she didn't mind displaying in a tight pencil skirt. She also wore a bright yellow sweater and a colorful scarf. Her dark hair that had been sporting a shock of purple now had that same shock colored hot pink.

She asked briefly about Cam but didn't linger, pleased that they had been able to make it since Leven hadn't been able to stop talking about the possibility each night that they might be in the audience. She had made it quite plain too that had they not made it for this last performance she would have had to track them down and kill them herself, as it would have broken the poor kid's heart.

Their seats weren't front row, but center and far enough back to have a good view of the whole stage. It meant that the stage lights would put them in pitch black from the perspective of the actors. That was probably a good thing as Dean could almost imagine Leven breaking character if he spotted them.

Since Dean had never been to live theatre, except maybe some kiddy puppet show thing with his mother that he vaguely remembered, he was striving to be on his best behavior. He didn't want to be whispering over at Sam and Sasha the whole time asking what the hell was going on, so he had actually been listening to Sasha give a quick summary of the show, "Once on this Island", before it started. When the curtain finally went up, Dean had only gotten to the point in the story about the heroine having saved the main guy, Daniel's life—played by Leven—much as the Little Mermaid saved her Prince from drowning.

This couldn't be too bad, Dean figured, and initially he was actually quite blown away by the chorus, who packed quite a punch for high schoolers. Dean tried not to giggle though as he imagined the Disney Cartoon at certain overlapping storyline points, but this was very different at the core. He was proud to spot Leven for the first time, who really did seem so comfortable and natural on stage, his hair no longer turquoise but a natural brown.

Dean could admit that he was enjoying himself to some extent until about the time the character of Death, called Papa Ge, was coming for Daniel, and the heroine offered up her own life instead. Only then did Dean start to remember the real tale of _The Little Mermaid_. Hans Christian Anderson hadn't been nearly as kind as Walt Disney.

It was a tale about how the power of love can make us give up great things, even ourselves, our _souls_, to save the ones we care for most. It was about someone who loved too dearly, gave up too much even though they would never consider it to be too much, but then wasn't even saved in the end but had to die anyway. Not a happy ending. It didn't matter to Dean that the Storytellers, the chorus, tried to say how beautiful a sacrifice it was. Dean saw something very different, something very _personal_ as the last of the play's words were sung.

_Life is why  
We tell the story  
Pain is why  
We tell the story  
Love is why  
We tell the story  
Grief is why  
We tell the story  
Hope is why  
We tell the story  
Faith is why  
We tell the story  
_You_ are why  
We tell the story  
Why we tell the story  
Why we tell the story  
Why we tell the story_

_So I hope that you will tell this tale tomorrow  
It will help your heart remember and relive  
It will help you feel the anger and the sorrow  
And forgive_

_For all the ones we leave  
And we believe  
Our lives become  
The stories that we weave_

"Dean…?" Sam whispered from beside him, loud enough that Sasha also turned to regard him silently from Dean's other side.

It was a fucking high school musical. Well done for kids. Silly at times and even a little moving. But just a damn musical. It should not have been enough to make Dean's eyes feel damp, stinging more so as he saw _Leven_ playing the part of someone who mourned and was left behind, but who moved on.

Would Sam and Sasha and the others…just move on? It was about as selfish a thought as Dean had ever allowed.

"Damn," he managed to smile as the audience erupted with applause around them, "Kid was pretty convincing with the love story part. Almost had me going." He began clapping immediately, stood before most of the overly proud parents stood to give the kids their deserved standing ovation, as really all high school musicals should end. He kept clapping through the curtain call, one by one, whooping when Leven was standing alone for a moment on the edge of the stage, before finally allowing his rather raw hands to drop.

Even though Sam and Sasha were standing too, having clapped as they should, Dean knew they were watching him, debating whether or not to push for more than he had said. Dean ignored them, focused on the show and how easy it would be to praise Leven for a job well done. The kid didn't get to show off his voice nearly as much as Dean would have liked, but he deserved quite a few props for being able to play straight and in love with his costar so believably.

Dean didn't recognize that girl, but he had seen Tina and Jennifer among the actors—Tina as the Mother of the Earth and Jennifer as the Goddess of Love. If Tina still bore scars on her neck from the holy water, or any metaphysical ones, it sure didn't seem like it. Dean knew from experience that teenagers were some of the most resilient of all human beings. They sort of had to be.

-----

Finding Leven out in the hallways amongst the throng of parents, friends, and other well-wishers for the cast was difficult to say the least. There were also memorial tributes all around for the students and faculty that had died from the shadow demon's actions, though only Leven, Tina, and Jennifer among the civilians involved knew it had been more than accidents or the fault of some crazy vagabond chased away by PIs. Well, only those kids and Leven's sister Wade.

Wade dove at Leven first, even though she had been at all of his performances prior. He returned her embrace in that 'yeah, I love you, but you're my sister and you're embarrassing me' kind of way before suddenly spotting the rest of them over her shoulder.

"Oh my god, you came!" the kid exclaimed, looking hardly like himself with combed brown hair and heavy stage makeup marring his otherwise handsome face. He lunged unabashed into Dean's arms, hugging the hunter with great gusto. "I knew you'd keep your promise, I knew it! Was it awesome? Did I suck? Choreography from Hell, right? I know it's like a totally lame story with the sappy but non-Disney ending and probably bored you to tears." Leven was talking 100 miles a minute, way faster than Dean's ears could keep up.

"Breath between syllables, will ya?" the hunter chuckled, returning the hug but swiftly pushing on Leven's chest to break free from it a moment later. He pat Leven's arms good and firm and smiled at the beaming expression looking back at him. The kid had a little more hero worship going than Dean was used to or ever felt he deserved. "Awesome all the way. You. The show. No falling asleep on Sammy's arm for me, promise. Wished I coulda heard those pipes a little more but you had me good, lemme tell ya. Actually believed you had a thing for that chick for a second there, jailbait. If that's not good acting then I don't know what is," he smirked.

Leven had looked fairly jubilant before they sought him out in the crowd, but now he was positively glowing. "Can't call me jailbait anymore," he smirked back, "Had my birthday, remember? _Fully_ legal." Both of Leven's eyebrows waggled suggestively as he said that.

Then before Dean could shake his head or remind Leven that he still wasn't allowed to hit on him, the kid had turned to tackle Sasha and Sam just as jubilantly too. Leven didn't at all hesitate to hug the man he now knew to be an incubus or the one who had more or less killed him, even if it had been only for about thirty seconds.

Much as Leven tried to keep jabbering away as the crowd shuffled around them, they soon got pushed out of direct contact to make way for other patrons telling the actors what a wonderful job they had done. Only after a good half hour of chaos did things start to calm down enough for Leven to make an escape.

He dashed past them back towards the auditorium, promising to be back soon so they could go out—there being no cast party the last night since they pretty much had one after every one of the other shows and would all be expected to attend strike the next day.

Before Leven returned, Dean took note of Tina and Jennifer again who seemed to have bonded over their ordeal but still only nodded and smiled warily at the hunters rather than approach.

Ten minutes later Leven was back, sans makeup, with his hair gelled properly and his clothing back to the kid's skinny jeans, graphic T and bomber jacket. Of course he wasn't a kid anymore, he was eighteen, but Dean would still consider Leven a kid indefinitely. Just like Sammy.

Wade had her own car but Leven insisted on riding in the Impala to the restaurant. They had already planned to hit a place for an hour or so that was open late. "This car is the shit. Way too sexy," Leven was saying, sitting in the back with Sam to his slight chagrin while Sasha continued to drive.

Dean always took great pride in his baby and loved to hear her virtues extolled. Calling the Impala 'sexy' was just damn deserving. "My pride and joy," he said, "You still got that T-bird? Still a good car on its own terms, ya know."

"Yeah, Winkie's still kicking for now," Leven said, reminding Dean that the T-bird had one pop-up headlight that no longer popped up, "Wade dropped me off tonight though."

"And things have been…quiet, right?" Sam asked, "Nothing out of the ordinary?"

A wave of sadness and remaining regret passed over Leven's face. He forced a smile, nodded. "Right as rain. Well, as right as it can be missing a few good friends and all. You guys saved it from being a lot more though. Me and Tina and Jenn, we won't ever forget that. And I've kept my word. No messing with shit I shouldn't be messing with. Wade's pretty much been watching me like a hawk anyway."

"Those bullies bother you anymore?" Sam pressed, subduing a slight smirk since he already knew the answer.

"Hell no," Leven laughed, "Andy Russell? Mr. Dick-In-Charge of the bullying amigos? Even picked up my books for me once when I tripped in the hallway. I just about _died_."

As it should be. Dean couldn't understand why teenagers—Hell, people in general—had to be so frickin' awful to each other when awful happened well enough on its own. "So," he asked with a smirk of his own, "Any boyfriends to speak of yet or still slim pickings?"

Both Sasha and Sam laughed at that question. Leven just groaned and rolled his eyes. "You wish. I wish too. But this isn't some teeney-bopper flick with a happy ending before graduation. Course if you happen to know any younger generation incubi hoping to hook up…" he leaned between the seats and grinned at Sasha.

That pretty much had the incubus in stitches. "Not so much in the loop with the younger crowd, Leven. Sorry. But if I run into any around your age, I'll be sure and toss them your number, okay?" Of course Sasha's tone of voice said that he was only kidding, but Leven still grinned wide and sat back looking pleased.

It was a Saturday night so the bar was fairly crowded when they arrived at close to eleven, but they were able to get a table in the restaurant section, no problem. Leven squeezed in close to Dean, then Wade, leaving Sam and Sasha to the other side. Dean usually hated being boxed in but he liked the kid, creeped out as Leven could make him sometimes, so he was willing to leave things be.

They ordered nachos to munch on and drinks all around—Coke for Leven, and not with Malibu like his sister.

"So what gallant adventures have the handsome young hunters been up to?" Wade cocked an eyebrow around the table, "Any damsels in distress? Or sticking to being the patron saints of high schools?" The young woman's sarcasm had certainly not dulled at all since they last saw her.

"We're keeping busy," Sam supplied. They had already decided to keep their actual activities secret. No one else needed to know about their crusade to save Dean. "Actually, no damsels in distress, but we have been working with some female friends on a few cases lately."

"Chick hunters?" Leven spoke up, "Equal opportunity kill ratio. Awesome. How does someone get into that kinda profession anyway? I'm thinking I might have a little trouble taking classes for paranormal archaeology at the U."

Dean didn't like hearing Leven say that, offhanded or not. "You better not be thinking _anything_ about trying to join this profession," he turned to Leven sternly, "Even if you weren't too young I'd still hand you a big 'Hell No'. This is real life and death stuff, you know from experience. Not something to take lightly or explore your options with for a semester."

"Relax," Leven said with a dramatic roll of his head, "Can you imagine what an awful hunter I'd make? I'm pretty sure swift feet and a few acrobatics wouldn't keep me alive for long. _So_ not hunter material. I'm staying in the city after graduation. Gonna try my hand at a local acting school. This isn't New York, I know, but someone's gotta keep an eye on old S.W. once in a while," he leaned into his sister, who although older was significantly smaller than him, "But I am so getting my own apartment."

Wade huffed, leaning back into Leven to push him back towards Dean. "And you'll be paying for this imaginary apartment how?" she said, "Maybe second year, _if_ you get your loans settled on your own, get a job, and pay your own rent."

Just as dramatic again, Leven rolled his eyes and looked to the hunters for sympathy. "You see what I put up with, right? Really, I would totally love to stow myself away in that crazy large trunk of yours if it weren't for the great target practice I'd make for your baddies. No worries on me trying to run off with you," he winked at Dean, "But ya know, maybe a call or drop by like tonight would be nice once in a while."

Of course Dean wanted to say, sure, no problem, kid, whenever we're heading through Pittsburgh. What he didn't want to say but couldn't help thinking was the part where he wasn't exactly sure if he would be able to do any of that after he was burning in Hell a couple weeks from now.

If that happened. Which it wouldn't. Because it wasn't _going_ to happen.

God damn it, it wasn't.

"Hey," Dean forced a smile that he knew would never swindle Sam or Sasha, but that he hoped would work on Leven, "Every chance we get. Promise." At least that wasn't really a lie. "So, we're running a little dry, huh?" he quickly moved on, passing his eyes over their mostly empty glasses, "How about I hit the bar for some refills. Waitress takes too long. Same thing for everyone?" Dean managed to sneak away after Leven and Wade let him out of the booth, and when he looked back as he headed for the bar he could see how they all fell right into further conversation easily. Dean had a sneaky suspicion by the way Sasha burst out laughing that Leven had asked something more about young incubi on the prowl.

Truth was Dean was even antsier tonight than he had been for the past few weeks. Maybe it was the show, cutting a little too close to home. Maybe it was Leven, oblivious to his 'hero' being damned in more ways than one. Maybe it was just that every day brought Dean closer to the end and being close just made the anxiety worse all around. It didn't help that Malak hadn't appeared to Dean since Seattle. It just made him more nervous. He never thought he would actually miss those random encounters, but he sure as hell wasn't about to summon Malak for a quick chat.

The bar had thinned out a bit so Dean got their orders in right away. He was debating whether to try and juggle the drinks back himself or just tell the bartender to have a waitress bring them over when Wade sauntered up beside him and claimed a stool.

"Had to hit the ladies room," she said, clearly having no actual intention of completing that trek.

"Why do I get the feeling you mean that as a euphemism for 'I need to talk to you'? And you do realize how creepy that sounds, right?"

Wade didn't reply but suddenly pulled out her tarot deck from inside her ample-sized yellow leather purse and slammed it onto the bar top. "Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? Coz, honey, I know it's not anything like business as usual, whatever the Hell that is for hunters."

Crap. Sometimes Dean really hated the supernaturally inclined. "You mean besides the fact that I'm sleeping with an incubus and my brother has superpowers? Because I can tell ya, lady, that is not business as usual for any hunters I know." The bar was empty on the side they were waiting, the bartender busy mixing up all of their drinks, so they could talk freely, not that Dean wanted to.

"_Honey_," Wade said just as condescendingly, "You think I only read these things for paying clients? I thought it was the least I could do just to keep an eye on you boys. And lemme tell _you_ something, Mr. Winchester. Half the time I don't know what the Hell the cards I read for you guys are trying to tell me, and that does not happen. The one reading that did make at least a little sense was recent. And about _you _specifically."

Right there on the bar Wade shuffled her deck, cut it once, and then laid out three cards just as she had that time when showing them her reading of Leven. No one else around the bar paid much mind, but Dean couldn't help leaning in. Wade used a full 78 card deck but like with Leven the three cards that came up were all part of the 22 Major Arcana. Dean didn't have to know the meaning behind each card to know that that meant the reading was powerful.

"The Star, The Hanged Man," Wade went down the line, flicking her eyes to him as she named the last, "And The Devil. Now, normally, that wouldn't mean much on its own. Even the reading, if it were someone else might mean something different. But with you? _Shit_. The Star here is for loss. The Hanged Man? Sacrifice. And The Devil…" she trailed.

Dean was pretty sure his knuckles were turning white as he gripped the edge of the bar.

Wade just shook her head, scooped up her cards and in moments had replaced the deck in her purse. "Normally, a three card reading is for the Past, the Present, and the Future. In all my years reading I think this was the first time…I ever thought that last card meant something literal. Dean," she said.

"Don't tell Leven."

"_Dean_," she said more firmly, "I know I don't know you. I don't know your brother. I don't know Sasha. Hell, I obviously didn't know Cam as well as I thought since a certain detail escaped conversation for so long. I have no reason to trust any of you except that you saved my brother's life. But even so, I can't just ignore a reading that signals…predestination with evil."

That certainly made Dean's future sound more daunting. Maybe that was just the Winchesters in general, trapped in a fate that followed them wherever they went. "You said that _normally_ these readings are past, present, future," Dean said, staring down at the bar and then looking sideways at Wade and her dark eyes, "So…it wouldn't have to be that. It doesn't have to be a predestined anything."

Wade gave a crooked grin. "The future is not set," she said loftily, "Kyle Reese. Terminator. 1984. Yeah, that has some real truth to it. Nothing is set in stone. We make our own choices. But we also have to live with them."

"Maybe. But if your reading's right…then I won't have to _live_ with mine."

Dean knew that the final card was literal. Whether that indicated Hell or just that he would never be rid of Malak even if he did complete his side of the deal, it didn't really matter. Neither was a pleasant option.

Concerned as she was, Wade let the matter drop, but it was obvious she only did so for Leven's sake, not Dean's.

They chatted and drank and had a good time until the restaurant's kitchen was closed and the patrons had mostly thinned out. When it was time to go, Dean found himself wandering outside before the others with Leven right on his heels.

"It was really cool, ya know…that you came," the kid said softly, leaning carefully back against the front of the Impala. Dean did the same. It was only a little chilly, being Spring now. The time for new life, new chances. For some anyway.

"I'm sure it shot a few new holes in my masculinity," Dean chuckled, "Going to a high school musical. But you were pretty impressive for kids. Pretty impressive all around. Things are really going okay for you and those girls?" Dean couldn't help the concerned older brother tone; he was too good at it.

There was something of a flush to Leven's cheeks. He nodded. "I know…what I did was stupid. I was just…impatient…for a lot of things, and angry, and…and none of it's any excuse. People _died_ coz a me. You don't forget something like that or really ever…get over it, I guess."

Yeah. Dean knew the feeling.

"But I'm good. I am. Jenn and Tina too, we're good. I wanted to…thank you again actually. For everything," Leven went on, eyes on the ground where he was kicking at the cement of the parking lot, "I know it wasn't just you. If it hadn't been for everyone, even Wade and, shit, a succubus and a bunch of incubi, I'd be…toast. Dead or worse. But I wanted to thank _you_ because…" his eyes flicked up at Dean, big and brown and damp, "I think you kinda get it. More than the others. Being normal but somehow…still being a freak in a normal world. Having to make up for stupid shit and get over things you never should have had to live through in the first place. Being…afraid when you shouldn't have to be…but there's reason anyway. I don't know if any of that makes sense, but…it makes me feel better, knowing there's some good out there to go with all the awful."

Dean thought of exchanges he and Leven had had in the past and had to smile as he said, "You still think I'm one of the good ones, huh?"

"Don't have to think. I know," Leven grinned, looking all coy and expectant.

"You even think of trying to swipe a kiss or something, I _will_ smack you upside the head," Dean promised.

Leven laughed and nudged Dean with his shoulder. "Damn. Caught me." The others came out of the restaurant then, mid-conversation, and Leven pushed away from the Impala. Instead of wrapping Dean in a goodbye embrace, he held out his hand, "Thanks, Dean. Really," he said as they shook.

Now, Dean Winchester was no hero. He used to think that he would hate for someone to think of him as one. But he also couldn't bear the thought of Leven knowing that he actually liked that his job was usually thankless. There were no pedestals to live up to or live down if no one cared about the things you did, good or otherwise.

As they parted, Dean caught a solemn nod from Wade but he turned away. It was like an infection being so close to the end. He just wanted it over so he would know for certain where he would be come May. Oh, he would have the first day, but on May 2nd, right at midnight he imagined, it would be over one way or another.

Dean assumed that Sam or Sasha or both would get on his case once they returned to the hotel since his merriment and relaxation all night had mostly been forced, but neither of them said anything. Sam disappeared for a late shower; Dean and Sasha stripped to their shorts and climbed into bed. It was one of the few things that still comforted Dean without fail.

Holding Sasha.

It must be all that soft skin, and warmth, and the way they fit together so perfectly because that was the way they wanted it, because they had chosen to be together. You can't choose who you love, but you can choose whether or not to see it, whether or not to believe in it and allow it. Dean chose to leave behind so many preconceived notions about who he was and who he believed he should be so that he could try his hand at a little uninterrupted happiness with someone who honestly loves him. What he kept pushing to the back of his mind though was that before he even met Sasha he had already made another choice that would force him to one day leave.

Sasha turned in Dean's arms, sensing his turbulent emotions, no doubt. The lights were still on and Sasha's eyes shimmered. Facing each other they were too close to see anything but that—each other's eyes. Sasha stared into Dean's, looking all kinds of sorrowful before suddenly digging his face into Dean's neck and clinging.

Dean felt wetness on his skin from Sasha's eyes, painted onto him with lashes. Then Sasha was kissing his neck, clutching his arms, seeking physical connection where Dean was refusing to be open and honest with words.

It wasn't like Dean to be disheartened, and frightened, and panicked. He felt those emotions just like anyone else, but damn it he was better at hiding it than this. Or maybe Sam and Sasha had just gotten too good at reading him.

Dean strained his neck forward, giving his incubus better access and himself a better angle to return the gesture. He didn't want to be silent. He pressed a kiss to the groove of Sasha's jaw just below his left ear, slipped his hands around Sasha's waist and held tight. Touching, kissing, gripping each other, it was almost like being synched with Sam only speaking through pure emotion. Dean allowed himself to feel all of his irrational doubts and knew with each bit of skin on skin contact that Sasha could hear everything.

He tried to say how sorry he was for being like this. He knew he couldn't give up yet; there was still time. He didn't even dream horrible things anymore—Malak had given up on that—but he saw it all when he was awake, making it so much worse. Dean saw it. Felt it in his bones, god damn it.

Strong incubus arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him and willing those thoughts away. Sasha pulled his head up so he could capture Dean's lips and kiss him properly, tongue massaging deeply but not with any claim, just with love, devotion. It wasn't a normal kind of passion at all, not even when Dean's hands slipped from Sasha's lower back down beneath his boxers.

It was communication.

How much more might they communicate like this if Dean were an incubus also? He wanted to find out. He wanted Sasha to show him. He wanted to feel it as close as they could come without going too far.

They kissed hungrily, hands moving, touching, gripping and clawing. Dean felt Sasha's fingertips trail up his side and ghost over his ribs, making him jerk at the slight tickle. _Anything. Everything. Anything for you_. It was like words drawn on Dean's skin.

He responded, a hand up at the back of Sasha's neck, the other sliding forward around Sasha's hip. _Can't leave. Can't leave. Never want to leave you_. He kissed the side of Sasha's mouth and then took it full again, cloying for his lover's tongue.

_Dean_, Sasha said without saying anything, just hands running down Dean's thighs. Dean heard more words, so many words, filled with faith, hope, and determination that he countered with fear and doubt and worthlessness. He could never say it all out loud—he needed to be strong, needed to be strong for them—but he couldn't hide it forever either.

It was raw and open, almost painfully bare just touching like that, their bodies tight against each other, their kisses fierce with that strange new passion that _spoke_.

"Don't mind me or anything," came Sam's voice suddenly, sounding somewhere between annoyed and amused.

The interruption, Sasha and Dean having been so completely lost in each other, was like a shot ringing out unexpected against dead silence. Dean felt his heart skip and stutter, felt Sasha jolt against him and clutch tighter. They needed time to come down from this, to find themselves again, but they weren't going to get it. It didn't bother Dean too much though because their hurried and clumsy 'conversation' had soothed something deep inside of him.

He could smile, laugh, look up at Sam smugly and cock an eyebrow.

"You're just jealous your hot ticket's in another state," he teased, as if Sam had stumbled upon something merely sexual.

This of course afforded Dean a swift glare from his brother but any further awkwardness was avoided. Sam crawled into bed, Sasha and Dean untangled, and the incubus smiled so serenely at Dean that however brief a peace was filling his chest, it flared brightly.

Dean slept better than he had in days until about four in the morning when nature's call roused him. He slipped out of bed without disturbing his companions to hit the bathroom. He felt oddly refreshed, tired as he still was, and enjoyed knowing that he could still sleep for a couple more hours.

Washing his hands with warm water, Dean splashed a little on his face. Cold water woke him and brought him to alertness, but warm water relaxed him and helped him feel that heavy call for sleep again to better return to dreamland faster.

He hadn't bothered to turn on the light in the bathroom, hadn't even closed the door, but it was instinct to look up at himself in the mirror even in the dark. Warm and content as he was, the sight staring back at him filled Dean's veins with ice.

Red on black. In his own damn reflection.

Dean shot upright, still staring at his eyes in the mirror, but they were green again. Red on black still shimmered though in the eyes those colors belonged to, on the form of a male Malak standing behind Dean reflected in the glass. Watching him. Smiling. Saying without words that Dean didn't get to feel comfort even for a few short hours.

A sudden scream split the night into two clean halves. Dean whipped around towards the door. There was no sign of Malak but it didn't matter. That was Sam. _Sam_. And he was still screaming.

Back inside the main room within seconds, Dean saw Sam thrashing on the bed in what looked like the fits of a nightmare. Sasha was already awake and on his knees beside Sam, trying to wake him. As soon as Dean joined the incubus and grabbed onto Sam's arms, mottled yellow eyes sprang open. They flickered and faded back to hazel quickly, but Dean knew what their presence had to mean.

"What did you see?" Dean asked, "Was it about the hunt? Sam, what happened?"

Sam only nodded, struggling to sit up as he looked frantically at both of them and clung to their forearms. "The whole…the whole school," he choked out, "They're…they're gonna kill everyone. We have to find them."

"Okay. It's okay," Sasha said soothingly, gripping Sam's shoulder and neck supportively, "We'll find them, Sam. We'll find the demons."

But Sam shook his head. "Not the demons," he said, looking in turn to Sasha and then to Dean, "We have to find their sisters."

tbc...

A/N: I believe there will be three more parts, which means I have to post twice next week, or at least more rapidly to get them all up before Supernatural returns. I promise to be diligent.

I don't know, Diana, if I can squeeze in Wally before then but soon, I promise. Thank you to the anonymous person who posted a very interesting incubus idea on the website. I may have to use that... Also, thank you to all those who review and comment and coax me but who are not signed in and therefore cannot be thanked by PM. :-) Still with me?

Crim


	68. Part 5: Sisters

Part 5: Sisters

-----

Sasha had gone to the school Sam saw in his vision—Prior Lake High School, 20 miles southwest of downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota—to scout for potential demon activity with Jo and Sarah. Bobby and Ellen were on research duty, trying to figure out anything capable of disrupting Sam's powers that if pinpointed could be fixed. After all, so far the group had faced a demon that used hex bags to hide itself, demons that used the bodies of shapeshifters, and even demons whose presences were hidden because of proximity to a pre-devil's gate—the cave. If there was some other way a demon could slip under Sam's radar then there had to be a good reason.

While the others did their jobs, Sam and Dean had put on their rented suits and were playing the part of detectives from Scott County. Being local police might be too difficult to pull off in a smaller town after all.

Sam had led them to a house in Prior Lake without trouble or hesitation. They used Ellen's jeep as it was at least a little more believable as a police vehicle than the Impala. "We're sorry to bother you, sir. Scott County Sheriff's Office," Sam said as they flashed their fake badges to the man who answered the door, "Would it be possible to speak to a Meagan Daniels, if she's available? I assure you, she's not in any trouble, we just need to ask her a few questions."

The man at the door frowned a little, clearly not liking that he didn't know what was going on. He was mid-20s, shaved head, thin but muscular frame with angular features. He looked like the type who wouldn't mind getting into a fist-fight until he opened his mouth and spoke to them rather politely. "I'm sure that's okay. She's home now, if you guys wanna come inside. Still kinda chilly these days. Meg!" he called up the stairs behind him as he opened the door wider to let Sam and Dean in.

It was a split level home, simple but more than enough for a young couple. The unexpected part was the excitable German Shepherd who suddenly bounded down the steps leading up to the main level and barreled into Dean's legs.

"Abbott!" the man called, grabbing the dog's collar and yanking him back towards the stairs, "Sorry, about that," he said, struggling to actually get the dog to move up even a single step and out of Dean's personal space, "He likes to make friends with everyone. Come on, Abbott, wait for them to get up the stairs, huh?" he yanked again but the dog, Abbott, was licking Dean's outstretched hand.

"Aw, that's okay," Dean said, having a soft spot for most domestic animals since he never got to experience having his own pet, "He's a good boy, aren't ya," he scratched the dog behind the ears who seemed rather starved for affection though that appeared to be more personality than neglect, "Abbott, huh? Where's Costello?"

"Don't think that's the first time we've heard that one," came a female voice from upstairs.

The man was able to pull Abbott the rest of the way to the main level as Sam and Dean followed. Looking ahead Dean caught sight of the woman who had spoken standing in the kitchen. She immediately made him think of Sasha's succubus friend Charis, having copper red hair just passed her shoulders and a trim, graceful figure. He wouldn't be surprised if she had the blue-grey eyes and freckles too once he got closer. But she wore glasses and had a much younger look that Dean was pretty sure had to be deceptive of her actual age.

An elbow in the side from Sam told Dean that this was indeed one of the girls they were looking for. "Meagan Daniels?" Sam asked.

The young woman came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small towel from the dishes. "Yes, that's me. Is something wrong?" She looked concerned now that she could see their suits and badges. "What is this about? I'd worry about family but I'm the only one down here in the Cities."

All Sam had seen in his vision and been able to tell Dean and Sasha—and eventually the others—was that two demons from the Devil's Gate wanted something from their still living, breathing sisters, and that a school shooting would be involved if they couldn't foil these demons' plans. How that all connected was still unknown but the demons' sisters were definitely the best starting point.

Therefore, it surprised Dean to find this woman to be so young as he expected the sister of someone who had been dead long enough to become a demon to be much older. It couldn't happen that quickly, could it, for someone's soul to go from damned to just…evil?

"We're not here about anything new, Miss Daniels," Dean said, "At least not a new case. We'd actually like to ask you a few questions about the death of your brother, Matthew."

Meagan's eyes that were indeed a blue-grey went wide with hurt and surprise. "I…don't understand. Matt died almost five years ago. It was a snowmobile accident. Driver negligence. Has there been some kind of new evidence? I don't understand what that could be even if there was."

Snowmobile accident? Sam hadn't seen that. He only knew that two young men had been killed, their sisters still lived, and something awful was going to happen if they didn't prevent it. They also hadn't known exactly how long it had been since those demons first died and went to Hell.

Dean didn't like that the boys had obviously been so young.

"Yes, ma'am, we realize that," Sam said, going along with what they had learned, "I'm afraid I can't divulge all of our reasoning for being here. The details of a case can often be confidential if still ongoing or reopened."

"Believe us though that your answering of just a few simple questions about the accident might help more than you know," Dean supplied. He could tell that this was a soft-spoken woman, polite and easily driven to concern. It was easy to convince her that talking to them would only be helpful.

She turned to the man Dean assumed was her husband and said, "Dan, could you take Abbott for a walk? I think it's about time for him to go out," trying to nicely say 'please leave us alone'.

Dan didn't argue. "Sure. Come on, Abbott," he grabbed the dog's leash off the banister of the stairs and began leading the dog easily at the prospect of 'going out'.

Again Dean got the feeling that this man would sooner put up a fight than ever back down, but he listened to the strained request without arguing.

Only Dean seemed to notice how Abbott shied and whimpered as he was made to walk passed Sam and get to the stairs again. Before he had only been near Dean. It was probably just Dean's imagination or because the dog was friendly in the submissive/just want to be loved way and Sam was such a frickin' giant. At least, Dean preferred that train of thought to the alternative.

"Can I offer you anything to drink?" Meagan asked.

They were sitting at her kitchen table and soon had a Vanilla Coke each as Meagan's fridge was largely stocked with 'pop' and she wasn't a coffee drinker.

"Well, I can tell you what I know, but I wasn't there," she began after Sam had asked her again about the accident, "It was almost five years ago, like I said, October, not a lot of snow on the ground yet for snowmobiling. Our family always goes out, but Matt was the most eager every year. He and Ben would go out early all the time, usually over frozen grass more than snow," she smirked.

"That's, umm…Ben Pasche, is that right?" Sam asked.

Meagan nodded. "They were best friends. Same class, just like me and Mim. Miriam. It was our senior year and their sophomore so…they were only sixteen. Our family got together a lot back then before Mim's moved out to North Dakota. Anyway, Ben and Matt went out that Saturday, and…a few hours later we got the call. They were racing, doing jumps, I guess, over the ditches. I don't know why, or what they were thinking, they probably weren't, but…at one point they were going towards each other, hit a jump at the same time and…" Meagan's brows furrowed and Dean saw her throat move slowly as she swallowed, "They said that…their skis went…went right through each other. They _impaled_ each other," she shuddered, "Same thing happened up in Thief River Falls a few years before, two groups coming from different directions, going too fast. Awful." She took a drink of her own Coke and her silvery eyes remained cast down on the tabletop. Dean could see the presence of real tears shimmering too. Whatever connected these sisters—or at least this sister—had to their demon brothers, it wasn't animosity from the girls' side.

"Miss Daniels, about Miriam Pasche," Sam went on slowly, puppy eyes in full swing as he looked on sympathetically at Meagan so that she would know that he, of course, felt her pain, "You said her family lives in North Dakota now, is that correct?"

"Yes, Williston," Meagan replied.

Dean remembered having gone through Williston, North Dakota, not all that long ago, not that it was all that memorable of a town. What happened there was though. That was where they were staying the night, well the _morning_ that Dean and Sasha first agreed to try and give a relationship a go.

_Slowly_. That hadn't lasted long.

"But Miriam lives in Minnesota still?" Sam questioned.

Meagan nodded.

"When was the last time you saw Miss Pasche?" Dean broke in. Sam didn't have quite as clear an idea where Miriam was since part of his vision had been of the house they were in now but not at all of wherever the other girl lived.

With a crinkled brow, Meagan looked a little amused by that question. "Two days ago maybe," she smiled, "We see each other at least once a week. And it's Miriam Wiedenhoeft now, if you need me to spell that for you," she chuckled, pronouncing the last name 'Wee-Den-Heft', "She and her husband live in Savage, not ten minutes away from us. We get together most weekends. If anything we probably became closer after the accident. Did you want to ask her some questions too?"

The relief on Sam's face was obvious at hearing that the other girl wasn't all that far away. The less ground they had to cover and keep an eye on the better. "Yes. It could be important. Do you have her current address handy?"

"Of course," Meagan rose from the table and began paging through an address book on the kitchen counter, "I'll copy it down for you."

If only everyone they dealt with on hunts was this helpful. "Thanks, we appreciate you saving us the extra time," Dean said, "We only have a few more questions. Prior to the accident, was…uhh…was your brother or Miriam's brother acting…strange at all. Anything…out of the ordinary."

Meagan paused in her writing and looked up with that same crinkled brow. Her confusion made her look even younger, like a teenager still, though they knew she was twenty-four. "Why? It was an accident," she said shortly.

"Yes, we know," Sam interjected quickly; the last thing they needed was for this woman to suddenly distrust them, "But our actual investigation may surround something that took place before the accident. I apologize that that's also not for public knowledge right now but if you could just answer the question, again, it would be really helpful to our investigation."

To their surprise, Meagan slammed the pen she had been using onto the countertop. "Are we talking about a crime? Some petty thing that might have happened five years ago by minors who are now _dead_, I'll remind you, and do not need anyone rousing up their ghosts. I swear, if this is another theory about the possibility of one of them having plotted against the other, you can get out of my house right now."

Not exactly the reaction they had been expecting from Miss Sweet and Eager to Help. But Dean was busy focusing on what she had said about plotting. "_Another_ theory? Has that been brought up before?" he asked without really thinking, "People thought maybe one of them was trying to kill the other, that's why they were coming at each other instead of side by side, but then it just…what? Went bad for both of them?"

"Look," Meagan responded sharply, her earlier soft silvery eyes turned icy, "I love my brother. He may not have always made the right choices, but he was a good kid. Ben was his best friend. The last thing either of them would have wanted was for that accident to have happened on purpose. They were sixteen," she stressed, as if that hadn't cut a knife through Dean's heart the first time. Then she took a breath and seemed to calm, collecting herself a hell of a lot faster than Dean ever did. "I'm sorry. I know you're just doing your job, and I hope whatever you're looking for, you find. But my brother died in an accident. You might want to choose your words a little more carefully around Mim. She tends to overreact." Meagan tore out the piece of paper and held out Miriam's address.

The brothers were standing again by now. Sam nodded and accepted the paper. "Thank you. I wish we could tell you more, but for now it's…difficult. If we could keep in touch with you…" he trailed hopefully. It was certain that they would need to cross paths with this woman again.

"Sure. I put both mine and Mim's cell numbers on the bottom there," she said, "If I don't answer it means I'm at work or in class. If it's an emergency, I'm usually at the school. Argosy. I'm training to be a Vet Tech," she smiled weakly, obviously still uncomfortable with what they had been discussing but not wanting to come across as meaning to direct any of her anger onto them.

Sam flashed his best 'you can trust me' smile, they both shook Meagan's hand, and they were soon back in Ellen's jeep on their way to the neighboring town of Savage.

They had left before Dan and Abbott returned from their walk. Dean was sort of thankful for that as he didn't want to think about Sam making animals cower. Wally was a travel companion as well, after all, as Ellen hadn't wanted to leave her alone for months on end even if she was fairly capable of taking care of herself. The little chimera had a longstanding order to stay in cat-form until they returned to the Roadhouse and was usually hidden away in whatever hotel they were staying at. At least she was still treating Sam like Sam.

It was getting late. They had arrived late in Minnesota anyway and now it was close to eight o'clock. At least that meant Miriam and her husband were more likely to be home.

"This just feels wrong to me, ya know?" Dean was saying, driving since it was a pretty easy shot from one small town to the one right next door, "Sixteen-year-olds when they died and they went to Hell? Became demons? It's only been five years for them. Most of the demons we're dealing with have been dead and buried for a couple hundred at least."

"Maybe they were lucky," Sam shrugged.

Dean gaped at him.

"I mean lucky they were near the devil's gate and able to escape along with so many older, more experienced demons, not lucky to end up in Hell," Sam explained with that 'can't you read my mind and _know_ what I mean' expression, to which Dean always wanted to respond that no, he couldn't read Sam's mind even if it was so unfairly the other way around.

"That doesn't answer my question," Dean practically growled, gripping the wheel tightly as he drove and barely keeping his eyes on the road signs to help them to Miriam's apartment, "Sixteen-year-olds in Hell. How? Why?"

Sam was silent for a moment, absently gnawing his bottom lip. "I know it sucks to think this way, Dean, but maybe that 'theory' Meagan didn't want to hear is the truth. Maybe those boys weren't friends. Maybe they were and things got out of hand, I don't know. But it's possible they really were trying to kill each other that day."

"With snowmobiles?" Besides, Dean knew what Sam was really getting at and it was crap. He had never taken much stalk in the idea that you could _earn_ a place in Hell, like counting sins and all that shit Catholics and other religious types did. He had yet to come up with a good reason why he should go to Hell just because he enjoyed a little ambiguous sex. Well, used to. "I've heard stories of some whacked kids," Dean admitted, "Seen some myself, especially if you wanna count how we met Sarah. Evil hellspawn child with Daddy's razor ring a bell?"

Sam snorted.

"But that doesn't mean regular good kids just suddenly turn psycho on each other and deserve to go to Hell."

"Well that doesn't leave us with many other possibilities, Dean," Sam countered, "If they didn't earn Hell than they had to have chosen it. And the only way we know for sure that you can choose to go to Hell…" Sam didn't need to finish.

"Maybe she tricked them," Dean thought aloud. Not everyone was necessarily as lucky as him, having chosen willingly and knowingly to spend eternity in Hell.

If Sam agreed or disagreed with that he didn't say anything. It was a touchy subject no matter how they looked at things, and their time was short. Stopping these demons had to be priority, Dean knew that, but every day seemed to fill him with more and more doubt that he was truly meant to escape from his deal.

-----

Finding Miriam's apartments wasn't difficult, but finding her actual building was a damn chore. They finally spotted a number 10 and knew they had stumbled somehow upon the right one. They climbed to the third floor and knocked on the first door they came to, badges ready.

"Oh. Umm…can I help you?" asked the woman who answered, blonde pixie cut and stylish glasses making her look maybe a little modern punk, with a little 80s influence, Dean thought, since she was wearing a large black sweatshirt that fell off one shoulder and skinny jeans.

"I'm Detective Stokes and this is Detective Brown," Dean gave his best friendly grin as they flashed their badges, "Miriam Pa—I mean. Wiedenhoeft?" Dean asked, pronouncing the name carefully, "We'd like to speak to you for a few minutes if we could."

"Honey?" A man appeared behind Miriam, all instinctively protective and obviously her husband. He was actually dressed very much like how Dean and Sam usually were, in layered shirts and jeans. Dean was taken aback by how much this young man almost instantly reminded him of his father—dark brown hair and unshaven face, average height and build but strong, very strong, and he even had brown eyes that were currently set in a scowl.

"Sorry, uhh…why don't you guys come inside?" the man said then, surprising them just as Dan had at being suddenly polite, "Sorry for the mess, we're…messy," he shrugged.

The apartment was actually a lot tidier than Dean and Sam usually left things. A little cluttered maybe, coats not hung up, extra shoes near the door, cat toys strewn about. Cat toys were quickly followed by the presence of a small grey and white cat sniffing at Sam's shoes. Her markings made her look like she was wearing a little grey suit.

"Come here, Helga," the man said in a higher pitched voice that almost made Dean snicker, since he usually only associated that sort of thing with women. The man scooped the cat up who continued to be very keen on trying to sniff Sam. At least she wasn't hissing or running in fear.

Dean reached to pet the cat. At first she sniffed, then rubbed into his hand, and then for whatever reason she suddenly bit him on the finger.

"Helga," Miriam reprimanded, grabbing the cat from her husband's arms, "Sorry. She's a little shit most of the time. That just means she wants you to play with her." She set the cat down, who returned to sniffing about their feet, and said quite undeterred, "So, you're the cops Meg called about. Well, I'm Mim." She reached over and shook their hands with a surprisingly strong grip for such small hands. She was average in a lot of ways but all personality so that her face lit up when she talked.

"John," her husband said, maybe a little sharply as he grabbed for Dean's hand, probably having noticed Dean give his wife the quick once over. Dean really needed to learn to stop doing that.

He shook John's hand—further irony since the man reminded him of his father—and tried not to let any lingering conditioned responses rise up and for him to start in with the 'yes, sirs'. "Makes our job easier then, Ma'am. We'd just like to ask you a few questions," Dean said.

Since Miriam was prepared for them, she led them right over to the sofa, grabbed the matching chair beside it, and her husband remained in a chair opposite. The cat had yet to cease her sniffing and investigating of Sam, who had finally given in and was petting her. A moment later the cat had scampered over to what appeared to be her pet carrier and hopped on top of it, giving a plaintive little chirp of a meow that sounded almost like a sheep's 'baaa'.

"Uhh…"

"That's the nice way she asks to play," Miriam explained, "Just ignore her or she'll never stop. She must really like you two."

This was going better than Dean had imagined after Meagan's warning that they watch what they say around this chick. "We'd really just like to ask you about what happened to your brother, Ben Pasche. I'm sure Miss Daniels already told you what we talked about with her."

"Is it still Daniels?" Sam asked, "She didn't correct us but her husband—"

"Oh, she _wishes_ Dan was her husband," Miriam laughed, "He's a little slow with the ring."

"He'll ask when he's ready," John defended in true male fashion.

"Anyway," Miriam went on, "I'm sure all I can tell you is what you already heard from Meg." And indeed she did, that the boys had gone out and were later found impaled by each others' snowmobile skis. Pretty gruesome to imagine. The hunters had expected that but they also needed to ask the same question of Miriam that had gotten Meagan to snap.

"What we'd really like to know, if you can tell us," Sam began carefully, "Is whether or not there was anything…abnormal happening around or to your brothers at the time. Meagan was…unable to think of anything, but—"

"Unable to think of anything?' Miriam scoffed, "What _wasn't_ weird about the year before the accident. You'd barely even recognize our brothers from being Freshmen to Sophomores. Hang on." She got up and disappeared into the bedroom for a moment.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Dean smiled at John and stretched his legs out beneath the coffee table where his feet struck something firm. He peaked under and completely forgot his cover for a moment as he snatched the large black leather book from the floor. "Dude, is this comprehensive? This thing is massive," he exclaimed as he opened the large book with an assortment of characters and the words "Marvel" prominently on the cover.

"You're a comic fan?" John asked, pleased but also clearly surprised, "Guess you gotta relax somehow off duty, right?"

Right. Detective. "Hey, live life how ya can," Dean covered. The book was alphabetical which made it easy to page through and find the Marvel comic book characters Dean was most interested in. By the time he got to the D's, Sam eyeing him impatiently since they were supposed to be undercover and believable, John had moved to take Miriam's chair.

"Hands down, fave character of all time," John said, pointing to the open page, "Deadpool."

"Merc with a Mouth," Dean nodded knowingly. Deadpool was sort of like a Spider-Man character, as he was almost always wisecracking. If Spider-Man really should be in a straightjacket in a mental institution somewhere and often talked to himself in third person or to his inner voice like a sidekick. And blew up things. A lot. "First comic I owned full on paper in my hands was _New Mutants_ issue 98, Deadpool's first appearance."

"Ah, dude, no way," John said.

With a pointed clearing of her throat, Miriam reentered the room, smiling oh so knowingly at Dean with the giant book in his lap and how her husband was gushing. She came over to sit cross-legged amongst them on the floor while Dean reluctantly set the Marvel book aside. Opening the first yearbook, Miriam found the freshmen class and said, "There's Matt," as she pointed to a kid with glasses, braces, and impressively curly hair like a reddish-blonde fro. She turned the page. "And Benji," she said a little more sadly, indicating a kid in much the same boat as the first—Geek 101, complete with glasses, acne, and being way too skinny. She set that yearbook down and grabbed up the second, paging just as quickly to the Sophomore class. "And here they both are a year later."

The setup of the pages was much the same, but the images were far too different for only a year to have past. Matthew Daniels had lost his braces and glasses and somehow managed to tame his strawberry fro. On the next page, Benjamin Pasche had also lost his glasses, cleared his skin, and filled out so that they both looked like they had gone from Beauty and the Geek to Big Man On Campus in under twelve months.

"It was like they suddenly hit the nice part of puberty, you know? When you finally grow out of the awkward stage. I just didn't expect it to happen overnight. _That_ was weird, if that's the kind of abnormal you're looking for. Can't imagine how it would have anything to do with their accident though. They were always crazy on snowmobiles and four wheelers even before they went GQ on us."

Well, that decided it then. From geek to chic overnight had to mean this was a case of making a deal, not earning Hell by being dicks. The accident must have really been just that and those boys headed for the pit nine years too early. The one thing that continued to make the least sense to Dean was why the brothers would be targeting their sisters at all, but Sam had been sure the girls were the ones who needed their help.

It was Sam who first thanked Miriam and John for their time and said that they needed to be on their way. Dean was sorry to have to leave since he actually wanted to get a chance to go through more of that giant Marvel book and maybe shoot the breeze with John. He knew they were on a tight schedule but it was more and more often that he went looking for excuses to forget that.

Sam, on the other hand—face tight and brow furrowed as they headed back to the hotel—never seemed to think of anything else.

Dean still couldn't believe they were staying at the Mystic Lake Casino for their hotel but it was the closest lodging to Prior Lake and actually had pretty good rates if you didn't want one of the suites. One thing that was true in Vegas as well as Minnesota was that rooms were always cheap in a casino. They know they'll get your money somehow, which was one of the reasons Dean only gambled when he knew for sure he would win. An addiction to something like that was, well, almost as bad as selling your soul.

-----

"Sulfur," Jo confirmed.

"All over the school," Sarah nodded, "Which means you were right, Sam. These demons are definitely in students. They probably left residue everywhere because they were taking their time choosing hosts. We weren't able to pinpoint who they possessed since it was after hours but we got a good layout of the school."

"This isn't exactly a private school in Pittsburgh," Sasha said with a grin, "It was easy to walk around without hassle. Basketball game going on so the doors were open. Only one security guard on duty and he wasn't asking for guest passes."

Low security would make things easier, nauseous as Dean was about all this. And hadn't they just left a high school? Dean couldn't help thinking about Wade's little crack that they were becoming the patron saints of high school rescues. If that was door number two in Dean's possible futures, maybe he'd rather take his chances with Hell.

They had crammed into two adjoining rooms, splitting boys and girls, and were currently gathered in one of them to catch up on each other's progress. Sasha, Sarah, and Jo had been successful. Dean and Sam too, more or less. The younger generation looked to Ellen and Bobby then, who seemed to have left their research for naught some time ago.

Ellen was sitting at the small table, absently petting Wally, her face stern, while Bobby sat on one of the beds cleaning guns that they would more than likely not be using any time soon. Dean couldn't blame the behavior; all of them were edgy these days.

"Nothing to say coz there was nothing to find," Ellen explained shortly, "According to everything we've checked, every lead and possibility, you've already run into all the known defensive methods out there for demons staying under the radar. And this isn't another one."

Wonderful.

"But that doesn't mean," she added, "That there isn't a natural reason instead, something these demons didn't need to put in place intentionally."

"Gone only five years," Bobby shook his head, none of them able to stomach that they were dealing with demons who were kids when they went south, "Seems to Ellen and me these boys might be slipping under your radar, Sam, coz there just isn't enough demon or hellfire or what have you for you to sense. Not like you're used to. Plain and short of it is…" he glanced up from the shotgun he was scrubbing clean of rocksalt, "They might just be too human."

That did it. Dean was standing, leaning against the wall, and he slammed his fist into the plaster. "This is bullshit," he spat.

No one responded. No one said anything. No one would even look at him. And he knew exactly why. He watched as Jo scooped up Wally from the table, holding the blue-eyed Tabby cat that seemed perpetually confused about all the chaos surrounding her many 'owners'. Sam was across the room, arms crossed and gaze on the floor. Sasha and Sarah were sitting on the pullout that was still—for now—just a sofa. Did they really think Dean would just let all this slide?

"What the Hell is wrong with all of you?" he growled, "There are only two ways this can go and neither of them is nice for me. You think I'm just gonna ignore that? Damn it, Sam," he said across to his brother, "You're thinking just like I am that maybe you had a vision, a real as life vision like you haven't had in a year, because you're supposed to save these kids, not send them back to Hell. They made a Crossroad's deal just like me. So it was for something selfish, because they wanted to be someone that wouldn't be made fun of for the next four years of their lives. So what? We didn't condemn Leven for that. And if you think my sacrifice was completely unselfish…" The momentum in Dean's speech came to a dead stop. Sam was looking at him now. And Dean didn't look away. "It was selfish. I know it was selfish. I'm just like these kids. They managed to get out, to get free and we're just gonna…throw 'em back?"

"And what if they're not like you?" Sam said, pushing from his own wall and stalking towards Dean across the room, "Two ways this can go, you said it yourself. What if they're not just poor innocent kids anymore, Dean? They still took bodies that don't belong to them. My vision is about their sisters, protecting their sisters and the school. They're _demons_ no matter how human their signatures may feel, and when we send them back that's it, we're done, you're _free_."

Dean slammed his hand into the wall again, pushing off of it like Sam had and meeting him in the center of the room. "Bullshit. _Bullshit_. You don't know if they're the last of it. You don't know. Your senses are messed up. There could be more demons after them and then what? What if it happens that fast after I'm gone? Five years. Less. And suddenly it'll be me in some meat suit and you'll have to hunt me. Sorry, Sammy. But right now I'm not seeing any upside." Dean's voice cracked on the last of that and suddenly he remembered that it wasn't just him and Sam in the room. They had a larger audience than usual.

Everyone was staring, not knowing what to say. Wally had jumped from Jo's arms and was rubbing Dean's legs as if to calm him, the only one willing to act because she couldn't possibly understand—not fully—what all that arguing was about.

It was Sasha who moved first, playing it as if he merely meant to pick up Wally, but then he remained close to Dean, eyes turned down not in a sympathetic or pitying way but merely sad and understanding. When Dean looked up at Sam again, he saw mostly anger there, indignancy. It was the others who pitied. They tried not to, Dean knew, but he saw it, even in Sarah who tried to be strong for Sam.

"I'm so sick of you boys fighting over this," Ellen said in a low voice, "Almost every day there has to be something standing in our way, making us second guess ourselves as to whether we can even save Dean at all, or whether we're going about things the right way to do it. Well it's too late for any of that now. We don't have answers, don't have plenty, but that doesn't matter, can't. We need to figure out what is really going on with these demons. If they can be saved, however that may be, Dean, I know that's what you want us to do and we will. If not, we'll send them where they belong. And if that ain't yet the end of it, then we'll just keep on at this until it is."

Bobby nodded. "You hear that now?" he turned to the 'children', "Cut the bullshit. Now who has any bright ideas that might actually be helpful to the situation?"

Having been put in their place, no one wanted to say anything at first. Dean pet Wally on the head, small smile offered to Sasha, and tried to give Sam his 'we're both idiots so let's leave it' nod. Sam nodded back to him so he figured they were good for now even though nothing had been solved.

Then Dean noticed Jo and Sarah conspiring, their whispers fairly audible since it was otherwise so quiet. They didn't try to hide it, knew they were being watched, but finished their conversation before turning back to the others.

"We have an idea," Jo said.

"You're not going to like it," Sarah offered to Dean.

Well what else was new?

"Way we figure it," Jo went on, "If we have questions about Hell and these boys being demons then our best bet for answers…is to go to the source."

-----

Dean had resigned himself to the knowledge that he would be eternally damned whether Hell had anything to do with it or not. "You know the bastard's gonna get way too much enjoyment outta this, right?" he grumbled.

They were in the other room now, the room they were sharing with Bobby, though it was only Sam and Sasha with him as they figured it might be better not to expose the others unless absolutely necessary. "I'm sure he will," Sam said, "But if we want to understand what's going on with these kids without risking that they try and kill as soon as they know we're after them then this is the next best thing."

Dean sighed. They were standing on one side of the room, looking towards the other. "What am I even supposed to say?"

"Wanna call 1-900-DEMON?" Sasha snarked.

So not funny. Not when Dean was actually about to summon _Malak_ by choice, the Prince and occasionally Princess of Darkness. "_Why_ is it a 900 number?" he glared at his friend beside him.

Sasha grinned as though that should be obvious, but before he could make any inappropriate comments, Sam broke in, "Just call for him, Dean. If he comes, he comes. If not…we move on to something else." The tension in Sam's voice was palpable despite how collected he tried to appear. He obviously wanted to skip this and get straight to the saving Dean part of the story, but Dean wasn't so sure he wanted to be saved if these kids turned out to be not all that bad.

But anyway. Back to calling for Malak. Right. Wonderful. Dean never actually thought he would be putting this to the test. "Malak!" he yelled at the ceiling, conjuring images of the demon as if he might simply will Malak to show up, "Malak!"

They had considered an actual summoning spell but doubted it would work on so powerful a demon. Besides, the reason Malak gave Dean his name originally was so that Dean could call on him if needed. Granted, Malak had also said that he probably wouldn't come at all but it was worth a try.

"Malak!" Dean called again. At this rate he would have a sore throat in the morning and nothing to show for it. Not that Malak usually announced himself with flickering lights and thunder—unless he was feeling particularly showmen like—but there hadn't even been a creak in the floorboards beneath the ugly hotel carpet to indicate success. "This is a waste of time," Dean deflated, "As if his glorified evilness would—"

"You know it isn't actually necessary to _yell_."

Dean whipped around, Sam and Sasha immediately doing the same, to see that Malak had manifested _behind_ them just to scare the living fuck out of Dean like usual.

"His glorified evilness?" Malak repeated with a curious quirk of his lips. _His_. As in the suit-clad, blonde, red on black version, same as Dean had seen in the mirror the other night.

"You didn't switch," Dean had to comment, since they had been playing a game of alternating ever since Malak's first appearance.

The demon sighed almost pityingly, leaning back against the radiator by the window. "You summoned me. Therefore, I have come as the version you wanted. That _you_ were envisioning. A polite gesture on my part. What, disappointed? I thought you preferred me this way. Though I doubt this form would look quite as stunning as the other one did in that dress you fancied," he grinned and licked at his lips. If Dean hadn't personally felt that tongue once upon a time he would have sworn it was forked.

A faint growl was building besides Dean, low in Sasha's throat. Maybe the incubus didn't even realize he was doing it. Dean had always faced Malak alone after their first encounter, but he remembered well that Sasha was not a fan of the Big Bad's flirting with Dean. "We didn't call you for a social visit," the incubus snapped.

Malak's eyes, snake-like and nearly glowing, moved to Sasha slowly. "No," he said with textured words, "You called because you are under the mistaken impression that the universe is fair. Demons are demons, boys. By choice, mind you. Always by choice. If you want to sympathize with your prey, by all means go ahead. But it won't help you towards your goal."

"What's going on with these kids?" Dean asked, sick of Malak's double-talk and riddles, "They evil or what? They've been dead only five years. _Five_. You expect me to believe it only takes that long and suddenly they want to shoot up some school and…and what? Put the blame on their sisters?" That was doubtful the actual answer to what was going on but they had yet to come up with anything better.

And there it was as always—that smug smile and a slight laugh that taunted. "Five years? _Dean_," Malak said disappointedly, "Do you really think that a year here is the same as a year in Hell?" He pushed from the radiator and all of them instinctively parted to let him pass between them. Moving about the room, Malak cast his gaze over their scattered belongings, at the Colt on the nightstand, Dean's leather over a chair, and other things as if it all amused him greatly. "A month? Is ten years in Hell. You do the math for those…kids," he said mockingly.

Dean was immediately reminded why he couldn't help doubting the happy ending his friends kept striving for.

A month was ten years? Then those kids had been in Hell for…

"600 years," Sam voiced somberly, making the reality of that strikingly present for all of them. It suddenly became clear how good human beings could change so easily, how demons lost their humanity in what seemed such a short time. It wasn't short for them.

"So much can happen in a week on Earth. In a month. A year," Malak said, continuing a slow trek about the room, passing his gaze and occasionally a well-manicured hand over things that belonged to them, "Ah, but so much more happens below. So much. You'll find out soon enough, Dean, how quickly things change. Even all that self-righteous anger of yours."

"Shut up," Dean growled low, barely audible save the harsh breath that left him. His hands were clenching so tight as he glared at Malak; he barely acknowledged Sam and Sasha still beside him. "What did you do to those kids? What do they want? They were sixteen, you _god_ damn—!"

Red on black eyes flashed and Dean fell instantly silent, unsure if it was fear or power or what that made him stop. Then Malak's fierce face softened and he walked up to stand in front of Dean. "They made a deal. Not with my top emissary, the one you call the Crossroad's Demon who has since been replaced. I do need to keep up with supply and demand, you know. No, these boys made a deal with someone else. Now of course I hold all of the contracts, but I don't _make_ all of them. They had help getting out of the Devil's Gate. No one so freshly new to Hell would be able to move so far amongst so many powerful comrades without aid. Don't be too hard on the boys though for giving into their natures for a little time on the surface. They're just lonely, you see."

"Lonely?" Dean repeated.

Malak's grin stretched wide, his eyes ever focused on Dean. And then he was rippling away, like mist into nothing.

"Wait! No!" Dean cried, reaching out into the fading image that fractured even more when he tried to grasp it, "Bastard!" he stomped and clenched his fists, "Just what the Hell am I supposed to do!?"

There was a hand on Dean's arm to remind him that Sasha was still there. Then the closer presence of Sam to remind him that his brother bookended him too. "_We_," Sasha said, "And what we're going to do is go to that school tomorrow, find the demons, and figure out what they're really after."

"If there's a bigger player pulling their strings, we'll find them too," Sam added assuredly, "And whoever needs saving we'll do our best to save them. _You_ first," he tried to grin.

But it stung, even though they both just stood there and waited for Dean to give the okay, for him to make the final decision as if he was the lone commander in this awful battle. It's all Dean had asked of them once, for them to listen to him, but these choices, these decisions he did not want to make. He had never believed more then right at that moment that there couldn't be a God. If God existed then Dean didn't want to believe in Him, not if He could let teenagers make deals with devils and suffer until they broke.

Dean had days left. Days. Unsure as he was of so much, he couldn't let Malak have the last word, whatever that meant this time.

He nodded to his brother and friend. "Okay," he said, "Let's do this."

-----

It was a Friday, busy even early in the morning with students bustling about Prior Lake High School. It was a school of about 1000 students total, not much in the grand scheme of things and nothing compared to Leven's school, but good enough for there to still be a 'needle in a haystack' feel to this. They had to find two demons amongst all those students and Sam couldn't sense them.

They had considered going to Meagan and Miriam again to see if they could fish out better leads, but there didn't seem to be any direct connection with the girls to the school. They were past college age and neither was a teacher; they merely lived close by. So the hunters decided to split up and scope things out as students arrived.

Dean was stationed near the entrance with Ellen and Jo, trying not to look too conspicuous hanging about a high school. There seemed to be a lot of parents around anyway, or at least non-teacher adults since school hadn't started yet. Sam and Sarah were at another entrance, and Sasha and Bobby at the last.

Relying on direct visuals, Sam and Dean were their best bets for spotting the demons, and if they didn't then at the very least they would all have a better understanding of the school's layout. Dean was not pleased with the somewhat 'mall' look to the place, as if the town had been worried a new school wouldn't pull in enough students or funds and would have to be sold to Starbucks and Hollister and Hot Topic and such. Talk about pessimism. Or maybe it was just the consumer culture taking over yet another facet of life.

Dean really needed to stop watching Oprah on his downtime.

He called Sam on his cell. "Bell's gonna ring soon," he said, "We have a plan if we don't spot these kids? It's not gonna be all that easy just hanging around all day hoping we run into the right ones."

"I know," Sam sighed over the line, "We could try a locator spell. Or I could try and summon the faint sense I get of these demons even if it's not strong," he suggested quickly, knowing Dean would shoot that idea down anyway, "But even if we did that, it might call too much attention if these kids get sucked out of school coz we've summoned them body and demon to our hotel rooms."

Ellen and Jo were spread out away from Dean somewhat, but they caught his eye and were making their way back to him. It wasn't as if they really knew what they were looking for except for Dean or Sam to suddenly say, "_There_!"

"Let's stay as long as we can," Sam continued, "We could always go so far as to put salt at all the entrances except one and then watch that door after school until we spot them."

"Yeah, coz high schoolers rushing out the doors wouldn't break the line at _all_," Dean scoffed. He hung up as Ellen and Jo reached him. This was feeling a little more futile than Dean had been hoping. "So," he started to ask them.

"Detective?"

That voice was only vaguely familiar but Dean was pretty sure he knew where he knew it from as it made all of the hair on his body stand up. He turned towards the door behind him and was not surprised to see both Meagan and Miriam walking towards him.

"Don't tell me you judge Speech competitions in your spare time?" Miriam went on, "Gotta love make-up snow days when we can have tournaments on a Friday instead of Saturday, huh? Do you have children that go here?"

Make up snow day? Speech tournament? Oh they were so in over their heads.

Whatever was going to happen with those demons, this school, and the sisters, it was already in motion. _Today_.

"Aha…hey there," Dean began, searching for whatever explanation would help them best right now, "Uh…no, actually, no kids here, but…my _step-daughter_," he said, grabbing Jo around the shoulders, "Is a senior in Shakopee. Last tournament of the year, figured I couldn't miss it." Dean hoped he was right about this being the last Speech tournament but figured it was a safe bet being almost May. Neither Meagan nor Miriam corrected him.

Jo, on the other hand, was looking at him murderously for making her eighteen, though she could pass for it easy enough. But it was when Dean reached for Ellen that he knew he would be on the Harvelle women's hit list from that point on.

"Miss Daniels, Mrs. Wiedenhoeft," Dean strained to smile, "My daughter Jo," why bother making up names, "and my…_wife_, Ellen." If Hell didn't get him next week, karma sure as Hell would. Or Ellen's rifle.

"Nice to meet you," Meagan smiled politely, Miriam nodding in kind, "Your husband's job brought him to our doorsteps yesterday," she explained to Ellen, who she had to be thinking was some mid-life crisis _cougar_ to be with Dean, which was definitely what was going to get Dean killed at the end of this.

"I don't suppose you've found out anything you can _share_," Miriam stressed. They were nice young women, that was obvious enough, but that didn't mean they enjoyed having memories of their dead brothers brought up without any given or good reason. Sometimes Dean wished he could tell the truth, but he knew better than to think it would make things easier in this case.

He smiled tightly. "Sorry, not yet, but I think we might have a break in the case soon," no lie there, "Believe me, once we know something…you'll know." Definitely not a lie. At least with this new development, their search would probably be limited to the kids on the Prior Lake Speech Team. Now they just had to find out who those kids were.

"Meg! Mim!" called over an excited younger male voice.

"Please tell me you're judging Doubles," came another.

A lump rose in Dean's throat as he caught sight of the two teenager boys approaching the sisters. One was taller, too thin, blonde with glasses but good looking enough that he wouldn't be in the geek category even as a Speech kid. The other was more average all around, except for brown hair that stuck out every direction like Harry Potter's. Well, like in the 4th movie. It wasn't as if Dean had time to read the books.

Both boys were dressed in dress pants and nice shirts, which made Dean feel silly for not having realized—though neither had the others—that all of the students around them were dressed up more than they would be for a normal day at school. Other than that the boys might have seemed just like any other teenagers with possible crushes on their Speech coaches if not for the way their true faces looked to Dean.

Days from damnation—_days_—Dean had began to realize that when saw a demon's true face and felt repulsed and nauseated by it, it wasn't because it was torn or bloody or sunken. It was because it was humanity _twisted_. He didn't know how else to say it.

"Ready for some wall-talking, boys?" Miriam smiled as she high-fived the brunette.

"Sean, Micah, this is Detective Stokes and his family," Meagan introduced.

"It's their first year," said Miriam, "Gonna go out with a bang too, right?"

That was what Dean was afraid of.

Sean and Micah each smiled at Dean, maybe checked out Jo for a moment, and then their attentions were back on Meagan and Miriam, begging for the girls to listen to their Doubles Speech one last time before the competition started. They didn't seem to notice anything about Dean, no recognition of a Winchester that so many other demons seemed to show on their faces, but then why should they. They hadn't been demons for long.

Five years ago they were Meagan and Miriam's brothers.

-----

tbc...

A/N: Maybe a bit shorter but then you'll be getting the next chapter ASAP. Confused about what Malak wants Dean for and what he's planning? You should be. Unsure what's going to happen next? You probably won't see it coming, but things will become more and more revealed to you as we count down to the end of the deal.

Am I losing my touch? Most of you are so kind with reviews, but I feel like this arc has been mediocre, or maybe that's just because the last one was so high-impact and got such a crazy reaction. And I'm sort of anxous to just get passed the deal finally. Thanks for those sticking with me. I hope I haven't lost any of you who don't review as much to let me know they're there. Not to make you feel guilty or anything... ;-)

Oh! And I am extending the drabble contest until after the new episode as I only have a few entries and I want MORE. Come on people. 100 words or less, with the word 'presents' or even 'presence' somewhere in it. Please?

Crim


	69. Part 6: Brothers

Part 6: Brothers

-----

The bell rang, still on an automated timer, no doubt, despite it not actually being a school day. That was their cue to meet up with the others at the back entrance. Dean spared no time explaining the current situation: make-up snow day, Speech tournament, Meg and Mim being Speech coaches while their brothers are possessing two of their students. Dean conveniently left out that he had added Ellen and Jo as wife and step-daughter to his alias, fearing that the terse look on Ellen's face would quickly grow as homicidal as Jo's.

In reality, things were looking up, but they had a problem. Forgetting for a moment that they also had no idea how much time they had to figure this out, it was not going to be easy to get the boys alone in order to exorcize them.

When Sam mentioned that, Dean couldn't help commenting, "What if I don't want to banish first, ask questions later? We have no reason to believe these kids have done anything wrong. It's almost been a year since the Devil's Gate and nothing weird has been happening in this town. Maybe all they want is the chance to live out the lives that were taken from them."

"By taking somebody else's?" Sam shot back, "Dean, those bodies belong to their real owners not to Matthew Daniels or Benjamin Pasche. And they're not kids. They're 600 years older. I _know_ it's not fair," Sam snapped before Dean could offer dissention, "It's never fair, Dean. But they're demons. I saw them shooting down students in my vision. Them with guns; students falling. I don't know how or when or where in the school it happens, but I know what I saw."

Back at the beginning of all this, before devil deals and hordes of demons to hunt down, Dean had learned fast that Sam's visions were legit. What Sam saw happened, period, unless somehow it was averted. But Dean couldn't give up. "Just let me talk to them," he asked of everyone this time, seeing that same old pity again on most of their faces that they so often tried to hide, "Let me try."

Perhaps only for his desperation, they gave in. Dean would find and watch the boys until he could get them alone to talk. Ellen and Jo would play their parts as mother and Speech competitor to keep an eye on the sisters. Bobby and Sasha would see about finding the boys' lockers and checking any other possible hiding places for firearms. And Sam and Sarah volunteered to 'suggest' to a couple judges that they needed to be replaced. It was a disjointed plan but it would give Dean and the others time to find out for sure what they were dealing with.

Uncertain of what outcome he really wanted, it was easy for Dean to track down the boys again, practicing for Meagan and Miriam in an empty classroom. He hovered nearby while Ellen and Jo pretended to rehearse.

Looking around, Dean started to understand what Miriam had meant when she said something about 'wall-talking' earlier. Almost every bit of space around them was occupied by Speech kids rehearsing their entries to a wall. Jo mimicked this, Ellen looking on as interested mother, and as Dean waited for the boys to eventually go off on their own again, he allowed the many softly mumbled speeches to drift around him.

'_He kissed me like, I guess, you imagine how it must've been when they first invented it, like back in the days of myths and shit, when, you know, men were heroes and you could get kissed like that and you'd wait a lifetime for him to return, you would, and you could still taste him on your lips—.'_

'_And what would I say? On a pay phone. In the hospital. Her lying in a room swollen and blue, face cracked open, knocked out, not responding to anything but the barest reflex, all because—'_

'_I put little stock in stereotypes, particularly the noble ones. __But this one is true—'_

'_You tried once. You went on one idealistic crusade to save your world and when it came crashing down, all of your faith that you might be the one came crashing down with it, as if it absolved you of the right to do good.'_

Dean wondered if Sam ever felt like this, if he ever opened himself up to the minds of those around him and felt overwhelmed by all the conflicting foreign emotions.

As Dean continued to watch the boys from his place outside the classroom, he couldn't deny how normal and happy they looked doing their Doubles speech for their…sisters. It seemed to consist of them being slightly askew from each other but playing it as if they were facing each other directly. They would even pass invisible objects to one another, one of the boys handing nothing to the air and then the other would take it from the empty space in front of him. Dean was transfixed watching them even though he could only hear the speeches close to him, not theirs. They just seemed so much like normal boys.

When it was clear that the brothers and their unknowing sisters were parting finally, the hallways starting to buzz with students rushing to get to their first rounds, Dean moved a little more out of sight. He watched Ellen and Jo discreetly follow after the girls. Then he walked, staying a few feet behind the bodies of Sean and Micah, to see where they would go.

Either they didn't yet have their own round to get to or they had no intention of actually participating today, because Dean followed them back into an empty alcove where he could hear them whispering to each other. He didn't try to listen in. He rounded the corner and they instantly shot upright, silent at the sight of him.

"Hey, boys," he smiled congenially, "Not your turn yet to meet the executioner? Hope you're not getting too nervous about this being the last competition."

Smiles broke out on both boys' faces, "Nah. Just trying to get hyped up, ya know," said the brunette, the one pretending to be Micah.

"Yeah, we're so ready for this one. Been working all year," Sean's imposter said next, "You're a detective, right, that's what Meagan said? How do they know you?"

Dean walked a little closer into the alcove. They couldn't even hear the other students and bustling in the hallways back here. He spoke without reservation; he had the Colt if he needed it. "Because of _you_, actually. Because of how you _died_. And what exactly you're doing back in these nice boys' bodies playing at being alive again. _Matt_. _Ben_." He looked at each of them directly, not sure which was which, not that it mattered.

They could have attempted any number of denial attempts or tries at subterfuge, could have simply said that Dean was crazy, but to Dean's surprise, they didn't try any of that. The smiles left their faces and they positioned themselves better to flank Dean, on edge but not directly on the attack as their eyes flashed to all-over black.

Dean held up his hands. "Don't mean any harm unless you mean harm here," he said, "I know what you are. _Who_ you are. What I don't know is how or why? Well, I know where the Devil's Gate came in, don't care much else about that. It's if you mean to hurt anyone that'll give us a problem. You want something of your sisters? Don't think I'm a push-over coz you're big bad demons from Hell and I'm just some guy. You know what a hunter is?"

Startled, the boys exchanged panicked looks. The blonde said, "Heard about them. You're here to hunt us?"

"Like I said, only if there's reason."

"And what's reason?" the brunette growled, his small teenage hands clenched tight into fists, "We can't be here, is that it? We can't want to see them? They didn't care when we were just losers. The only ones who never cared, who never treated us like we were less than everybody else. We know we made a mistake, we just wanted to see them again."

The blonde stepped closer to Dean, his eyes fading back to a pale blue. "Please, just a little longer. We know we've taken bodies that aren't ours, but it was the only way. We've been good to them, taken care of them. We just wanted to finish the year, please."

Dean could honestly say that he had never had a demon plead with him. Not like this. Even the easily dispatched ones always had some lofty belief that they could best him, whether they knew to fear the Winchester name or not. But these kids weren't even trying, just asking something of him.

The brunette came forward and shook off his black eyes as well, both of them looking at him with such earnest expressions. They just wanted a few more days, like Dean did—just a little more _time_. They were like him, like how he would become, he knew. He couldn't take this away from them just for his own selfish gains.

"And when this year is over, and you've had your time with your sisters, you'll leave these bodies and go back?" Dean asked. His hunter training, the instinct ingrained in him since preschool, was screaming at him to treat these boys like any other demons, but they _weren't_ like any other demons, not to him.

"Just a little longer."

"We just want more time with them."

"Please."

"We promise we'll go back."

And Dean stepped aside. He couldn't stand in their way when he knew he would want the same thing. They were willing to give up everything just for a little more time, and even if they didn't, even if they wanted to stay, was that really so bad? No life was worth more than another, Dean knew that, but where did you draw the line? What was fair? All Dean could do was let the boys scamper past him as they muttered hasty thank yous.

He was resigned when he picked up his cell phone to call Sam.

"Sammy…"

"Dean, perfect timing," Sam began as if he couldn't hear the resignation in Dean's voice, "Sarah and I have been talking with the other judges. There are kids from all over the state here. And do you know what they all have in common?"

Dean didn't really care right now.

"At every tournament this year, every one that the Prior Lake Speech Team also attended, one or more students has either ended up dead or gone missing."

That pulled Dean from his wallowing. "What?"

"That's why there isn't any sign of strange occurrences in Savage or Prior Lake. The demons have been using the Speech Tournaments to cover their tracks. Even in the smaller towns, one kid dying or going missing wouldn't raise as much suspicion as a large death toll in one place. Kids joked it was a Speech curse. They almost canceled this last tournament. Dean, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dean sure as Hell understood what it meant. They had lied to him, right to his face and so easily even though Dean knew they were demons, knew better than to ever trust a demon.

He stepped out of the alcove, back into the throng where a few students were still wall-talking and some were hurrying into classrooms. There was no sign of Sean and Micah—Matt and Ben.

"I hear you, Sammy," Dean said through clenched teeth, "They just gave me the slip."

"What? You _lost_ them?"

"We gotta track these brats down, fast," Dean said without pausing to answer that, "I know it's a shot in the dark, but maybe it'd be better to just tell Meagan and Mim the—"

"Students, visiting students, faculty, and parents, if I could please have your attention," sounded suddenly over the school's intercom. Dean held the phone away from his ear, listening. This couldn't be good. "This is Mrs. Jennings, the Prior Lake Principal speaking. I know everyone is anxious for the day's tournament to begin, and I apologize if I have interrupted any already beginning speeches. But we need everyone to please immediately move to the auditorium for an important announcement. Again…" she repeated her request, calm and direct, though Dean would swear he could hear something like a tremor in her voice.

"What the Hell is going on…?" he said to the air.

"Dean!" shouted Sam.

Dean placed the phone back against his ear.

"We're in the office. That announcement, it's about a bomb threat made to the school."

"What?!" That didn't make any sense; Sam's vision hadn't shown anything about a bomb. "Call everyone else," Dean said firmly, "It's gotta be a decoy or something. We'll meet in front of the office." Dean was already moving as he spoke, his eyes darting down hallways in case he somehow managed to catch a glimpse of the boys. He knew that he wouldn't though. They had conned him easily and with the least amount of effort—a bit more tactical than the average teenage boy.

God damn it.

As he was finally stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Dean rounded a turn, wanting to peer down just one more hallway before he ran for the office. He peered left first down a length of lockers—nothing—and then turned to take a few steps towards one of the other entrances to the school. There were people everywhere, trying to keep some sense of order as they moved for the auditorium. Dean was barely paying attention when he ran headlong into a strong male body.

"Sorry," he tried to move past the man.

"Detective Stokes?"

Dean glanced back. The man he had run into was John Wiedenhoeft, Miriam's husband. "What are you doing here?" he asked shortly. The last thing they needed was more potential casualties.

"Mim left her notebook at home," John explained, holding up the large red book, "She likes to keep all her Speech notes in one place. I don't work today so I figured I'd bring it by. Do you know what's going on?"

No time. Dean had continued to move anyway, heading for the office. John was following him closely. "Look, man, you should really just go. Just head right back out the doors you came in and go home, okay?"

John's face held a set and determined frown. He grabbed Dean's arm and forced him to stop, the throng of rushing people pushing and moving around them. "When I came through the doors the security guard locked them behind me. _What_ is going on?" He had gone from curious and concerned to pissed and insistent in seconds. Dean's rushed speech and evasion of John's questions probably hadn't helped.

Sympathetic but knowing their time was short, Dean told John plainly, "There's been a bomb threat to the school. We think something big is going to happen and the death count isn't going to be pretty if we don't stop it. We're armed and we know what we're doing so just stay out of our way." Pulling his arm out of John's strong grip, Dean turned and hurried on towards the office. John was a big guy, Dean's height but sturdier; he could stop Dean again if he wanted.

Instead he continued to follow him.

Rounding another corner, the last before the office, Dean nearly ran into Sasha and Bobby just as he had plowed into John. He grasped Sasha's arms, relieved to see that the incubus was alright. "Did you find anything? Did Sam call you?" he asked frantically.

"Sent a mass text," Sasha nodded, "We got the message. We didn't find any guns," he said more quietly, "Not in the boys' lockers or anywhere else we could think to look, unless they're hiding in plain sight. Maybe Sam was wrong about how this happens. Maybe it really is the bomb."

"What are you talking about, guns?" John jumped in, close enough behind Dean that Sasha hadn't noticed him.

Dean would have sighed if he had the patience for it. He saw Bobby's eyes meet John's face, widening as they noticed just as Dean had how much this John looked and carried himself like a young John Winchester. "We thought some kids were gonna try and shoot up the school," Dean explained. Since John thought he was a detective, a lot of this wouldn't seem immediately out of the ordinary. "But now this bomb threat…"

"Bomb threat…" John repeated slowly, eyes darting as he thought to himself, "Guns…" Then suddenly he grabbed for Dean's arm, tighter than when he had grabbed it to stop Dean from walking away. "Oh god, that's gotta be it. If you had word there was going to be a shooting, guns? Then the bomb threat's the perfect cover. All the students and faculty know the protocol for getting through a bomb threat. They've been having them all year, some kids playing pranks. They gather in the gym and then lead everyone in groups to the church across the street, a set path. Fuck," he said with a pained expression, looking to Bobby and Sasha too, who he must have assumed were fellow police officers, "Mim even told me that a student of hers joked about how easy it would be to just…call in a bomb threat…and then wait on the roof to shoot everybody down."

Bile rose in Dean's throat and his eyes widened. He saw Bobby and Sasha's expressions grow equally nauseous. The roof. The fucking roof. They hadn't had time to think that far. "Do you know how to get to it? Where the access is?" Dean whirled on John, gripping _his_ arm now.

"Sure," John nodded, "This was my high school once too."

"Can you take us there?" Sasha asked.

Then suddenly there was Sam and Sarah, running out of the main office towards them, and Ellen and Jo too from wherever they had been watching the sisters, who it seemed were now following _them_ as they all rushed to meet together. The entirety of the group met at the corner of the hallway.

John turned immediately to his wife, who gaped at his sudden appearance, saying, "John? What are you doing here?" She grimaced as he held up her notebook. "Damn it, why are you so sweet? You have to be sweet when there's another damn bomb threat on the building?"

"We have to get to the auditorium before they start moving everyone," Meagan said to the group, "We don't want the kids to panic if we're not there. Are…these all friends of yours?" she asked Dean. Then noticing Sam amongst the group, she frowned. "Detective Brown, you're here too? What's going on?"

"Mim, it's not a bomb," John was saying to Miriam, "It's gotta be a cover. The cops say they were looking into a possible shooting. These kids might be waiting on the roof."

Miriam's eyes widened and she turned to her friend Meagan. Then they both looked at Dean and the others. It was too much to process with too many inconsistencies, Dean knew. "Is this the real reason you came to our homes? Brought up our brothers?" Miriam asked with a narrowed gaze.

"I thought these women were your family?" Meagan gestured at Jo and Ellen, "Who are these other people? More officers?"

"Not with _that_ hair," Miriam huffed at Sasha, "This isn't right at all. Are you even detectives? Why did you question us about Matt and Ben, some kind of sick joke?"

"You better give us answers right now."

This was going up in flames real fast and they didn't have time for it. Those damn demons had this planned to a T and it was going perfectly; no one knew the wiser except for John who had believed them until about thirty seconds ago. "Look," Dean passed his gaze quickly over his comrades so they would all understand what he was about to do, "Your husband's right. I'm sure of it. The boys that called in that bomb threat are using it as a decoy so they can shoot everyone from the roof while they're crossing to the church. It's Sean and Micah, those kids hanging all over you," he said plainly, "And the reason we asked about your brothers…is because they're the ones in the driver's seat."

The wide eyes on both women turned immediately to fear of Dean and his crew more than fear of any bombs. "What the hell are you talking about?" Miriam snapped, looking like she might jump Dean and start pummeling him right then and there for all her smaller stature.

Sam came forward then, knowing there was nothing else to do but tell the truth. "I'm sorry but we don't have time for this," he said, "The reason your brothers were suddenly popular and more attractive after freshmen year is because they made a deal with a demon. When they died in that snowmobile accident they went to _Hell_ for their part of the bargain. They're possessing those other boys, have been for almost a year, and for whatever reason they're going to kill as many people here today as they can unless we stop them."

"Will you show us how to get to the roof?" Sasha asked John again.

Despite how much Meagan and Miriam were sputtering and staring in horror, assuming Sam and Dean were either insane or terribly cruel, John nodded. "It's back between the choir room and the smaller gym. Stairs lead right up."

"John! How can you listen to them? They're crazy!" Miriam threw up her arms.

John just shrugged. "Maybe, but what's happening is really happening, Mim, and I think they're right about the roof. Whether it's demons or stupid kids or space monkeys, I don't care. Come on." Turning back the way he and Dean had come from before, John started to lead them in the opposite direction of where all the other people were rushing.

"We'll try and stall them if anyone starts heading for the church!" Jo called after them, staying behind with Ellen and Bobby. The rest of them bounded after John, with Dean and Sam right behind him while Meagan and Miriam continued tossing out dissents as they ran alongside.

Dean couldn't help noticing that neither of the girls tried to physically stop them, however, just ran on as if subconsciously they needed to see for themselves whether or not these people were actually psychos. Dean was just glad John had enough sense to care more about a possible school shooting than he did about worrying over the unexplainable hows and whys.

As they ran, students and others thinning out the closer they got to the roof stairs, Dean pulled the Colt from his jacket. Three cheers for small town schools without metal detectors, he thought. Sam, Sasha, and Sarah pulled out weapons as well.

"This is crazy! You're not even police!" Meagan shouted, noticing their hardly standard issue weaponry, "And you think Sean and Micah are the ones behind this?"

"And that they're fucking possessed by our dead brothers!" Miriam growled, sounding as vicious as Dean had ever heard from a woman who didn't have a supernatural excuse. But as understanding as Dean was of how the sisters were feeling right now, he couldn't waste his breath on further explanation.

They reached an ajar door. John stopped and touched it gingerly, pushing it the rest of the way open so they could see the narrow staircase beyond. He turned to the hunters then. "Have any to spare?" he asked Dean of his weapon.

"John!" Miriam shouted again. They were all at the door now but still the girls weren't really trying to stop them. Somehow they had to know that Dean and the others weren't crazy even if they didn't want to believe what they had been told.

Dean retrieved the miniature crossbow Bobby had helped him load with Palo Santo stakes. "Know how to use one of these?" he asked John, armed enough himself with the Colt, "Don't be a hero though. Use it only if you have to. It'll hurt the host too, so be careful, but a shot pretty much anywhere should paralyze a demon." As he handed John the weapon, Dean couldn't be sure if the guy actually believed him, but his smirk was confident and genuine as he accepted it.

Meagan and Miriam had grown silent, too curious and troubled to argue any further as the hunters charged up the stairs ahead of them.

It was Sam who shouldered in beside Dean too close as they climbed, slowing as they reached the top and then grabbing Dean's arm. They both had guns they didn't want to use.

"Dean…"

"I know, okay? If we have to…we have to."

They burst onto the roof, Dean and Sam, and Sasha coming up close behind them, guns drawn to search and scout all visible area within the least amount of time. As a team, the three of them had perfected it, moving and taking positions without having to think or second guess each other. As soon as their quarry was spotted, their aims snapped to one location and held, focused on the figures of two teenage boys bearing wide eyes and rifles.

Dean had never been so upset to be right.

"Just wanna be with your sisters, huh?" he shook his head at the possessed boys, "You really lose yourself that much down there that you can just…gun down a buncha _kids_?"

The blonde and brunette, controlled by boys who had once been Ben Pasche and Matt Daniels, were frozen, but they did not look at all guilty for being caught like this. They were something else. Something desperate. "Wait," said the blonde.

"You don't understand," said the brunette.

"This _is_ about our sisters."

"We have to do this."

"It's part of the deal."

The brunette was slowly getting to his knees, holding up a free hand as if to show he meant no harm despite the evidence in his other hand to the contrary. Dean was sure now that the brunette was Ben, Miriam's brother, as it seemed the boys had chosen bodies that fell somewhere between who they had been and who they sold their souls to become. "We have to," Ben insisted, "Do you think we'd do this if we didn't?"

The blonde, who had to be Matt then, also rose up, getting to his feet with the same placating gestures. "It's what she wanted, what she ordered us to do. But this is the last time, she promised, and then it's over. We'll leave, go back, just like we said we would."

"But not alone," Ben said evenly.

Now Dean was really confused. What was going on? And who was 'she'? The demon they made their deal with to escape the Devil's Gate, no doubt, but _who_? And what the hell were the terms? At least Dean was starting to understand what Malak had meant when he said the boys were lonely.

Holding steady, Dean and the others kept their eyes on the demons. He felt it the moment Sarah exited onto the roof behind him with John and the sisters. He had hoped the huntress might be able to keep them all back for a bit longer. But maybe this was better because they had all heard what the demons just said.

"Benji?"

"Matt?"

"Holy fuck," announced John.

There were several ways this could go. Before Dean allowed anyone to make a move against the demons, however, he had to allow for the outcome that wouldn't end well for him.

He held out an arm, indicating for Sam and Sasha to drop their guns. Sarah's was drawn but not yet aimed and she kept it that way. Dean could feel through his periphery his brother and friend's twin stares and hesitancy, but still they obeyed.

"This is…impossible," Meagan said, hands moving to cover her mouth, "Am I looking at Sean and Micah or my brother? Why…why are you doing this?"

"No way," Miriam shook her head, "No, it's…it can't be, this is crazy."

Placating turned to looks of devastation in moments. "No…" Ben said with an expression that spilled his true self onto his host's face, "Why did you let them come up here?"

"You don't understand," Matt said again, "We made a mistake, we did, but we have to do this. We can't go back to Hell alone. You don't know what it's like. You don't…you don't _know_." The boys were standing side by side only a few yards from those by the door, their rifles pointing down at the roof but gripped tight with resolve.

It always amazed Dean how quickly people could go from thinking he was bat-shit crazy to believing him without question once truth was solid and tangible in front of them.

And people said _he_ had a lack of faith. They just didn't get that it could go both ways.

"Benji," Miriam shook her head again, "How can you do this? To be cool, to be popular? You really sold your soul for _that_?"

The sisters had come around completely in front of the hunters though John stopped next to Sam, waiting as they were to see what would happen. "All you had to do…was be who you were," Meagan said, "It's hard sometimes, we know that, but you _do_ it. You do it…"

"And what are you doing now?" went on Miriam, "Using Sean and Micah like puppets, good kids, so you can do this awful thing and let them take the fall? And for what? Why? How can you do this?" she said again, "You don't want to go back to Hell alone? So you'll…take these innocent kids back with you?" Her confusion was clear, and it was probably the only thing keeping the two women from actually losing it—human curiosity needing to be satiated.

Dean really wished he wasn't starting to understand what this was really about. "Not them. You don't get it, you don't understand," Ben shook his head, though he didn't advance; neither boy was advancing any closer to the group yet, "We already said it, we know we were stupid for the deal we made. We thought we had time, we didn't. We got ourselves killed. But we know what we're doing now."

"Please understand," Matt broke in, more sympathetic and almost believably too, "We've been there for so long. Longer than you've been without us. But then there was all this buzz about an opening, a way up, and…we knew we didn't stand a chance against the others to get a spot close to the gate and escape. But…but _she_ came and…she said she'd help us. All we had to do was what she told us once we got to the surface. We guarded her for awhile and then she let us go out on our own. That's when we took these bodies. We just…we just had to do a few tasks for her when she asked and—"

"A few tasks?" Sam repeated coldly, "You killed almost ten people, maybe more if all those missing persons were yours too. And now you're going to kill even more, mostly kids because this demon made you a new deal and told you to?"

"A deal for you to take your sisters back to Hell," Dean voiced what Sam couldn't, or maybe Sam hadn't figured it out. It certainly had both sisters whipping around to stare at him. But when they looked back to the brothers there was still no sign of regret or guilt, just resolve and desperation to do what they came here for.

Ben hoisted his gun up to his shoulder. "If we do this for her, she'll give us the power to steal their souls and bring them back with us. It's all we wanted."

"We need you with us," Matt pleaded, "Don't you see? We won't let them do to you what they did to us. We'll protect you. We just…we can't be alone there anymore."

Even though Dean could no longer see the sisters' faces since they had turned back to their brothers, he was certain they had to be horrified. That was no act of love or sacrifice, it wasn't even thinly veiled selfishness like how Dean knew his sacrifice for Sam had been. This was dark and horrible. No one wished Hell upon family out of _love_.

Dean shook his head at the demons; the sisters were speechless so he moved between them and they allowed him to shelter their bodies behind his. "And who was this demon, huh, who had that kind of power? She give you a name?"

Defiant at first, neither of them said anything, but finally Matt admitted, "She calls herself Lilith. She almost seemed…nice compared to most of the things down there. She is. She's nice as long as you do what she says. We _have_ to do this."

Lilith. Dean knew the name as a pretty strong evil reference, but it was another one of those with fractured lore, too much really to know what was real. Failed wife of Adam, first demonic creature on earth, first vampire, Pandora's Box, you name it, and maybe none of that had any truth to who this Lilith was.

But Dean did know one thing for sure.

"She lied to you," he said, ready with his weapon as soon as he might need it, "No demon has that power, not like she said she did. Free will. Believe me, I know. And so do you. You gave it up for nothing and now you're pissed. Sorry for you. But you can't take someone else's to make things easier on yourselves. Only your sisters can choose. And I doubt they'd ever choose you now." Dean didn't even have to look at the sisters to know he was right. This wasn't about sacrifice, something they could give up to help their brothers. It was something twisted now.

Sam stepped around the sisters too, then Sasha, keeping them safely behind a wall of hunters. Only Sarah stayed back to make sure the civilians didn't try anything heroic.

"Don't do this," Sam beseeched.

"You can still make a choice," said Sasha, "We have to send you back, _just you_, but then it'll really be over. These aren't your lives to take, you know that, not the students in this building or the boys you're invading. You don't have to do this."

"Thing is," Dean shrugged, feeling his fingers twitch since Matt and Ben were standing too still in front of them, "Even if you give up free will…you can still take it back for yourself." Now, he didn't know if that was true, but he wanted it to be. He couldn't bear that his future might be set in stone, and knowing whether or not it would be started with these boys that were so like him.

Neither of them said anything but there was doubt in their eyes now after having seen their sisters. The two parts of their selves were colliding—human and demon. Sam might have thought he took away the fear that these boys choosing good would mean the end for Dean. But he hadn't. Dean couldn't stomach the thought of sending them back to Hell if they chose good. Sean and Micah, the real ones, deserved to have their lives back, but there were other ways Ben and Matt might stay.

Dean thought of telling them that. Even possessing corpses would be better than Hell. But if he did then the boys' decision would be meaningless. It would leave too many openings for evil down the road. They needed to choose to stop what they were doing not because of any benefits but because it was the right thing. If they did that then Dean knew he could give up salvation for them.

Then suddenly it was the deciding moment because Dean's cell phone started to ring. And Sam's. And Sasha's. The doors below burst open as students spilled out to head to the church. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo hadn't been able to stall them.

For a moment Dean didn't know what would happen next. He could feel where the line was drawn, feel that these demons still so human were trying to decide which side of it to stand on. He wanted to believe they were still human enough to make the right choice. But the sneers that grew on their faces as they turned and dropped, swift as soldiers to position their guns and fire, crushed those hopes.

"No!"

"Sammy, quick!"

Screams erupted on the roof, not just the girls but their own. There were countless students and teachers and parents down there, all innocent. Thankfully, Sam acted fast enough that before the guns could fire, he had used his TK to pull them from the boys' hands out of reach. Dean wanted to run forward then, all instinct in him wanted to just _move_, but he knew he had to let Sam do his thing.

Problem was, a moment later, Sam's eyes vibrant yellow at first and then turned vivid white, nothing had happened to the demons in teenager's clothing. They just looked pissed, and they were finally moving across the roof.

"Sam!"

"I can't!" Sam shouted, "The signatures are too close! I could blow the hosts' human souls straight to Hell with them!"

Fuck, the demons were too human to exorcise but not human enough to make the right choice. Sometimes Dean really wished Sam's powers were just a little more reliable.

The demons were already upon them, in the bodies of kids, sure, but Dean knew better than to think physical stature actually meant anything where a demon was involved. They had to make sure the boys didn't get their guns back. They also couldn't risk letting them get to their sisters.

While Sarah pulled Miriam and Meagan back towards the door, trying to get them to leave the roof, Sam rushed at Ben with shear strength, Sasha went for the rifles to keep them out of harm's reach, and Dean rolled to escape as Matt grabbed for him, the Colt still in his hand if he needed it.

Damn it, he did need it, but he just couldn't bear to shoot some sixteen-year-old kid's body who didn't even know what the fuck was going on. "Just stop!" he shouted at Matt as he jumped back to his feet and aimed reluctantly, "You think no gun can touch you? _This_ one can. Built just for demons. Now stop a minute and think about what you're doing. You're gonna shoot a buncha kids so some demon bitch will give you the power to force your sisters to Hell with you? Do you really hate them that much? Coz if you say shit about love then you really don't know what the word means anymore."

"You don't know. You don't understand," Matt responded. And no, Dean didn't understand, but he would. If they didn't end this once and for all, he would.

The demon was smart enough to listen to Dean and not try anything that might force Dean to fire. He waited and paced, matching Dean's stride. Dean could see Sam struggling with Ben but he must have been as hesitant to burn an innocent kid with the melting power as Dean was to use the Colt. Sam soon got knocked on his ass.

Meanwhile, Sasha had the rifles. He shoved them at Sarah only to return to the fray, diving in to aid Sam since he seemed to be at the least advantage right now, amazingly enough. On the upside, these kids weren't old or experienced enough to use that nifty force-push power. Ben merely braced himself and took Sasha's tackle, the two of them tumbling to the roof floor.

This was getting them nowhere fast. If they couldn't exorcise the demons then Dean was going to have to shoot them, period. Both of them.

He was too distracted by his thoughts to anticipate when Matt suddenly dropped to the ground in a lunge feet-first at his ankles. Dean was down, head smacking into the cement and Colt skittering across the roof a moment later. Matt reared up from Dean's left immediately, looking feral like he meant to tear Dean apart with his bare hands. He dove at Dean, but then suddenly jolted to the side as his shoulder was knocked back, struck by something that looked like a spike.

No, not a spike. A _stake_. A Palo Santo stake from the crossbow Dean had given John.

Matt crumbled, his borrowed body shaking and trembling as it fell straight back and then remained still. It was a wound to the real kid's shoulder, but it had stopped the demon cold. Dean pushed up from the ground only to be greeted by a hand reaching down to help him up.

"I win the crossbow shooting contest at the Renaissance Festival every year," John shrugged as he hoisted Dean up, handing back the weapon since Dean's gun had been lost. Dean grinned, had only enough time to notice that the girls were all still back by the door, that Sasha had been thrown by the demon—something Dean knew could only happen if Sasha, like all of them, was hesitant to hurt an innocent kid—and that Sam was diving in to grapple yet again when Sam shouted a warning.

"Sasha, get back!" he called. The incubus listened, scooting enough out of the way to leave Sam and the demon a wide radius. Then suddenly a red Devil's trap was glowing all around Sam and the demon he was still holding fast.

"You!" Ben snarled, fighting tooth and nail in Sam's hold, "You hunters could never understand! You don't know what monsters are, what they _really_ are!" And as he fought, for the first time since showing Dean his true self downstairs, Ben let his eyes go all-over black. He roared and railed against Sam. "We'll show you! We'll show you monsters! _We'll show you demons_!"

It was empty threats—the kid wasn't going anywhere—but it was vicious nonetheless. Maybe Matt would be the same if he could move, but frozen as he was by the Palo Santo stake, he could barely talk. "We don't…care what it costs," he mumbled just enough that they could hear him, "We're taking our...sisters. We won't…go back…alone."

"Dean," Sam said, white eyes blazing so unnatural, "I can feel them now. _Demons_. I can feel them. They made their choice, I can feel the difference. Dean, we have to do this now." He was asking permission, Dean realized, to finish it and send the boys to Hell or to kill them. Sam could sense where demon was separate from the real human souls finally and he was waiting for Dean's order.

Dean couldn't give this order. "We kill them or we send them back," he said to Miriam and Meagan who had moved away from Sarah slowly but still several feet away from their brothers. John was next to Dean, watching his wife with anguish that marred the smirk he had been wearing before. "It's all we can do," Dean said.

The sisters were staring at their brothers, not at Dean, but they had heard him because both of them nodded. "Send them back to Hell…or kill them?" Meagan repeated.

"You could kill the…demon…and still save Sean and Micah?" Miriam pressed.

Matt remained still from the stake, but Ben might as well have had one stuck in his shoulder too because he fell limp in Sam's arms. "Mim…" he called to his sister.

"P-Please…" stuttered Matt.

Sam nodded to say that he could feel the demon side strong enough that he could easily exorcize or kill the demons now, just as he had killed Meg—the demon Meg, not this poor young woman and her friend dealing with ghosts they had long ago buried.

Dean supposed it was like asking someone about the death penalty, and really what was worse? Death? Or life in prison? With Hell as the prison it made that decision a little harder. Dean wasn't sure if it was weak or brave on his part that he would rather go to Hell.

"Send them back," Miriam said with an empty, blank expression. She turned away then and walked to her husband, right into his arms next to Dean.

Their were tears in Meagan's eyes as she nodded in kind, hands up covering her mouth again, but still Dean heard when she said, "They're not…they're not them anymore…"

Sam's eyes flashed and it was instant, black smoke pouring from the two young bodies to rise up and then plummet downwards. The boys didn't even get the chance to protest or make any final pleas. They weren't strong enough to resist Sam's powers now that they had made their true natures strong enough for him to lock on. They had made their choice.

The hosts, alive but beaten and shaking, started to come to, and the girls fell beside them right away, Miriam to Sean who had held Meagan's brother, and Meagan to Micah who had held Miriam's. They probably needed it to be that way right now.

It actually broke Dean's heart a little that the boys truly did seem in good shape for having had demons in them for almost a year, so Ben and Matt hadn't lied about that. Only poor Sean with that stake in his shoulder would need real medical attention. Micah would just have a lot of bruises.

With John's help, Miriam got Sean to his feet. The boy looked spooked, might or might not even know where he was at the moment or what had happened, though the startled look in his eyes had Dean thinking that the hosts in this case had seen everything.

On the other side of the roof, Micah stumbled out of Sam's hold and out of the Devil's trap into Meagan's arms where he clung like a five-year-old waking from a nightmare. Sasha guided all of them to the door. Only when they had cleared out of the way did Dean realize Sam was still standing inside the runic spell with a sheepish expression.

"Are you…stuck in there?" Dean snorted.

Sam scowled. "I didn't really…think this one through," he admitted, "I can't dismiss it if I'm in it."

Meagan looked over her shoulder at Sam. "If that thing holds a demon…then…"

"Don't ask," Sasha smiled, "You probably don't want to know."

Dean made way over to Sam and put his foot over one of the lines of the trap. It flickered and faded away as Sam was then able to release it. Sam's thanks came in a sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he looked past Dean at the retreating casualties, because really there still had been casualties and it was probably Meagan and Miriam's last peace of mind regarding their brothers. "I'm sorry," Sam called after them. Kid never could resist with that stuff.

At the door, it was Miriam who spoke when they all turned back. "No," she said, "_You_ don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Thanks," John added before they continued through the door and down the stairs, probably already thinking up what excuse they would give for why a student had a wooden stake in his shoulder. They would probably try and quickly forget any of this had ever happened. It's what most normal people did. And good for them, Dean thought. He wished he could forget sometimes.

He could see how much Sarah and Sasha were debating whether or not there was anything more they could say or do, whether they should follow after those poor people for something, anything to make this sting a little less, but since there wasn't anything else to be done both of them just turned back to stare at Sam and Dean.

Sam's grip on Dean's arm was so startling and sudden that Dean nearly yelped. He whipped his head back to his brother and grimaced, "Shit, Sammy, what's the deal?" But then Dean quickly became worried rather than pained or annoyed. Sam's eyes were hazel again but they were wide, deer-in-headlights wide, like maybe the kid had seen a ghost if that wasn't such a common occurrence for them.

"Dean…" Sam breathed, staring off into nothing.

"What?" Dean asked, truly concerned now. He could hear Sasha and Sarah's feet rushing over to them, "And stop it with the 'I suddenly went blind' expression, it's creeping me out."

As if to appease Dean that he had not grown suddenly blind, Sam finally made eye contact. And then he did something far creepier than suddenly grab Dean's arm with a faraway look. He smiled like a kid at Christmas. "I don't sense anything. Anywhere. I can't…sense anymore demons from the Devil's Gate."

There was a sharp gasp from Sasha. "Then it's over?" the incubus asked breathlessly. There was a little less than a week, mere days until their time would be up.

It seemed too easy for this to be the end. "Can't be," Dean shook his head. Today didn't feel like victory. Far from it. But then if Sam couldn't sense anymore demons…

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

Well that certainly put a damper on their potentially and briefly joyous moment. Malak's voice had a tendency to do that.

They all turned back towards the edge of the roof where Sean and Micah had originally been poised for their shooting. They would still need to get rid of those rifles, Dean thought. Or possibly keep them. Malak was standing with her back to them—_her_, female again so back to alternating like he was used to—in that simpler black dress and gold belt instead of the Jessica Rabbit one Dean had seen last. She was looking down at the students still filing over to the church, none of them knowing how close things had come to turning ugly.

"Don't celebrate yet, Sammy dear," she went on, "I'm afraid your powers, though peaked for now, are not yet all they can be. But I'll make things a little easier for you, say…as a friendly gesture." She peered over her shoulder, her yellow on black eyes glittering with the backdrop of golden tinted clouds since it was still early. Her red hair hung about her shoulder in loose, beautiful curls as always. "There is one demon from the Devil's Gate left on Earth. I assume you can guess who after this recent encounter with those boys. Oh, and don't worry, I'll take _good_ care of them now that they're home."

Instinct had Dean ready to stomp forward, but Sasha held him back, smarter than Dean could be at that moment with her taunting them like that.

Malak grinned out of the side of her mouth, all coy and cruelly beautiful. She turned around fully, leaning her hands back on the ledge of the roof and silhouetted now with the low hanging sun behind her. "_Lilith_ is something else, take my word for it. Let's just say…some of her abilities harken very closely to yours, Sam. She can summon other demons with her power. She can't control them as you can, but oh, they follow her anyway, believe me. Don't worry about any loopholes involving her minions though. Any demons surrounding her are exempt, not being from the escape at the Devil's Gate. But they will be a nuisance while trying to get rid of Lilith, so do take caution. You're all such…lovely creatures," she said, pushing from the ledge and walking languidly towards them, "It'd be such a pity to see any of you…torn apart."

As Malak approached, Sam grabbed Sarah by the shoulders and held her behind him, this being the first time anyone other than the trio had been in the Big Bad's presence. Sam's folly, Dean thought, as this motion goaded Malak into taking extra interest in Sarah.

She circled them, coming around to get at Sarah despite Sam's best efforts. She stopped only a foot from being able to reach out and do who knows what, and gave Sarah's body a once over. "Hmmm," she hummed approvingly, "Such lovely creatures indeed. And you, my dear, are something else, I've noticed. You take dear Sam's abilities and…less than virtuous bloodline quite in stride. With the incubus," she passed her gaze over Sasha briefly, "It is understandable, he being an 'other' himself, but what about you? You've chosen all this. I hope you recognize that. Don't think it doesn't come with…certain consequences from time to time," she leaned in close to Sarah's face.

"Leave her alone," Sam came to her rescue, turning so that he was closer to Malak again and Sarah safe behind him, not that Sarah had looked at all like she needed a white knight. The girl was nothing if not brave.

"Stick with torturing _me_, huh?" Dean broke in, "And on a side note, I don't particularly like you calling Sasha 'the incubus' all the time like he's some sorta thing. Okay?" Saying something that…well, as white knight as Sam had just been, had Sasha's brilliant blue eyes locking on Dean's face in shocked gratitude. It wasn't as if Sasha needed Dean's protection from silly things like what their demon stalker chose to call him, but it had really been starting to get on Dean's nerves.

Malak seemed to find it all extremely amusing. She smirked, hand on her hip, "Well, my apologies, _Sasha_. I wouldn't want to give the impression that I think anything less of you for what you are. On the contrary, I think you are and will be most useful in the future in part _because_ of those delicious particulars to your kind. And you are so _dear_ to Dean, after all," she reached for Sasha's face, the redhead frozen in place at being this close to her when they had no way to defend themselves against her power.

Dean moved just fast enough to pull Sasha back against him and away from Malak's touch. "Yeah, he is dear to me. So keep your mitts off," Dean growled, "Now, you're saying we have one left. Lilith and that's it?"

Narrowed as her eyes were for a moment due to Dean disrupting her fun, Malak soon shrugged and smiled coyly again. "As I said, one demon left on Earth from the Devil's Gate. And you needn't worry about demons on Earth for other reasons, they're not part of the deal. Time is running out though, isn't it? And with Sam unable to sense Lilith, her being the…first human demon and so much stronger than him at present, you have no idea where she is." It didn't have to be stated that Malak obviously had no intention of telling them.

But she had given something away. On purpose, but she had given it away. Lilith was the first human demon, whatever that meant. They might be able to use that.

Before any of them could ask further questions, Malak returned her attentions to Sam and Sarah. "I had thought after the first loss you would be less cavalier to give yourself over so fully again. Humans do find it difficult to survive such wars, you know, Sam. Like Jessica, poor dear," she said almost as if she cared, "If it is any consolation, that whole business was more Azazel's doing than mine." She flicked her eyes up to meet his, smiled. "I would have been much more creative than to use a repeat performance."

Sam's eyes flashed full white, skipping yellow completely, something Dean had never seen. He held Sarah closer but he didn't say anything, just glared at Malak with all his power, power he knew couldn't match hers, couldn't match this Lilith's apparently either.

"How you're growing," Malak said with praise, "So impressive. You're almost ripe enough now. Almost."

"Unless what? Unless you're enemy gets to me first?" Sam dared shoot back at her, "Who is it? The person who revived me that night, who is it? Is it this Lilith? Is that why you went to all this trouble of making a second deal, so we'd take care of her for you?"

Malak genuinely laughed, no sign of the brief fear and panic Dean had seen the night he told Malak there was someone else in the mix. "Oh, dear boy. So little faith? And from _you_, Sam. How wonderful." Then she was gone, swift as she ever came and went, having left them not really too much better off than they had been before. All they had was a name. Maybe a few ideas. Most of it was still riddles.

And time was almost up.

-----

Downstairs several minutes later, they caught up with Meagan and Miriam and the others, as well as Jo and Bobby and Ellen who were pretty much beside themselves for having missed all of the action, and since their cell phone calls had never been answered. They were of course relieved to discover things had ended well. If that kind of ending could be considered _well_.

Real police were arriving, stories needed to be made up to protect Sean and Micah as best as possible, and the hunters needed to make scarce. Dean got that, had even been the first to scoop up the rifles that they would dispose of later. But he still found himself wanting to wander the hallways and help make sure there weren't any students still hiding in the building. Any stragglers were safe now of course; there was no bomb, no potential school shooting either, but there might be some freaked out kid hiding in a classroom somewhere and Dean just didn't feel right about leaving.

He had said he just wanted to give the school one final once over before they left. The others agreed, most of them heading for their cars while Sam and Sasha helped Dean look, each in a different direction. Dean was certain he was just being paranoid, finding nothing but empty hallways and rooms, most with their lights off. He took a moment to sit on the back stairs that led up to the science rooms he had already checked and row after row of more lockers. It was kind of nice just sitting alone.

Then suddenly he realized he wasn't alone.

Dean's hunter senses picked up movement, the presence of someone behind him up the stairs, and he turned. Sitting up on the top step was a little girl, maybe seven or eight, definitely too young to be at a high school Speech tournament. "Hey there," Dean said carefully, not wanting to spook her, "You someone's little sister tagging along for the day? You know everyone was supposed to have gone to the gym earlier."

The little girl, with strawberry blonde hair slightly curled and tied back into a half pony-tail, was very pretty and delicate looking in a Sunday best white dress. She even had the Shirley Temple buckled black shoes. She scooted down a step. "I know. I was watching," she said.

"Well you should have been monkey see, monkey _doing_," Dean replied, "Sure your parents are worried. Most everyone's over at the church now."

"You're here," she shrugged, scooting down another step.

Dean had to smile; this was a strange little girl, very stoic sounding despite her smile, like she was wise beyond her years. "Yeah, I'm here. But I was gonna go too. Maybe you'd like to…come with me." He didn't make a move just yet, in case she might still be spooked.

She scooted down another step. "I thought it was bad to go off alone with strangers."

Smart kid; Dean grinned again. "Well…"

"But you're not a stranger. Are you, Dean?"

The smile fell from Dean's face. He hadn't said his name.

The girl slid down another step, now only a few feet from where Dean was sitting. "You didn't let them play like I wanted. It would have been so much more fun than all this," she glanced around at the empty school, "It's more fun with me. Much more fun. Those teenagers don't have any fun at all." She giggled, scooted happily down the last few steps to join Dean and suddenly clung onto his arm, hugging him.

Dean felt the cold chill of fear climb up his arm where she was touching him.

"But I know how much fun you can be, Dean. We'll have _so_ much fun. You can find me, can't you?" Her eyes, suddenly and horrible in the face of that little girl, flicked to white. Just like Sam's. "Oh, I know you can. You're such a good hunter. Like Daddy taught you. Won't you come and play with me, Dean?" She smiled wide, giggled again, her white eyes blank and without reflection, and then she was gone, leaving Dean alone with that awful chill and a sense of dread he couldn't seem to escape no matter how close they teetered on a happy ending. There was still one more obstacle standing in their way.

_Lilith_.

tbc...

A/N: One chapter left for the arc and the deal! Finally! I think I like this chapter, but I know I'm going to love the next one. And oh to finally get to the rest of the story beyond the deal, I'm so excited. The real purpose of it all. I shall tell you all what I have told a few. As of right now I have 11 arcs planned, as well as an extra epilogue arc that will deal with loose ends I just can't fit in with some of the others things that will happen, and maybe I'll do a for fun arc and oneshots for as long as people enjoy them. :-) But there is an end for this fic some day. I just hope it will all have been worth it for my readers. Thank you all who reviewed with special thoughtfullness this last round.

Several notes. All those speech blurbs are from speeches I did in high school. I was Dramatic Interpretation and kicked butt...but never made it to State. Sigh. The whole school shooting, bomb threat thing is kind of true. My senior year of high school some idiot freshman girl, I think it was, kept writing bomb threats on the bathroom stalls. We lost so much school time from going into the gym and prepping for it to be real, that they were almost going to make us add days and graduate late. Like we'd have graduation and then have to go back for two more days of school. Oh we wanted to kill her. Anyway, I'm horrible, but a friend of mine and I came up with the whole bomb threat, wait on the roof to shoot everybody thing. Just using our brains, not meaning it seriously. Yeah, we're disturbingly devious. Good thing no one overheard us...

One of you is about to become reviewer 1000! I can't express my excitement. You will have to get a special prize.

Entries still being accepted for the Drabble contest, 100 words or less, 'presents'. Please, please, please!

These last couple chapters have been FILLED with hints. I wonder if anyone will have picked up on them. Maybe subconsciously, which would be pretty cool. Much love!

Crim


	70. Part 7: The Howling

The final chapter in this arc and the deal is named for the song of the same name, "The Howling" by Within Temptation. A must listen. Many notes to follow.

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Part 7: The Howling

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A year ago Dean couldn't think of his waning time in terms of days. He saw it as just time. Not as ticks on a calendar, not weeks or even months. Just time. It became days only when there were less than seven of them, mostly because despite everyone's careful treading around the subject, they just kept mentioning it. It was always 'days' after that. Six days. Five days. Four. They were on two now, _two_, and in just a few hours it would be down to one. Then it wouldn't be days at all but hours, mere hours until Malak or the hellhounds, maybe both, would come for him.

Dean stopped feeling afraid, stopped feeling anxious and overcome a long time ago. He couldn't exactly sit down and cry over this. He wouldn't. Sometimes bad shit just happened, and bad shit loved to happen to him.

They were still in Prior Lake, well Shakopee, still staying at the casino hotel. They hadn't seen Meagan or Miriam, which was probably good for the girls' sakes. They had zero leads but somehow Dean knew Lilith had to be close. The way she had taunted him made it too obvious that she must be just out of reach, just inches or feet or blocks away from them. She wanted him to know that he had a chance because that made it so much worse that they couldn't figure out where she was.

There just weren't enough unexplainable things happening in the small towns around them, they had known that when they researched to find out more about the demon boys. But if Lilith was 'playing' anywhere in Shakopee, Prior Lake, or Savage, then there had to be something for them to find.

Days of searching, days gone and lost, had handed them nothing but strained eyes from computer screens and strained voices from talking to civilians who didn't have anything new to tell them. Everyone was constantly doing something. Dean supposed he was glad for the extra help, for Ellen and Bobby, and Jo and Sarah too, even Shiarra who kept calling and Wally who was ready to sit on Dean's lap at any time and be just a simple, soothing presence made it all more bearable.

But it wasn't enough. And all of them knew it.

Jo passed Dean on the way out, going for provisions since they kept forgetting to actually eat something. She smiled tightly, clutched his arm for a moment. He almost wanted to push her away. He couldn't stand to see any of them pitying him like that, but they did. He knew they did.

Dean had been out talking to some of the elementary school teachers, still using the alias of Detective Stokes since the badge was set and he knew Meagan and Miriam wouldn't be turning him in. None of the teachers he talked to seemed to notice anything strange about any of their female students though. And none of the classroom pictures Dean looked at held the image of the girl who had talked to him.

Sam and Sarah were the only ones in the larger room when he went inside. They had the same two that connected, the connector door almost always propped open since they slept only when they had to. There was music playing softly in the background, a radio on in the other room. Sam and Sarah didn't notice that he had come in, too absorbed in whatever it was they were looking at on Sam's laptop. Dean shed his suit coat and loosened his tie, watching Sam and Sarah talk hushed. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he knew the conversation was about him.

Something broke in Sam's eyes, his brow furrowing like he might cry. Sarah said something to him so softly that her lips barely moved, a hand reaching up to touch his face, smooth back his hair. When she smiled at Sam she made Dean think of Jessica. Sarah was so different from Jessica and not just because her hair was dark and her figure more womanly and curved, but because she could survive this. She really could, Dean knew it. She could be something Jessica never could have—a bridge between two lives. A bridge that won't burn.

They kissed, no one initiating it just equally timed movement that connected them. The kiss was soft, gently moving, each of them needing to communicate some shared emotion that could only pass between them through skin. Dean could understand that. He felt that need every time he looked at Sasha.

A hand on Dean's shoulder, gentle from behind where someone else had come through the door, didn't even startle him. He knew his companions so well that he could recognize each of them merely by the sound of their footsteps and breathing. "Hey, Bobby," Dean managed, not realizing until he tried to speak that his voice was caught in his throat somewhere.

"You alright, son?"

"That a trick question?" Dean tried to grin. He turned to look at his friend, his mentor, his surrogate uncle and saw a stern frown. "Sorry," Dean amended, "No leads again. Sure it's the same all around or my phone would be going off the hook. Bad expression since it's a cell phone," he chuckled.

Bobby's hand on Dean's shoulder squeezed with reassurance. Maybe his look wasn't pity but there was always remorse. Bobby understood loss as well as anyone; he couldn't bear to lose someone else, just like Dean couldn't if one of the others was the one headed for Hell instead of him.

"You know it's…funny," Dean strained to keep his smile, "Keep thinking I either want to spend as much time as I can in the car…or head to your place. Pretty much the only homes I know." Dean saw Bobby's brow furrow with unspoken pain. He had to swallow before saying, "Aren't you s'possed to wish for that kinda stuff when you're knocking on death's door? Familiarity. Or something." He shrugged, not meaning to shrug Bobby off too but he couldn't help it.

Then Bobby's expression was all sternness again. He patted Dean's shoulder hard. "None a that 'sorry for myself', fatalistic crap on my watch, ya hear? Way I figure it, we'll be hitting on something any time now. Won't accept anything different." He patted Dean's shoulder again and then headed for Sam and Sarah. Bobby had been checking for missing children's reports. Guess he didn't find any.

Dean was ready to head into the other room, change, maybe take a shower, when Sasha came through the connecting door. It used to be that suddenly seeing the incubus after being away from him lit Dean up, made all the rest of the world seem brighter for at least a moment. But these days, so close to not just death's but _Hell's_ door, Dean saw horrible things when he looked at the people he loved—their faces twisted. It came and went, usually caught him by surprise, but it was always worst on Sasha.

The incubus turned to see him still close to the door leading out. Sasha probably smiled but Dean couldn't see it because he was seeing a corpse's face instead, howling.

The horror shifted back to being just Sasha, who was smiling after all but sadly. Dean shook himself back to awareness. "Hey," he said, approaching where Sasha was poised between rooms, "Fall asleep on the job?" he teased, batting at Sasha's too red hair that was a little mused for a change.

"Actually…I did," Sasha admitted, "Fell asleep over weather reports. Sorta, ya know…wrecked…lately."

Damn it. There were tears in Sasha's eyes after two sentences. The incubus was by far the worst at keeping his emotions in check. He didn't look at Dean with pity either. His look was fear. Fear of losing something he had waited so long for and couldn't bear to see taken away. "Hey," Dean grinned, elbowing Sasha in the side as he came up next to him, "Lovebirds got interrupted. Bet I can imagine the conversation." Dean couldn't hear what Sam, Sarah, and Bobby were talking about but he put on his most over the top, deep-voiced Bobby impression, and said, "Damn it, Sam, we ain't got time for you to be hitting that."

Sasha immediately snickered.

"But, Bobby, I…" Dean trailed in the whiney voice he always reserved for Sam, "No, Bobby," he switched to high and feminine for Sarah, "It's just that Sam has reached a certain age and has all these new urges and hair growth, and I was lending a helping hand," then back to Bobby, "Well if you want any more of that kinda help, Sam, I think you're gonna need to buy me a beer first."

That did it. As soon as Sasha's stifled chuckle burst into full on laughter, enough that even the mocked Sam, Sarah and Bobby all looked over at them, Dean knew he had won. At least for a little while.

Pleased with himself, Dean grinned at the others, waved like nothing had happened, then swiftly yanked Sasha along with him into the other room. The redhead was still laughing as they stumbled over the carpet and Dean quietly shut the connecting door behind them.

Sasha's face—laugh lines that would never be wrinkles, his bright blue eyes squinting in merriment, teeth flashing white and the bit of pink tongue behind them—Dean had every smooth bit of skin, every curve of Sasha's jaw, his nose, all of it memorized. He never used to pay much attention to the idiosyncrasies of other men's faces, even when he was sizing up competition. He never really did it with women either. He looked, recognized 'pretty' and 'hot' and 'sexy', but he never really saw the little things that made those women beautiful the way he saw how Sasha was beautiful.

Well if that wasn't the sappiest internal monologue he had ever had to remind himself that yes, he had fallen in love with a man, with an incubus, and he had no regrets about that whatsoever, then Dean really didn't want to know how he could get sappier.

"Come here for a minute," Dean said, leaning back against the closed door and just watching Sasha recover from his laughter. He felt like he hadn't held or really touched Sasha in weeks. Maybe he hadn't. Time wasn't very cooperative with him lately.

There was a twinkle in Sasha's eyes, a quirk of his mouth as he went silent and returned Dean's stare. "I know that look," he said, "Everyone's researching, Dean, and Ellen and Jo will be back—"

"Who _cares_," Dean shushed him. He pushed off the door and walked right into Sasha's space, both hands reaching up to pull the redhead down into a kiss.

The immediate connection, lips pressed tight, tongue seeking with ravenous, possessive strokes, it was all heat. Even though it was Spring, nearly May, Dean craved the warmth Sasha gave off.

His hands slid from Sasha's face, down the front of his chest, and settled on his waistline where Dean could slip his fingers into the open space between Sasha's T-shirt and jeans.

"Dean…" Sasha growled in that voice that said he was already giving in, "They'll hear us." The walls weren't exactly thick between the two rooms, that was true.

"So turn up the radio," Dean suggested hotly against his lover's lips. Some unknown song was still playing softly in the background.

Sasha grinned again, backed up a step as if he meant to obey and go turn up the volume, but then his smile faded. "Dean…"

"Don't even start," Dean cut him off, "No evasion bullshit just coz you think I'm looking for a…a 'goodbye fuck' or whatever. I'm going out of my mind here, baby, I just _want_ you." He reached up to Sasha's face again, cupping a soft cheek that he had never felt the roughness of stubble on. He knew he wouldn't mind if he ever did though.

Blue eyes fluttered closed as Sasha leaned into his touch. "I wasn't going to evade you, Dean. I just…" his breath hitched and he swallowed it down thickly, "I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"Course I know that," Dean whispered back, "You're not very subtle."

How long had it been since they first kissed in that alleyway, since they first made love on Bobby's floor, since Dean first said those insane words while they were waiting for Sam in the Impala? It didn't matter. Dean didn't want to recount their experiences in units of time, only with memory, with scenes played out in his head as he vividly recollected.

Those brilliant blue eyes opened and it was Sasha who bent his head to kiss Dean, softer, tenderer than before with only the lightest flicks of his tongue along Dean's lips. He turned away but only to move to the radio finally and turn up the volume, flipping through stations to settle on something with a stronger beat.

"Come here," Sasha smiled back at him, motioning Dean over with a tilt of his head.

Dean didn't need to be asked twice; the incubus' come-hither look made a puddle of him every time.

He hadn't been completely honest when he told Bobby that the only homes he knew were the Impala and a scrap yard in South Dakota. Anywhere Sammy was, that was home too. And this past year anywhere Dean found his incubus was downright domestic. The djinn's dreamworld didn't have anything on Sasha Kelly.

They connected again like the polar ends of a magnet, pulled together by sheer physics. Dean wanted to touch Sasha everywhere, memorize him all over again. He needed this to hold onto, something strong that Malak would never be able to take away from him.

Carefully, Sasha began to move them as they continued to kiss more and more deeply and sought intimate holds with their hands, shifting their bodies towards the bed. He soon pushed Dean onto the rumpled sheets that no one had bothered to fix that morning and climbed right on top of the bed with him.

They situated and scooted around and strained, trying to never lose where their lips touched and their hands roamed. Dean almost laughed to think that something very much not human was hovering over him right now and with less than honorable intent. Once upon a time that would have been one of his worst nightmares come to life.

"I've wanted to try this again ever since…" Sasha lowered his head and Dean swore he saw the incubus blush, "Ever since we tried it the first time. If…ya know…you still want me like this." Sasha sat back on Dean's hips, pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it away. What he meant by 'this' revealed itself in familiar ripples over his body until Dean was looking at longer red hair, red eyes, horns, and white and black skin. Sasha grinned fangs, his wings appearing on his back and flaring out to their full breadth above them.

Now Dean understood why Sasha had taken off the T-shirt first. He smiled up at his incubus. "Never been a doubt I want you every way I can have you," he said, running his hands up the smooth marble white of Sasha's chest, right up to the only black tattoo Sasha hadn't been born with and the scar that lay beneath it, "The real you is my favorite kink." Especially since Sasha wasn't larger and more menacing like he had been in the cave. Dean preferred the incubus like this—definitely.

Much as Sasha smiled wider to hear Dean say all that, there was that sadness again that passed into his red eyes, sadness Dean recognized and could anticipate even before the redhead tried again with a somber, "Dean…"

"Take me however you want me," he said before Sasha could say anything else. Dean arched up enough to playfully grab Sasha by the horns and tugged. "But shut up about it, huh?" With a wink and a few other things spoken silently that could only find a vocabulary with his eyes, Dean tugged again, pulling Sasha by his horns until the incubus was lying on top of him properly.

The song on the radio had changed again, Dean didn't know when, but because it was loud and so near their heads, he felt the music vibrate through him as they kissed and Sasha's claws ran slipped up beneath his shirt to remove it, popping away the buttons one by one.

_We've been seeing what you wanted,  
Got us cornered right now_

Dean knew he was hot, praised Dad and Mom and the genetic lottery for it too, but the incubus that loved him and was so strangely erotic when he looked like a Beast had always been the real Beauty in their relationship. Dean never doubted that.

_Falling asleep from our vanity  
May cost us our lives_

His shirt was gone, destroyed with all the buttons lost, but they could always buy a new one to go with his suits. Sasha left the loosened tie, however, and went straight for Dean's dark grey slacks.

_I hear them getting closer  
Their howls are sending chills down my spine  
_

Gripping that long red hair with firm insistency, he kept Sasha close so he could run his tongue over the curves of those slightly pointed ears. He wriggled out of his pants.

_And time is running out now,  
They're coming down the hills from behind_

There was still the matter of Dean's shorts, but Sasha tore them away so swiftly Dean barely noticed the absence until denim was pressing against his quickly heating flesh. He arched up. Just seeing Sasha like that, full incubus and so damn gorgeous, Dean wanted to be enveloped completely by wings and body and claws. He might have mumbled that aloud because Sasha smirked, showing the glint of fangs again, and sat back to better undo his own jeans.

After a minute of realizing that claws were not exactly conducive to unhooking small buttons or zippers, Dean sat up to offer Sasha a human hand, smirking the entire time.

_When we start killing  
It's all coming down right now  
From the nightmare we've created  
I want to be awakened somehow  
(Wanna be awakened right now)_

Sasha's jeans were undone but the smile slipped from Dean's face. He turned to look at the radio. If there was a God then he had the cruelest sense of humor.

_When we start killing  
It all will be falling down  
From the Hell that we're in  
All we are is fading away…  
_

A gentle clawed hand on Dean's face pulled him back to the matter at hand, Sasha pushing Dean down into the mattress again as he laid his larger body on top of him and kicked his jeans and shorts to the floor.

The feel of Sasha all over him, touching him skin to skin the full length of their bodies had Dean shivering. He could feel the roughness of Sasha's clawed feet, feel Sasha's heat twitching between their thighs. The kiss this time was fierce and Dean could feel that familiar prick on his lips, on his tongue, reminding him that he was the only person who would ever know these sensations with Sasha. This was theirs—only theirs.

_I feel them getting closer  
Their howls are sending chills down my spine_

_And time is running out now  
They're coming down the hills from behind_

Dean trembled as Sasha's teeth and tongue marked his chest and lower, claws gripping his hips where they nicked the skin not enough to bleed but enough to _claim_. Dean wanted to be covered in such marks, deep enough to mark his soul too. The way Sasha held him, wrapped him in his arms and held on, kissing Dean's neck, biting just slightly, it burned him with such marvelous heat that he gasped up towards the ceiling.

He touched Sasha with equal fervor, found the soft white skin of Sasha's chest and thighs and those wings he loved that were the deepest black. The second Dean had the opportunity, he arched up and licked the tendon along the outside edge of one of those wings, sucking and teasing it with his tongue.

This time it was Sasha who trembled. His eyes were glowing brightly as he held Dean, sitting up to merely look at him for a moment. Dean almost would have felt exposed under such scrutiny but he knew Sasha was trying to memorize everything just like he was.

Grinning more deviously, Sasha spread Dean out beneath him and carefully bent Dean's legs up for better access. He bent his head down between them then and licked one long strip up Dean's length. "You want me to stay like this?" he asked in that growly, husky voice.

"Ngnnn…" Dean moaned incoherently before finding his voice, "_Oh_ yeah. You're so fucking hot like that, baby."

A pink tongue darted out to lick over Sasha's lips and fangs. "Well then…you're gonna have to help things along. I don't think it would be very nice of me to use _these_." He held up both clawed hands, glancing down between Dean's legs again with a poignant raise of an eyebrow.

Dean had to smirk. "Kinky bastard," he said. He could do that. The angle was awkward but he was limber and flexible enough to hoist his hips off the mattress and reach down with less pain-inducing _human_ fingers to prepare him for his incubus.

Last time they tried this it had been Sasha with his feet in the air—clawed feet too. Dean didn't really have a preference. That whole 'no sex with an incubus is bad sex' thing was all true. But right now he was sort of glad to have Sasha in this position.

He thought maybe the redhead would be really kinky about things and watch with rapt attention. The incubus did snatch up his fingers and suck on them a few minutes to help things along. But then he slithered up beside Dean, fitting in along his body maybe a little awkwardly since one wing had to sneak around Dean against the headboard. He pressed as tight as he could to Dean's body, propped on his side while Dean remained flat on his back, the heavy weight of Sasha twitching against Dean's hip with promise.

"Now you're just teasing me," Dean grunted. It was strange preparing himself. He liked it better when Sasha's fingers stretched him—he loved Sasha's fingers, everything about the guy really—but the way the redhead was looking at him right now had his pulse racing.

"Oh…so you want me to tease you?" Sasha grinned.

It was Dean's right hand that was currently locked around him and a little…_busy_ at the moment, so he sort of forgot he had another hand that might interfere if it wanted when the incubus first put the sharp tips of his claws to Dean's skin and started tracing invisible designs. Dean decided not to interfere, however. The touch of Sasha's claws had to be so gentle in order not to cut him, gentle enough that Dean felt a shiver run through him every few moments. When those claws traced over a nipple he choked back a cry and his hips bucked up from the bed.

Then he did cry out because moving like that pushed his fingers in deeper than he expected. He hit that perfect bundle of nerves and shuddered against Sasha. The music was still loud enough that he hoped no one had heard him yelp.

"You're killing me," he writhed since Sasha wasn't letting up with the slow, tortuous trailing of claws, down his thigh now and low across his hips, "Fucking…god damn…" he shifted in vain.

Sasha was so hard now against him that Dean wasn't surprised when the incubus crawled on top of him, forcing him to remove his fingers and better position himself with so much extra weight suddenly on top of him. How the glamours encompassed _weight_ Dean didn't quite understand, but when Sasha's wings were out and visible, the incubus had to weigh at least an extra fifty. Being aware of this, however, Sasha quickly adjusted so that his knees were on either side of Dean and that weight fell mostly onto the bed.

The incubus ran the palms of his hands up Dean's sides, the tips of his claws barely touching him, and bent down to kiss Dean hungrily. There were the fangs again, pressing on Dean's lips and tickling his tongue. Sasha shifted down, his hands following until claws gripped Dean's hips and the tip of Sasha, hot and weeping, pushed on Dean's entrance.

Almost instantly, Dean's head was pressing back into the pillow beneath him, his body arching up as Sasha thrust down. It was such a common thing for both of them—being together this way—that it was easy, painless, all the right kinds of tight and heated.

Dean's knees were bent and the rest of him felt a little squished, but it was good, so good, and he just wanted Sasha to press in further or move or _something_. But the incubus pulled instead, hands still on Dean's hips he pulled on him effortlessly and lifted Dean off the bed. Dean settled in Sasha's lap with a gasp, reminded of that time they had their morning sex-capades. It was feel-it-in-your gut deep, and with Dean lifted he could look down at Sasha, at those curling black horns, the perfect face, the grin, all of it so monstrous and beautiful. Dean couldn't figure for the life of him sometimes how he had ended up here, but damn was happy to call it home.

Those leathery and yet still amazingly soft wings cocooned around them, Sasha on his knees, Dean more or less sitting and happily impaled. And they rocked. Slow and simple, they rocked, with Dean clinging to Sasha's shoulders `s, head thrown back, and…_Jesus_. Sasha kissed Dean's neck, sucked and gnawed teasingly where he hadn't been able to reach before. There were no thrusts, no harsh pulls, just rocking, Sasha pressing in deeper every time so that Dean could feel heat pooling steadily but held at bay right on the brink.

Then he felt it. Like something blossoming from the connection of their bodies, suddenly there was the circuit, coiling from inside of him and up through his limbs right to the tips of his fingers. He was pretty sure he couldn't feel his feet. A rush of the circuit, so potent like that, always got the better of him.

And that was when Dean realized how much he would miss this. Of course he would. And not just the mind-blowing sex, though he would definitely miss that for its own sake, but that perfect echoed feeling reminding him every time, even when he doubted he deserved it that he was loved.

Dean was brought back to rapture, back to their raw passion as Sasha's rocking grew more fervent. He held Dean at the waist with claws—_claws_—that somehow never hurt him more than he could handle. Dean grabbed for Sasha's face, looked deeply into those heavy-lidded eyes as Sasha rocked again. Again. _Again_. Trembling deeply, Dean had to keep hold of Sasha's cheeks, fingers up underneath the curl of horns, for him to be steady enough for a kiss.

They were wrapped up in the circuit as well as Sasha's wings, and somehow they found a rhythm that lasted and built and remained strong throughout several more songs on the radio. Every last one of them reminded Dean that his days would soon be nothing more than hours.

Later, when they were spent and sticky, too tangled in each other to care about the mess, Sasha didn't change out of his natural, true form. He held Dean with every large as life part of him. Casually, Dean trailed his fingertips over a wing that was half-draped over his body. Songs kept playing and they didn't say anything, didn't move. But when Sasha was ready to speak Dean felt it coming.

"Dean…" the incubus tried for the third time tonight.

"Don't," Dean said, so soft any normal human probably wouldn't have heard him. He looked up from watching his tan fingers touching that strange but wonderful black skin. Red eyes met his, red on _white_ with slits like a cat's and so brilliant. "No goodbyes," he said.

Sasha's answering expression was hurt at first, maybe even angry, but he didn't push.

"You're such a girl," Dean had to lighten the mood, "No wonder it was never weird to love you."

A barked laugh left Sasha in mock offence. He pounced at Dean, claws and all to tackle him hard into the mattress. Dean was already flat on the mattress anyway so it basically meant putting all that extra incubus weight down on him. Dean feigned struggling, but when claws slipped up his stomach and across his ribs he flinched at that teasing tickle.

Laughter came again as Dean squirmed; Sasha so did love making him squirm.

The novelty wore off eventually, sound fading into silence again other than the radio, and it was just Sasha leaning over Dean, looking at him with heat and breath between them. He bent to kiss Dean gently. "No goodbyes," he promised, much as it pained him. That was the way it had to be.

Dean Winchester didn't do goodbyes.

-----

The rest of the evening went as most recent ones had. No one really ate, no one really slept, but eventually enough of them had passed out that someone shut off the lights.

Dean woke up with his face smushed on top of Sasha's keyboard. The incubus was in bed a few feet away, but only because Dean had forced him there. At some point Sarah and Jo had collapsed on the other bed with their clothes all on, on top of the covers.

The connecting door was open. Dean walked over slowly to peek inside, expecting to see at least someone awake, and indeed although Ellen was asleep on one of the beds, Bobby was still staring at a laptop screen with several police reports spread out around him. He glanced up when Dean came in, looking like he needed some of that sleep the others had finally started catching.

"Went outside a few minutes ago," Bobby said quietly, knowing what Dean was thinking even before he did, "Said he needed air. Might be a good thing for you too. Not much to go on still," he admitted, "But there's time yet."

Dean just smiled, nodded. He grabbed his jacket that he had left in there who knows when and slipped on the first pair of male shoes he saw. "I'll go bring Goldilocks back in then. He could probably use the rest." Then he was out the door, headed for the one spot he knew his quarry would be.

The Impala's engine was purring when Dean opened the passenger side door and slipped inside.

"So lemme guess," Dean said without looking at his brother, "Figured you'd save yourself some time and get used to sitting in that seat early. Am I right?"

If Sam thought Dean's antics were amusing he only expressed it with the meagerest pull at his lips. "Dean…" he said, the way everyone kept saying his name so plaintively. There was no music playing to dull the silence, only the rumble of Dean's baby.

"Sorry to have to tell you this," Dean went right on, "But I kinda already promised the Impala to Sasha awhile back seeing as how he'd appreciate it more." He grinned sideways, glancing across at Sam. "Knowing you there'd probably be one of those damn Ipod jack things hooked in before the end of the first week."

This time Sam laughed, a little stunted but real. But his eyes filled with anguished soon after and he tried again, as insistent as Sasha had been earlier. "Dean…"

"Happy May Day, Sammy."

The rumble of the engine didn't matter then; silence fell upon them like a hailstorm of stones. It was after midnight. May 1st. In 24 hours, when May 2nd reared its ugly head, Dean's time would be up. He kind of hated himself for mentioning it, but he couldn't bear to hear goodbyes from Sammy either.

He had a few theories, a few long shots that might help them find Lilith before the end. He didn't want to go to Hell. He had wanted Sam to live. He got that, and he didn't regret what he sacrificed for it, but having to leave now when things were finally starting to feel like a real life was too unfair.

"I'm never strong enough…when it matters," came Sam's voice softly from beside him, strangely damp and so tired, "Not like you and Dad."

Dean's eyebrows shot into his hairline; that had to be one of the most ridiculous things he had ever heard. "You going senile now? You've always been the strong one. You stood up to Dad. You save my ass so often I've lost count. And you're handling being a freak way better than I could, lemme tell ya," he joked, knowing Sam would roll his eyes and laugh again, "Besides, you…sure as Hell wouldn't have gotten yourself into _this_ mess," he finished quietly.

That sparked another wave of sadness to pass over Sam's eyes. "God, Dean, sometimes you sound like you don't think you deserve to be saved. Do you think I care that it was selfish? Think I blame you for not wanting to have to do this alone? I don't even think that was the real reason. I think you couldn't stand that the one job Dad kept pounding into you…slipped through your fingers. It wasn't even your fault, Dean. Like it's so much more important to take care of me than yourself," he scoffed, "You didn't want to let Dad down. You didn't want to let…_me_ down. That's not selfish, Dean. You gave up everything for me…"

Swift as the tears started falling, Sam's hand was there to scrub them away, but every time he wiped a few clean, more were there to replace them.

"Why do you always have to take up everyone else's burdens? And yet you think you're worth so little. You brought me back. Everything I am now, all this power," he stared at his hands like they were foreign objects, and Dean understood that even for Sam sometimes the thing those hands could do were so very foreign, "I'm only strong enough to do this, to prove Yellow Eyes and all the rest of them wrong because of you. Sarah. _Sasha_. All the things I wouldn't know if you hadn't…" he choked back a sob that he tried to mask and failed.

Dean didn't know what to say. "Sammy…"

Sam took a breath, made himself keep going. "Sometimes I want to thank you, Dean. And then I want to hate you…for thinking I could ever have the strength to do what you couldn't either. Face this alone."

"You're not alone," Dean said with resolve, eyes blurring uncontrollably, "We're a whole damn caravan now, Sammy. You're not alone."

But Sam just shook his head. "It isn't fair. All this power and I can't do anything. I should be able to sense her. I keep thinking that if I could just…" he trailed, squeezed the steering wheel so tight his hands looked cracked, and then slowly pulled them away to fall to his lap, "You know…sometimes I think the only thing holding me back, the reason I can't tap into the last of this power, be white eyes all the time, _stronger_…is because I'm waiting for you to tell me it's okay."

There was Dean's chance. It might be his only chance to make sure that no matter what happened Sam would survive without him. "And what if I did tell you it's okay?" he said, eyes on his brothers face, on those hazel eyes that always found their way back no matter what color the changed to, "Lilith isn't just another demon, but she is a demon. _You're_ not. What better way to prove Yellow Eyes and Malak wrong…then to let you go all the way."

Sam's eyes were wide, disbelieving. "Dean?"

"After everything that's happened, you wouldn't dare let me down now, would you?" Dean smiled, praying he was right to trust in Sam because it was one of the few things he had ever had faith in his entire life. "I gotta believe in you, Sammy," he said, "Or…I'm pretty well screwed." With a smirk he glanced away, but when he glanced back he found that Sam was smiling too.

Dean held out his hand and Sam took it without reservation. Time wasn't on their side, but as long as Sam was still on Dean's, nothing else mattered.

-----

"So…what are we doing?" Jo asked, arms tight around her body to stay the early morning cold, "He's gonna try and what? Supe up his powers so he can finally see where Lilith is?"

"Pretty much," Dean shrugged, "If all goes well he'll do that, yeah. Might even be able to summon her."

They were standing out in the middle of an empty corn field, not yet planted and far enough away from the road that no one would notice them. Sam had said it would be easier if he had some extra space as he wasn't really sure what would happen and Lilith would undoubtedly be unpredictable if she was actually brought he by his power.

It had already been decided that they couldn't use the Colt if Lilith showed up, or later if they tracked her down. Dean could never justify shooting some little kid to save himself. Trying to paint a devil's trap over the leftover bits of corn stalks or raw soil wouldn't work all that well either. Sam could create a devil's trap if need be, but they couldn't even be sure it would be enough to hold a demon as supposedly powerful as Lilith.

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" Sarah smiled at Dean, having believed in Sam all along and pushed the idea of summoning demons from the beginning. It wasn't that Dean hadn't believed in Sam before, he was just more wary of the demon factor—they never played fair.

"You sure about this, boy?" asked Bobby. They were far enough away from Sam to give him space but close enough that they would be able to reach him fast if they needed to.

Dean knew just how to reply. "_He_ is," he nodded at Sam, "That's good enough for me."

It was windy and cold, overcast. Sasha slipped up behind Dean suddenly and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. PDA alert for certain, especially with the way Ellen and Bobby glanced at them and then quickly looked away again, but Dean liked the added warmth. He leaned back against Sasha and waited, eyes on Sam who seemed to just be standing out there in the field gathering strength.

Several minutes passed where nothing happened. Sam's eyes were closed, his hands slightly outstretched. He looked like he was waiting to be abducted by aliens, Dean nearly snorted.

When they first started to feel a difference around them it came in short bursts, pulses of power coming off of Sam like a drumbeat. Sam was facing away from them but somehow Dean knew the moment that Sam's eyes opened. He also knew that Sam's eyes were white without having ever touched yellow.

If this was what Malak wanted then they were going to take all that destiny crap back from the bastard and make it their own.

A pulse strong enough to be visible to the naked eye nearly knocked all of them to the ground. Sam's voice rose above the wind, roaring, howling, _screaming,_ Dean realized, and then suddenly Sam dropped to his knees and Dean was running forward before he even realized his feet were moving.

The wind died to a dead still just as Dean reached his brother. He fell beside him and grabbed Sam's shoulders. It was like being back at the cave, right outside of it when Sam was bleeding horribly from using too much power to save Dean. It was just like that, blood seeping from Sam's nose, his ears, his eyes—eyes that were full-on white just as Dean knew they would be.

The others huddled in around them but Dean stayed with Sam on the ground, holding Sam's shoulders fast. "Jesus, what happened?" he asked, "Did you even get anything out of that? You look like Hell."

Sam stared up at Dean with an unnerving grin. "Not as much…as she does," he said, gasping but able to hold himself up mostly on his own power, "Dean, I…I got to her. She…f-fought…so hard to keep me from seeing her, but…but I got her. I couldn't…summon her, her powers, they're…too much like mine. But I'm stronger. I know I am. She can't hide from me now," he grinned wider.

That expression, so wicked and wide was indeed Sam's grin from the cave. The eyes just made it worse. But just when Dean was sure he had made a horrible mistake, Sam blinked and there was hazel.

He smiled—smiled like he wasn't Sam's darkside with a penchant for power-play—and grabbed Dean's arm with a firm hand. "I know where she is," he said.

It was Bobby, wary as Dean knew the elder hunter was of all of this, who walked right up to them, held out his hands for both of them to take, and said, "Then by God, you idjits, let's go get her."

-----

One of these days Dean was definitely going to have to invest a little time in doing some serious squats.

Gathering up all of their things, tracking Lilith down to a small residential block, and even coming up with a completely insane plan hadn't taken all that long. Hours, sure, but anyone less trained than them would have needed a whole day for the planning alone. What did take the better part of their day, and the beginning of the night, was scouting the neighborhood and the setting up of various traps. Dean had spent most of that time crouched or crawling and his thighs were starting to burn.

Most of the crew was getting anxious, but they might only get one shot at this and they had to sacrifice a little time for stability. There were so many civilians involved it made Dean sick.

Lilith didn't seem worried about Sam tracking her down seeing as how she hadn't fled from where he sensed her. That might have to do with what she mentioned about wanting to 'play' with them, however, but Dean tried not to think about that.

She seemed to be doing plenty of playing anyway. The girl she had taken over had a family that for now was alive. From an outside perspective, peeking in windows and catching what they could see visually, it might have looked like nothing was wrong.

But Dean knew better. It was the same little girl he had been visited by in the school—she was home-schooled which was one of the reasons they had so much trouble tracking her down. Everything about this block in Savage, the family, it was all too normal to have sent up any red flags in their research. They knew now though. Dean could see the barely contained horror behind the fake smiles of the girl's family, pretending, playing along and probably having no idea why their little girl wasn't theirs anymore.

The plan got more complicated with the involvement of what they considered hostages. Lilith also had her entourage, demons she had summoned to be her watchdogs and make sure no one spoiled her fun. They were in almost every neighbor on the block. The hunters didn't have time to exorcize all of them without alerting Lilith, and if they ignored them and went for Lilith directly, they'd be swarmed. Working around such obstacles required ingenuity. And the hotel's sheets.

The phone in Dean's pocket buzzed from a text. Sam was pretty sure Lilith couldn't sense him as strongly as he could sense her, but he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks with telepathy. Dean nodded at Sasha who was with him and they read over the message.

'_All in place. Bobby, Ellen, Jo neighbors. Sarah ready with me. Go on signal.'_ It was all very _Mission Impossible_, Dean thought. He'd have to tease Sam about that later.

Back to his Olympian thigh and ass workout, Dean crouched low and Sasha did the same. There was a side door leading into the kitchen that they would enter when the time came. The others had helped them find the blind-spots that got them this close to the house. They just had to hold tight a little longer. After Sarah made her move it was Dean and Sasha's job to get the innocents out and out of harm's way.

He and Sasha huddled close together, squished against the siding between the kitchen door and a window. Dean curled his head into the groove of Sasha's neck. He could hear through the window, open just a crack, as the little girl who was actually something so horrible and sinister played her games.

"No, Mommy. Not that dress. It isn't pretty. I have to be pretty."

"Oh…honey, of…of course. What was I thinking?" A tremor. Dean could hear it even though the voices were faint.

"Sweetheart," said a man, the father, Dean assumed, "Maybe…maybe we should take a break. A nap. Everyone. We're all…so tired from all of the…fun," Dean could practically hear the labored smile, "Why don't we stop playing dress-up for awhile?"

The stiff silence that followed was enough to make Dean clutch onto Sasha's jacket. It wasn't only the parents in there but an aunt and older brother too. If it came down to either acting too early or letting someone die while they waited for Sarah, Dean was ready to move.

There were a few soft and angry mumbles from Lilith that Dean couldn't hear. Sasha's hearing was more astute though and when Dean glanced up to read the incubus' reaction the round and wide eyes quivering back at him said enough.

"Sweetheart, wait!" Dean heard from the father.

"You know he didn't mean that," the mother said quickly.

Who knows how long Lilith had been torturing these people playing house. Sarah could make her move any time now, Dean thought.

There was more mumbling, maybe a little from everyone, talking gently to appease the girl. The brother was a young teenager, fourteen maybe. It was his voice that rose above the others with a suggestion of dress-up with the girl's dolls so that everyone could look 'pretty'.

There was a rustle of cloth then—close to the window—and Lilith said, "I love you, big brother. You're the best brother _ever_."

Dean shuddered. _'Creepy-ass chick,'_ he mouthed to Sasha. This demon had her own definition of torture, and it was much worse than most physical forms Dean could imagine.

Suddenly, something had cut through the air and Dean heard the faint chink of shattered class. Then a thud. "Stephen?" Lilith questioned with nearly believable concern. More sounds of sliced air, breaking glass, and accompanying thuds. "Mommy? Daddy? Aunt Jane?" Lilith's voice grew louder and angry with realization. "That wasn't very nice, Sam," she said, "You wouldn't want me to play with _your_ things, would you?"

Definitely their cue to move. But before Dean could stand and rush in through the kitchen door as they were supposed to, Sasha was kissing him, brief but all-encompassing with a sudden lunge forward. Dean returned the gesture, how could he not—soft lips, insistent tongue, _Sasha_—but it froze him in place after they pulled apart.

The sounds of shattering glass, much louder than the crash of tiny tranquilizer darts shooting through the windows into civilians, alerted Dean and Sasha that now was not the time for a poignant moment.

They were on their feet immediately, looking in through the window where they could see the unconscious bodies of Lilith's playthings as well as the startling sight of _Sarah_ being pulled none too gently into the house by Lilith's power. So much for thinking their sniper would be safe at a far enough distance.

Sam was right behind her, running at full pelt to catch up to Sarah before Lilith could do anything further. Without waiting to see if Sam was successful or not, Dean and Sasha busted into the kitchen. The brother's body was easy to grab. Aunt Jane's too. But the parents were by Lilith who now had Sarah pinned to the dining room wall.

Taking the innocents out of the equation like this had been a good idea when they though of it, barring Lilith's pissed-off state. Dean hoped Bobby and the others were fairing better with Lilith's minions.

He and Sasha finished carrying out the two bodies they had been able to reach, laying them on the lawn in the blind spot they hoped would stay blind enough to offer protection. Dean just wanted to get back inside the house and help Sam. Sam could best Lilith's powers, they all believed that now, but it would take time, concentration, everything Sam had.

The sound of Bobby's voice caught Dean's attention and he looked up across the lawn at the next house. The elder hunter was speaking the words of exorcism to a family of demons. All three of them had fallen for one of their traps, a well-placed sheet thrown over the grass with a devil's trap painted on it—efficient and mobile. The hotel definitely wouldn't be wanting that back.

Dean thought of Ellen and Jo doing just as Bobby was in other places around the neighborhood, trying to buy them time that was quickly slipping away the more things continued not going as planned.

Three more demons suddenly appeared, rushing up from out of nowhere behind Bobby who was not yet finished exorcising the demons he already had. Sasha cried out to warn him, sprinting ahead.

"Sasha, wait!" Dean called. This was all getting turned around. He didn't know whose aid to rush to.

There was another crash from the house and Dean whipped around. He watched in horrified amazement as Sam arched through the air and landed hard on the ground outside after being thrown through the sliding glass doors into the backyard. Lilith was walking slowly and assuredly after him.

_Shit_.

"Dean!" That was Sasha and Dean instantly turned again. The incubus had transformed, fangs bared, wings spread, claws ready as he fended off the demons for Bobby, trying to somehow get them into the devil's trap along with the others. "Go, Dean!" Sasha cried, "Find Sarah! Get the parents out!" The odds were bad but Sasha seemed to be fairing well enough. Dean knew he had to listen.

Glancing briefly to see that Sam and Lilith were circling each other in the large backyard, Dean had to forget those other battles for now as he charged back into the house.

It was a mess, to put it mildly, mainly broken furniture that must have been thrown around by Sam and Lilith fighting. The bodies of the parents looked okay. Then Dean saw Sarah slumped against a wall, coughing into the dining room floor.

"Hey!" Dean called as he rushed to her, "You alright?" He crouched down and could see that she was cut up pretty bad from being sucked into the house. None of the cuts were all that deep but there were many. "Lemme get you out of here. I need to get them out too," he looked at the unconscious couple.

Sarah shook her head. She stood on her own power instead of letting Dean help. "I can get the mother," she said, continuing on before Dean could protest, "We don't have time for chivalry. I'm okay."

Dean highly doubted that but he knew better than to argue right now.

Even moving sluggishly, Sarah was able to keep up with Dean and carry the mother out of the house. They laid the parents next to the others, as safe as they could be for now. It looked like Bobby had finished with his three demons and was attempting to start over and exorcise Sasha's, but none of those demons had been successfully forced into the trap. As Bobby's words got further along in the spell, Sasha was able to hang onto one of them but the other two took off running. Dean pulled the crossbow from his jacket and gave chase.

Sam was giving Lilith everything he had, Dean could see that clearly as he neared them. Melting power was out of the question again—there was a little girl in there somewhere—but Sam was fighting hard with everything else, even trying to assault her with mojo at the same time he summoned a runic devil's trap around her. But she kept resisting, even dismissed the trap with a wave of her hand.

Knowing he had to leave them be yet again, Dean continued to chase after the escaping demons, who he feared might go for reinforcements. They were stretched thin enough as it was.

The backyard held a steep hill—Dean couldn't see beyond it—and the demons were running up it with long strides. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that if they reached the top he would lose them.

He aimed the crossbow and fired twice in easy succession, each shot hitting one of the demons in the back of the knee to bring them down. Dean leapt forward, falling upon them fiercely to pull the stakes free. He stabbed them into the demons' shoulders then to better hold them as Latin sprang to his lips.

If only it could be that simple to immobilize and dispatch Lilith, but after what had happened with Vapula they knew better than to waste the ammo.

The demons writhed, barely able to move as Dean spoke on. He only found it difficult to continue chanting when Lilith's giggle echoed up to him. "You're so much fun, Sam," she was saying, "We should play all the time."

Dean had to finish the exorcism but he couldn't resist looking down the hill at Sam and Lilith. It was Sam's back to Dean and Lilith's front, with a too sweet smile, pale blue dress, and even a plastic tiara on her strawberry blonde head from playing dress-up. She barely had to raise her hands to dismiss Sam's mental attacks, but the more she did so the angrier and more reckless Sam became, until he finally shot electricity from the melting power right at her midsection. She blocked it but the force pushed her across the lawn.

"So fun," she giggled again, "No one can play like you can. You should be _my_ brother, Sam. I'd be so good for a real big brother."

That was it. Dean spat out the last of the exorcism and the demons with him shot black smoke from their bodies and were gone. He didn't have time to care about the hosts left behind. He was up and ready to rush back down the hill when he heard the first howl.

The blood stilled in Dean's veins. Not yet. They still had time.

"I can call demons too, Sam, isn't that neat?" Lilith said, "That includes so many things, you know. You should try it more. I think my puppies are hungry, so hungry waiting on big bad Dean and for his time to run out. Maybe we should feed them a little early."

Another howl pierced the air around them. Dean looked all direction, knowing he wouldn't be able to see them anyway. Not hellhounds. And that meant something else. He didn't know which direction to run.

What Dean could see from up on the hill was Lilith's smirk, Sam's panicked stance, Bobby and Sasha finally rushing to join them while Sasha helped the wounded Sarah with an arm about her waist. There was even Ellen and Jo coming, looking no worse for the wear as they came from the other side of the neighborhood, successful as Bobby had been successful with ridding them of annoying minions.

That wouldn't matter, however, if Lilith summoned more, if she called for the very things that could drag Dean's soul down to the depths and tear his body apart.

"You got rid of all my friends," Lilith said with a large pout, looking about at the others who were forming a circle around her and Sam, "That's no fun at all. Meanies. I don't need mean people like you around. I'll just have to get rid of you so me and Sam and Dean can play by ourselves." Her arms shot out from her sides as she said that, already beginning to glow with a white and blinding light.

"No!" Sam cried as if he knew just what she was doing. He threw himself at Lilith to block the light, no longer caring that any physical attack might seriously hurt the little girl. He would have tackled her if she hadn't brought both hands in front of her suddenly to fire this white light power straight into him instead.

It knocked Sam back, forcing all of the others, Dean included, to shield their eyes, but when the light faded nothing had happened to Sam. "No fair," Lilith stomped her foot, "That would have melted your friends, you know. But you're too much like me, aren't you, Sam? I didn't die at first. I was like you. I was human and became a demon before I died. You're like me, but they made you different, you see. You're special, Sam."

"Shut up," Sam grit out as he got back to his feet, "I'm not a demon. I'm not like you. I can still choose."

That melodious and sinister giggle rose up again. "I thought Dean chose for you now," she said.

Sam's arms lifted towards her but she was ready, holding at a standoff just as Sam had done with Meg. Lilith was far more powerful, however, but then Sam had grown more powerful too. Who knew how long they could remain like this with no one getting the upper hand.

Dean didn't want to look at his watch but he knew they were cutting things too close. They had known that when they started this.

Another howl had Dean flinching. Lilith's hellhounds were closer and there were several of them, he was certain. He was afraid to run down the hill and join the others in case she was counting on that and the invisible beasts were waiting for him there. Sasha, if not all of them, had heard that last round of howls too and understood. Sasha still had Sarah but he looked up the hill at Dean, eyes pained and desperate. Dean knew just what the incubus was planning when he suddenly released her and reached into his jacket.

"Sasha, no!" Dean cried. They had swore, all of them had promised that the Colt would be left behind. But there it was in Sasha's hands, aiming right at the little girl.

"I don't care," Sasha shook his head, catching Lilith's attention easily since all of them were staring at him, "It's her or Dean. And we're out of time." He cocked the gun.

"No." It was Sam this time who dissented, his voice even and assured as he said, "It's her or _me_."

Part of Dean couldn't believe Sasha could go against his wishes like that. But then yes he could. How did he know he wouldn't do the same?

He could hear the howls getting closer as if Lilith were taunting him with the slow approach of her hounds. But Sam was still fighting, certain he would be enough to banish her for good, leaving no need to fire that damn gun and kill an innocent girl along with her. Sasha was hesitant to listen, close as it was to the end, but when he looked up the hill again he cast a guilty look at Dean and his arms dropped.

It was the strangest balcony view, looking down on everyone from the top of the steep slope. Bobby, Sarah, and Sasha on the left, Ellen and Jo on the right, Sam and Lilith facing each other in the middle of it all. Whatever Sam was starting to do to Lilith in place of allowing the Colt it was causing her smug smile to slip, and Sam wasn't even holding out his arms to help focus his power on her.

"Stop," Lilith warned, "You're not as strong as you think. You'll rip this poor girl to shreds, Sam. And she's so pretty, isn't she? You wouldn't want to do that. Might as well let the mean incubus shoot me."

But Sam wasn't listening. He held so still it unnerved Dean. Dean wished he could see Sam's eyes, but he could only see the back of Sam, standing steadfast while the others hung back and watched. The howls continued to grow louder, so loud that Dean couldn't help glancing about him again as his heart picked up speed inside his chest.

What was Sam doing? It didn't look the same as how they had been fighting up until now. Dean could see no force pushing against Lilith, no electricity, no strain from resisting mojo. She looked annoyed, worried, unsure of herself. That alone told Dean that Sam was doing _something_, he just didn't know what.

He did, however, wish his brother would hurry up. The hellhounds were closing in on him, Dean knew it, he could _feel_ it. He turned to look behind him at the feel of their presence approaching and right then he felt like such a fool. Hellhounds were invisible. But not to the damned. He could _see_ them coming from over the top of the hill like great black German Shepherds made of shadow and hellfire.

He got ready to run. And then realized he didn't have to.

The hellhounds flew past Dean, wind coming in a great rush along with them from their great speed as they shot down the hill straight for Sam. The thought that maybe this was Lilith's doing crossed Dean's mind only for a moment. He knew that their master was different now; these hounds belonged to Sam.

"Silly boy!" Lilith called as the hellhounds rushed them, the others unable to see the pack of dogs the way Dean could, "You think this matters? I'll see you again." Then the dogs leapt, and they dove right through Sam like mist onward into Lilith.

Dean saw the lead dog come out of the girl on the other side with black smoke swirling in its mouth. They didn't stop but disappeared right down into the earth, leaving behind an awake and very alive little girl.

Moments later, she had dove for the first safe thing she saw—Sam's arms.

Sammy had out-summoned Lilith and used her own hellhounds to carry her back down to Hell where she belonged.

"Less than ten minutes," said Jo, holding up her watch, "Next time let's plan this a little less closely to the wire, okay?"

"So it's…over?" Sasha said, the Colt limp in his hand, "Dean…" He looked up the hill with the worst kind of anguish, still asking forgiveness but also filled with such pained relief that he couldn't even smile. Soon they were all looking at him and Dean felt strangely exposed because of it. He looked back at them all, at his friends, his family.

"Always so quick to celebrate."

No. Dean was still so far away from everyone; he didn't want to turn and look. Up at the top of the hill where the hellhounds had bounded down on him was Malak, male and grinning as he walked down towards Dean past the bodies of the demons Dean had exorcised. They were unconscious, maybe dead. Had they been dead before, ridden too hard, or was it merely Malak's presence, Dean wondered.

"Bravo," Malak said, stopping just in front of Dean and looking down past him at the others, at Sam, "Really well done, Sam, that ending was quite inspired. But I'm afraid time is almost up, you see. And you're still one demon short."

"What?!" It was Sasha who balked and stormed halfway up the hill in his anger, "Don't you dare try that shit on us. You said we had one left before. _Lilith_. She's gone now and you can't make up new demons to add to the list."

"I thought you prided yourself on order," Sam jumped in, keeping a better calm than the incubus but not by much as he moved away from the girl, leaving Ellen to move in and take his place comforting her, "Such a stickler for the rules and now you're going to break them?"

Something that had been gnawing at Dean for some time started to crawl forward from the back of his mind. He looked hard at Malak who was smiling so self-satisfied. "Break the rules?" Malak laughed, "Not at all. Think of what I told you. Right from the very beginning I made it clear that you needed to kill or banish all of the demons that escaped the Devil's Gate. All I told you the other night was that Lilith was the last of those demons on Earth."

Yep, Dean was definitely getting that sinking feeling.

The others didn't get it though. Sam should. Sam of all of them should understand.

"That doesn't make any sense," Sasha said with a glare, "What are you trying to say, that some demon made it into NASA?"

Dean laughed. He couldn't help it.

Malak was right in front of him, close enough to touch. Dean's apparent mirth seemed to please the demon.

"You understand, don't you, Dean?" he said, "No trick. No demon in space. No, no. I hadn't any need for that. I think perhaps you've known for some time that you were never going to win."

No he wasn't. Dean never stood a chance. "You set it up perfectly," he agreed, "So perfect we didn't even get it. It never would have mattered how we went about it or how quickly we got rid of all the demons. There always would have been one demon we couldn't catch. One demon from the Devil's Gate we couldn't even touch." Dean turned to look down the hill again at Sasha and Sam who were standing halfway up the slope, and at the others all unable to grasp what was happening.

"Dean…?" Sam breathed, brow tightly knit.

Dean just smiled. "_Dad_," he said, "We really are idiots, Sammy. We forgot about Dad."

Confusion and then horrid recognition filled Sam's eyes.

The very thing that had saved them, that had led them to being finally able to kill Yellow Eyes once and for all was what would in the end condemn Dean. His father had tried to save him but John Winchester underestimated how far his son would go to return the favor for Sam.

"He was in Hell," Dean said for those who didn't understand, "He escaped when the others did. Helped us even. But he…he wasn't destroyed. He didn't get sent back. He just…faded away." Dean recalled it so vividly, his father evaporating into demon smoke that had looked somehow infused with light.

"Just faded away," Malak echoed, smug and so pleased from behind Dean, "Oh my dear Dean, your lack of faith is so very refreshing."

"No," Sasha shook his head, tears already hot on his face, "You can't take him! It isn't fair!"

Malak rolled his snake-like red on back eyes, unimpressed with that old excuse. "Fairness hardly plays a role, dear boy. Of course if we're talking rules and obligations and that Dean made a _deal_ and I am merely seeing it through to the end, then fair is exactly what this is."

"I'll stop them," Sam said suddenly, desperate as Sasha, "If you try to send for the hellhounds I won't let them touch him."

"And who says I need them?" Malak replied.

Dean's eyes returned to the black suit, the black shirt and red tie, the blonde hair and horrible eyes. It was a handsome face that smiled possessively back at him. Dean had assumed it was a guise, but there was no ripped and torn true version of this demon hiding beneath the surface. Dean saw Malak as he truly was. Beautiful and shining.

"Goodness," the demon said as if suddenly remembering something terribly important. He stopped to pull that same silver pocket watch from his jacket. Opened it. "Explaining does pass the time. My apologies, Dean." He turned the clock for Dean to read it. "One minute late."

Click.

The only thing Dean could be certain of was the rush of darkness that filled him when Malak's hand touched his shoulder. If he fell, felt pain, felt burned or ripped from his body, screamed even, he couldn't be sure. There was only darkness and the empty echo of Sam and Sasha and all the others calling after him.

"Dean!"

_The sun is rising  
The screams have gone  
Too many have fallen  
Few still stand tall  
Is this the ending  
Of what we've begun?  
Will we remember  
What we've done wrong…?_

THE END…of ARC 8! But TBC right here with ARC 9: Hell

A/N: Never said I could keep him out of Hell, but I think most of you figured that. Anyone guess the loophole about John? Hence there being a John character who looked like him for subtle reminder without actually saying, hey, remember that John was in Hell? ;-)

Diana Wickham, you know I love you, dearie, and damn must I agree about the recent ep. Rather lack-luster. Sort of a, remember what happened before the break, with Dean telling Sam about Hell? Yeah...he's still pretty messed up over that.

Okay then. So anyway, other than that, at least the boys are back. Sorry for not getting this up when I wanted but it turned out the new eppy didn't touch at all on the continuing storyline so it didn't really matter.

You get another week for the drabble contest as I haven't chosen a winner yet. No time!

Blackbeltblondie, I tried to email a thank you for your comment at the website but it got returned. So...thanks!

Haley, my dear, you disabled allowing others to PM you so I could not respond. However, I'm sure you noticed your request which was already planned, so I was happy to oblige. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm not sure how you even can disable PMs but you want to undo that if possible. I like being able to respond!

Anonymous person with the harpy comment: Cool idea. Might do that in the Epilpgue if possible though I have things fairly well planned from here on out. Thanks for the idea though as I know I could have fun with that if I get the chance!

Deangirl1, don't feel bad about reviewing since I haven't gotten to like the last 10 chapters of your bunny drabble. Bad me!

Well I need to give attention to my hubby. Next Arc: Hell. Oh the fun I have in store for Dean and the others. FYI, the first chapter will not begin in Hell. More soon!

Crimson


	71. ARC 9: Hell, PART 1: Realer Than Dreams

ARC 9: Hell, PART 1: Realer than Dreams

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"_Okay, Sammy," Dean said, "Okay…"_

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Pain struck him like a knife to the gut. He was freezing, air was rushing into his lungs like they hadn't breathed in weeks, and his entire body throbbed as if he actually had space left on his body for new wounds. He wasn't alone. He was never alone. Never free.

It had been so long since he dared pull a weapon like this, but it was too much. Dean didn't care about consequences. It was supposed to be over. He had promised him. He _promised_.

"Dean, wait! Stop!"

Like _Hell_.

The knife was right where it should be, tucked neatly under his pillow—a bad habit he had never been able to break. His vision blurred in front of him as he swayed on his feet, having leapt from the bed he woke up on. The room could spin all it wanted; he knew where to point the blade.

"W-Why…?" his teeth were chattering, "Y-You…p-promised me. W-What did you…d-do to me?" Dean felt awful, sick even. Everything ached. His body didn't even feel like his own anymore. "You s-said you'd…take it away. I gave you what you w-wanted. You said you'd take it away!" he shouted finally at the indistinct figure of his brother. Sasha was there too, wearing his human guise. That almost made Dean falter, but he knew it was a lie.

"Dean, please!" Sam was saying.

"It's okay! You're okay!" called Sasha.

Did they think he was a fool? "S-S-Stay away from me," he backed towards the corner of the room, knife brandished shakily, "Why? Why are you…d-doing this? I did what you wanted. I did everything you wanted! Please…" His knees were weak, everything was weak, _he_ was weak. Why wouldn't they stop torturing him?

"Dean, it's us," Sasha tried to say more calmly, inching closer to Dean with held up hands as if to appear nonthreatening. Sam was the same.

What a joke, Dean thought. He knew he had to be a pitiable sight with that weakly held knife, but he'd use it, damn it, he would. Somehow he'd use it. His back hit the corner of the room. "Playing that game?" he scoffed, "I know better. I haven't seen _them_ in…in so long, I…I don't even…remember. I don't remember…" He really didn't. How long had it been since that night when everything shattered?

"Dean," Sam said with confidence, moving ever closer, one hand outstretched now as if to take Dean's. He looked so strange, almost believable with those hazel eyes so caring and his old layered shirts and jeans. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, but it's over. You're not in Hell anymore. We got you out. You're safe. With us."

"Please believe us, Dean," Sasha joined in, "Just look at us." He gestured to himself, to Sam. Sasha too looked so normal, so honest and how Dean remembered him. "It's really us. You're safe, Dean. Please recognize us."

He recognized them alright. But it had to be a trick. Another damn trick like all the others that bastard had come up with when he was bored and wanted to hurt Dean more. "I gave you what you wanted," Dean said again. He was so cold. Nothing looked right. Nothing felt right. He couldn't understand why they were doing this when he had finally given in.

"Dean, it's _us_," Sasha said more firmly, like maybe Dean just couldn't hear them.

"Malak took you and we're so sorry, Dean," pleaded Sam, "We wish we could have gotten you out sooner, but you have to know us. Please tell me you still know us…" Sam trailed off on a…a sob? And what were they talking about?

"Malak…?" He glared at the false images before him, knife still held firm, warning them not to get any closer. "It had nothing to do with that, you know that, you _know_. I didn't…I didn't go to Hell." It had only felt like it. Worse.

Sam and Sasha stopped their progression towards him, their eyes wide and disbelieving. They shared a pained look, not knowing what to say until finally Sam spoke slow and gentle, "Dean, don't you remember? Lilith wasn't the final demon. It was a trap. Malak had it all planned. The last demon was _Dad_. You're the one who figured it out. That's why we couldn't win, why we couldn't save you. You went to Hell, Dean. You've _been_ in Hell. But you're out. I don't know what Malak did to you down there, but we got you out."

It almost made sense, as if a second reality were trying to push into Dean's mind, memories of what Sam was saying, memories Dean knew weren't fabrications and yet…how could he remember things happening two different ways?

Hell…? Had that been Hell? To him it had felt like _life_.

"Dad…" he breathed, almost remembering, "It was…Dad. The girl…she was okay. And Malak…Malak touched my shoulder." Dean looked up, seeing Sam and Sasha's faces the way they were meant to be. This didn't feel like a trick. Oh god, let it not be a trick.

Sasha was nodding, moving closer to Dean, and Sam was too, reaching out in hopes that Dean might give up the knife. "That's right. And you fell," Sasha said, "Right that second, Dean. You were gone. But now you're back. You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay," the incubus insisted with the same sobbing voice as Sam with tears in his eyes too.

Both of them had said that to him so many times, but this was the first time he had been able to believe them since that awful night. The knife felt limp in Dean's hand. He was still on guard, still waiting for them to reveal the lie. But when Sam's hand closed around his to take the knife, he just couldn't be strong anymore.

Dean sunk forward against Sam, boneless, feeling the strange and forgotten comfort of his brother's arms holding him up. He didn't realize he was crying until he lifted his head just enough to speak and saw wetness on the shoulder of Sam's shirt.

"Sammy…" He tried to hold onto Sam, to cling and not be such dead weight, but he didn't have any strength left. Sam had to hold all of him, and he did, as if it were the meagerest burden. It was Sammy. It was really him. Dean breathed in and it even smelled like Sam, the way he hadn't known his brother in years.

Then another thought, equally impossible crossed his mind. _Sasha_. Suddenly remembering that the incubus was there also, Dean found the strength to look up to where he last remembered Sasha being, and he was immediately scooped away from Sam into similarly strong and enveloping arms. He sank against Sasha just as eagerly, but when lips brushed his without warning, he flinched. There was a gasp in his throat as he looked up and saw blue, so beautiful, and that face gazing at him with all the emotions he had so deeply missed.

He wanted to banish the startled and pained look that flickered across Sasha's face because of that flinch. He hadn't meant to. It had just been so long since he wanted such things. Since it mattered what he wanted. Tilting his head up, Dean reconnected with those lips, kissing as deep and as desperately as he ever had. _Sasha_, loving him through skin, had those traitorous tears streaming down Dean's cheeks like he was four years old all over again and the world would never be the same.

"Oh…yeah," Dean choked out, "That's what that's s'pposed to feel like."

"Dean…?" Sasha questioned in a breathless voice.

"Dean," then Sam, sounding angry and determined, "What did that bastard do to you?"

_No_. Dean couldn't bear for them to know the truth. He opened his eyes, hands clenching too tight at Sasha's biceps with most of his body still leaning against that stronger form in front of him. He shook his head, "Don't…you don't…get to ask that. I…I can't talk about that. P-Promise me…you w-won't…ask me that." Dean's teeth were chattering again as the chills returned and wracked through his body. He shivered closer into Sasha's arms.

"God, Dean, you're freezing," the incubus said, neither him nor Sam acknowledging that plea for a promise they couldn't give, "Guess we already knew Hellfire's a buncha bullshit though, right?" he tried to joke, weak smile pulling at his lips.

Dean remembered just what Sasha was referencing, that time Malak played with his mind and showed him images of Sasha torn apart, and Dean had shivered in Sasha's arms just like this. It seemed so long ago now—ages. "Yeah," he breathed into the familiar soft skin of Sasha's neck, and that smell, that _Sasha_ smell untainted. When he looked again at Sasha's face, he expected it to look like how he always remembered it. But Sam's face looked the same too, and it shouldn't, should it? "You don't…look any different," he said.

They stared at him strangely for a moment. "Dean," Sasha said, "Why would we look different, it's only been…" then he trailed, his eyes wide this time when he turned to meet Sam's, "Damn, the time difference. Dean, it's…it's only been a _week_ for us. I guess it would have been…three or four years for you," he realized.

Three or four years. Dean didn't have the heart to tell them that it had been at least double that. Maybe Malak's special place in Hell for him had different rules. The bastard certainly knew how to set a stage. "Yeah," Dean said, what did it matter if it was really seven years instead of three, "Guess I forgot it'd be…so short for you. Just a week, huh? Barely had time to miss me." He hoped the grin he mustered looked something like his old one. He couldn't quite remember how to form it.

"I could…make up a hot bath for you, get you warmed up," Sasha suggested.

Oh how he missed the love of this man. His incubus. "That'd be _awesome_."

"I should go tell everyone. They're waiting downstairs," Sam said, causing Dean's head to snap up again as he looked around at their surroundings.

They had kept the room dark for him, only a small lamp on and the light from the bathroom. Dean wasn't sure he knew where they were. "Are we…at a hotel?" he asked.

"Uhh," Sam faltered, exchanged a look with Sasha, "No, Dean. We're at the Roadhouse."

"This is the room we stayed in before, remember?" Sasha said.

Maybe Dean would have remembered eventually, but it had been so long since then. "Yeah…right. Did you say…_everyone's_ downstairs?" he asked then, not exactly liking the idea of meeting a crowd. He anticipated a minor meltdown involving tears and many other unmanly things he would never live down.

Like that even mattered.

But it did matter, Dean thought. It had to matter. They would expect it to.

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam smiled tightly in assurance, "We knew you wouldn't want to be bombarded. That's why it's just us. Everyone wants to know you're okay, but you don't have to see anyone until you're ready. You can stay in this room all week if you want. I'll go let everyone know you're, umm…awake. Maybe we can order a bunch of pizzas or something. If you're hungry?"

Dean felt like he hadn't eaten the entire time he'd been gone. "Heck yeah, Sammy. I'm starved. Get some with everything on it, will ya? And I mean _everything_. Even the crap I usually pick off."

Sam laughed, Sasha chuckling hesitantly with him, both sounding relieved, so relieved. Of course they were; their first experience with a saved Dean Winchester had been him threatening them with a knife and speaking nonsense they didn't understand.

That sounded wrong. A _saved_ Dean Winchester. He didn't feel very saved.

'_Just give into me, Dean, and everything will be fine. Choose me and you can have everything. Just say the words, Dean. _Say_ them…' _

_Those eyes, those awful eyes looked at Dean with all the seven deadly sins shining beneath the surface._

'_You belong to _me_, Dean. Only me.'_

"Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his daydream. He wasn't there anymore, he reminded himself, in that nightmare world created by Malak—his own personal Hell.

But every detail had been so real, so tangible, so…possible.

"I'm okay, Sammy. Just a little…shaken up," he attempted to grin again, his cheeks twitching from the unfamiliar effort, "Need time to…adjust to all this again, ya know. I'm fine. Go…spread the good news…or whatever." It was probably obvious by the way his hands were still knuckle-white gripping Sasha that he was none of those things he'd just said—except for the shaken up part.

Sam didn't press. "Okay. I'll be back as soon as things are settled." His body gave a slight lurch then like maybe it didn't know where to go, like it wanted to embrace Dean a second time but didn't want to smother him.

Dean was half in Sasha's arms still, needing that contact, and he knew he would welcome any extra from his brother. He wanted to tell Sam that. He wanted to tell Sam that he didn't have to be strong; he could hug Dean if he needed to. Dean needed it, he did, he needed touch that comforted instead of hurt. But he couldn't ask for it. He didn't want to scare Sam anymore than he already had.

Sam settled on a firm squeeze of Dean's shoulder and he was out the door, closing it behind him for Dean's sake. Dean would be eternally grateful for that, for not having to face the others just yet. The others, who he had let down so horribly...

Dean pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. It wasn't real, he told himself. It wasn't _real_.

"Dean…? Let's get you into the tub. I can get the water going. Can you walk okay?" Sasha was doting on him and mother-henning him like…just like he was supposed to.

"Little stiff. I can make it. What am I wearing?" he asked as they made slowly for the bathroom, Sasha's arm hooked around his waste to offer help Dean hadn't asked for but cherished. It looked like he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They were huge on him, the fabrics different color greys and soft, well-used.

"They're Bobby's I think," Sasha said, "We just grabbed for something, sorry. We wanted you to be comfortable when you…woke up." His voice was so tender and soft, like he was trying not to spook a kitten.

Oh how Dean had missed his bleeding heart of a boyfriend. He had almost forgotten what Sasha was really like after all those years—_days_. God, it had only been days. That was going to be hard to get used to, knowing that so little time had passed when it felt like years to him.

Then he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The image transfixed him, Sasha moving away carefully towards the tub to turn on the taps and plug the drain for his bath. While Sasha stayed crouched to the side, Dean just stared, his own image centered in the glass. He stepped closer, the reflection moving with him. He knew it was no illusion. That was him.

But he looked so young, so untainted. His face was smooth and unscarred save that old one he didn't mind so much that went through his eyebrow. He pulled up the sweatshirt to look at his chest and found it also free of so many scars and marks he remembered from his time in…Hell. There were only the barest remains of the scars from Sasha's claws way back in the beginning, and the pellet marks from Kubrick's shotgun.

It was as if someone had taken a giant eraser to the last decade of his life and he was left less marred, less broken. He could see the tattoo, smooth and perfect. His hair was mussed, but his, not sprinkled with the beginnings of grey. Only his eyes betrayed how he was haunted.

"Dean?" Sasha asked gently, head tilted up at him.

But when Dean turned to look, he didn't see Sasha.

'_Dean,' came a very different voice as this new figure rose from the ground, his smile terrible, 'Trying to hide from me? You know better than that,' he said._

_Dean back-peddled, trying to escape, knowing he never could. His shoulders hit the wall first, his body unbalanced in his haste. 'I-I…wasn't. I swear. Please…don't,' his voice hitched, it always did, and the figure laughed at him for his weakness, for how he shook and pleaded and couldn't ever win, couldn't even fight anymore. _

_He had fought in the beginning, sneered in their faces, said 'do your worst', but he couldn't go on like that forever._

'_Please... No!'_

"Dean!" the real Sasha said firmly, hands on Dean's shoulders, eyes serious but pained as he shook him, "Dean, it's just _me_."

Blinking out of that unfair vision, anchored by Sasha's voice, Dean saw that he had indeed backed himself against the wall, huddled low in the corner of the bathroom. But Sasha wasn't looming, wasn't promising brutality and horrors that went so much deeper than skin. Sasha was there to help, wanting and needing to help him.

"Dean, come on…" Sasha begged, dampness soaking his words, "Tell me you're still with me."

Dean was shaking again. "I-I'm…still here. S-Sorry. Sorry," he said again, making his voice sound stronger for Sasha, "It's just…hard…to…" he didn't know what to say. Live. It was hard to _live_. "I'm okay. I'm okay," he nodded, probably sounding like some mumbling mental patient. Sasha helped him back to his feet and Dean drank in the sight of him. _His_ Sasha. "I'm okay," he said once more, "How's the water coming?"

Frustration passed over Sasha's face, old frustration, familiar, because Sasha always looked like that when Dean was refusing to admit how wrecked he was. "It's…it's almost ready, Dean. Might be kinda hot. Better check it before you get in," he said without pressing Dean for more.

But Sasha's words had Dean gripping the front of the redhead's T-shirt. "You're…not gonna go, are you?" He hated sounding so unlike himself—fragile, needy, scared. But he had grown so used to feeling like that and not being able to hide it.

Again, emotion splayed across Sasha's face. This time it was concern, worry, even fear of his own. "I…I can stay, Dean. Of course. I just thought you'd want your privacy."

Privacy? What the fuck was that, Dean thought. He cracked a crooked grin. "Not like you haven't seen it all before. I just, uhh….don't…wanna be alone right now," so weak, always weak, _weak_, "…okay?" He knew his voice cracked again, shook—he was still shaking.

Sasha nodded, holding Dean steady with large hands on his shoulders. "I'll stay," he promised.

It might have been erotic a different time, a different life—Sasha undressing Dean with careful tugs, his soft hands running up Dean's chest and down his thighs as he removed the sweats—but this felt more like charity, like Sasha was helping poor incapable Dean so he wouldn't do something stupid like trip, or hurt himself, or smash face-first into the mirror, ramming the glass over and over again until there was nothing left of him but jagged lines.

It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't…

Dean didn't have anything on underneath the sweats, not even shorts or socks. His body didn't feel dirty, his hair wasn't greasy, but he felt so unclean. Part of him hated the reflection he could see so clearly as they passed the mirror to reach the tub. He didn't deserve to look that fresh and new.

"Is it okay?" Sasha asked when Dean first stepped into the water.

The heat was immediate and intense. His foot had been cold before he stepped in so the wayer was probably too hot, tingling his skin with little needles that felt both hot and cold, back and forth like frostbite. "It's fine," he said, bringing the other foot in too. Sasha helped him sit down, lie back, submerge.

"Awesome tub, huh?" the incubus forced a smile, "We only used it for the shower last time, but being an old Bed and Breakfast this thing's practically like a Jacuzzi. Bet I could fit in there with ya."

"That'd be nice," Dean hummed, liking the feel of the too hot water warming his cold skin, even if it stung a little. He thought of how good it would feel if Sasha joined him, wet skin sliding against his with no threat or fear involved. "Sometime...maybe," he amended since he wasn't sure he could keep that nice train of thought without falling prey to another bad memory.

The bathroom was nicely dim, the curtain of the shower pulled out of the way so Dean didn't feel too cocooned in the tub, and Sasha was right, it was a _big_ tub. He could stretch out fully, sink down into it with only his head above the water, and actually relax, breathe, be okay and safe for the first time in…

Okay, thinking about it was a bad idea. Dean needed to not think. Not think about anything. He wanted that pizza. And a drink. A hard drink.

"Dean…about…how we got you out."

"Don't," Dean cut the incubus off, not even opening his eyes that had closed, "I don't wanna know."

"But…Dean," Sasha sputtered.

"I know what I need to. Someone made a deal. Only way it coulda happened. Just tell me…tell me no one's going where I was." Dean wouldn't be able to stand it if someone had started the whole damn thing over and traded their soul for his. _Again_.

"No," Sasha said, "It's not that, Dean. Malak didn't want that. Not that I wouldn't have given him my soul if I thought—" As soon as Dean opened his eyes to look at the incubus, Sasha stopped. He looked away, guilt filling his face as he sighed, maybe reading just what Dean was feeling, and feeling it as clearly as he could see it on Dean's face. "Dean…eventually I'm going to have to tell you."

"I know." Dean did, he understood that. "But not now. Not tonight. I don't wanna…know what I'm worth...when I don't...feel like I'm...worth…" Anything. If he had ever been worth something once before, he wasn't now.

Damn it. He had to stop thinking about it. None of that mattered now. He was with Sasha, and everything was okay, and it didn't matter that he had betrayed everything he ever believed about himself. It had just been a very long, very bad dream.

It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't…

Sasha's hand was cool on Dean's forehead. He opened his eyes, saw forget-me-not blue close and concerned. Forget-me-not. Forget me, _please_.

He hadn't realized that he had sunk low enough that his mouth was below the water. Pushing up a little, he bucked into Sasha's hand like a cat pleading for further attention. Sasha grinned crookedly at him, stroking through the wet strands of hair. He was on his knees just outside the tub. He was stunning really in the dim light with sadness mingling with devotion on his face, his red hair a mess, his T-shirt rumpled like he had slept in it.

The incubus leaned over the tub, replacing his cool hand with cool lips just beneath Dean's hairline. "You're worth _everything_," he said.

It would definitely be unmanly to cry again. "Enough with the sap, huh?" Dean managed, swallowing a sob.

He had to get it together. They didn't know and they weren't going to know just what Dean Winchester's perfect Hell had been. He needed to forget too, needed to suck it up, move on, get over it—preferably in the next thirty seconds.

After a minute he gave up thinking it would be that easy.

"Hey, guys?" It was Sam, back from his trek to the assembled masses. He pushed on the half-open bathroom door and came right in, startled when he saw that Dean was still naked in the tub.

It took Dean a moment to remember that he was supposed to be upset by this. "Dude," he said as he sat up to pull in his legs and hide his nakedness, "Not exactly putting on a show here." There, he could do this. He could pretend until it came naturally again. It would happen. It had to. Eventually he'd snap back and he wouldn't feel like drowning was a better option than trying to live.

"Sorry," Sam put up his hands, turning so that he was facing the main room, "Pizza's on its way. A truckload full. Good thing they're open til two. It's after midnight, ya know. Malak _is_ a stickler for the rules."

Dean figured that was Sam's way of testing the waters, seeing whether or not Sasha had gotten around to telling Dean what had happened. That made Dean positive of what he had already guessed. It wasn't just someone who had made a deal to bring him back.

It was Sasha.

"Dean, uhh…sorta wants to keep a low profile about all that tonight," Sasha explained, "We can eat and then go to bed whenever you want, Dean. You're probably tired."

He was exhausted, body and mind wiped. But he didn't want to sleep. He knew what that would bring. "Nah, I…don't think I'm gonna hit the hay tonight. Been asleep a whole week, ya know. Feel more like staying up. You could…fill me in on the continuing adventures of The Hunting Party—pun intended. I assume 'everyone' means everyone who was there that night." That would mean Sarah, Jo, Bobby, and Ellen were all downstairs somewhere. And Wally of course.

"And Shiarra," Sasha added with a bite at his lip, "She sorta freaked, met us here, hasn't left since. If she drives you crazy I swear I will tell her to leave."

Dean actually cracked a smile at that, real and unintentional. It made his cheeks feel numb. "More the merrier. Tomorrow. I'm sure they're all going out of their minds, but…I'm fine. You told them I was fine, right?" he looked at Sam.

Slowly, Sam turned his head, gaze lingering now that it wasn't really peeping with Dean's legs pulled in. "Yeah," he said with too much gauging for that to be the whole truth, "I told them, Dean. I also said you pretty much crashed up here and would barely be awake for the pizza. Figured they'd push less to see you if they thought you were asleep."

"Thanks, Sammy." It had been so long since he had said those words but they fit his lips like always.

His brother didn't realize it but he was always taking care of Dean, just as much as Dean tried to take care of him. Even though it seemed like years ago to him, Dean remembered well how much Sam had tried to make things up to him after the Devil's Gate—for how Dean had practically raised him, was honest when Dad wasn't, saved his ass so many times it was ridiculous, and how he trusted Sam when so few trusted a thing that was supposed to be evil.

Of course, Dean had given up that trust, given up all hope so long ago, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he could have hope after all. He was free from all that torture and the people he loved were with him. There had to be room for hope.

"So tell me…what'd you guys do all week?" he asked.

When the pizza arrived, no one came to their door, but Sam's cell phone buzzed from a text. He left, came back a little later with cans of soda and a couple boxes just for them. Dean had wanted to ask for a beer or maybe something harder, but he didn't want to bother Sam with that.

As it turned out, the group hadn't done much of anything the past week, just waited for Dean to wake up. Dean was able to surmise that whatever the deal was to save him it meant he only had to serve those seven days—his seven years. He figured Malak must be the center-point in Hell so his time difference was greater. Another damn loophole that didn't break the rules if never mentioned.

He also was able to figure that his body had been preserved somehow. Maybe it didn't breathe, didn't have a pulse, but it hadn't been rotting up in this room for a week, and it certainly hadn't been buried. Dean supposed he could thank Malak for being that kind about it, not that he ever would.

He tried to imagine all his friends trying to occupy themselves, pacing around downstairs while his not-quite corpse was lying on a bed up here. It was almost kind of funny.

He didn't laugh.

There was only one bed in the room, but Sam had brought in a sleeping bag. Dean tried to say that that wasn't necessary but Sam just shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. They were three twenty-something guys having a sleepover. Nothing weird about that. Right.

Sam and Sasha must have assumed or seen how tired Dean was because they kept trying to get him ready for bed. Maybe they were just tired too. They still talked even when the lights were off, Sam from the floor, Sasha next to him, lying on their backs touching only along the line of their bodies. Actually, Dean wasn't doing much talking, which he knew would seem strange to them, but he just liked hearing the sound of their voices, going on about nothing and laughing and being _them_. He didn't want to wreck it.

He tried so hard to stay awake after the others fell asleep. Tried so hard. He thought of leaving, thought of walking around a little or going downstairs, but he couldn't bear the thought of running into anyone else and having to interact. He wasn't ready for that.

So he snuggled against Sasha's side, the incubus' arm draped lazily over him in sleep. The sound of Sam's snores were comforting, the closeness of both of them making him feel warm and safe. But Dean knew that if he fell asleep he would be vulnerable. He just had to stay awake a little longer.

It wasn't real, he told himself for the millionth time, his eyes so sore and heavy. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It. Wasn't. _Real_.

But he knew that was a lie.

-----

_He had never gone to Hell._

_-----_

_The hellhounds were closing in on him. He could see them coming from over the top of the hill like great black German Shepherds made of shadow and hellfire. _

_But then they flew past him, wind coming in a great rush as they shot down the hill straight for Sam. They leapt, diving right through Sam like mist onward into Lilith. The lead dog come out of the girl on the other side with black smoke swirling in its mouth, but the hellhounds did not immediately vanish back down to Hell._

_Alive and very frightened, the little girl collapsed into Sam's arms, seeking comfort and a strong hold to support her. But something was wrong. When Sam stood up from his crouched position, the girl fell back to the ground limp and wide-eyed—_dead_. _

_And Sam was laughing…_

-----

_He didn't know where he was. Maybe a hotel. Maybe an emptied house. He didn't want to think about what had happened to the owners if that was the case. He had only seen Sam. He didn't know what became of the others that survived. Sasha…_

_He couldn't even sit on the bed, not that he wasn't allowed to. He sat on the floor beneath the window, wishing that every night wasn't filled with screams._

_Then Sam would be there. Always there. "I want you to choose _me_, Dean."_

-----

_Even having the freedom to go where he pleased inside the house—it was definitely a house—there was no real freedom. He knew he couldn't leave, knew that unspeakable things were happening behind each door._

_Sam came out of one of them while he was passing by, covered in blood. "I lost my temper," he said._

_He didn't want to know what that meant._

-----

"_What have you done to Sasha?" he demanded. He asked that everyday._

_The day Sam finally showed him, he wished he had kept his mouth shut. "He wouldn't join me. So I had no choice, you see. But you can end this, Dean. So easily. You know what I'll do to him if you don't."_

_He did. Blade in his hand, he started to raise it. _

_But he couldn't bring it down. He couldn't give the incubus release._

-----

_It was a trick. It was always a trick. He should know by now. The pain was everywhere, filling up the pores in his body as if salt had been pressed into every wound. When he healed he wouldn't be able to count the many new scars._

_The sobbing beside him only made it worse._

"_I told you this would happen, didn't I, Sasha? Will you choose me now?"_

-----

_Sam took Sasha. Changed him. Sam took everything. He didn't even recognize his own reflection anymore. Everything was twisted, every failed attempt at escape written on his skin._

_The door opening always made him flinch._

"_Dean…" growled Sasha—so changed, so different._

_That wasn't the voice he loved._

-----

_When he was finally allowed to leave the house his first instinct was to run back inside. The world echoed his hollow reflection—barren and black and burnt. Behold Sam's kingdom._

_There were still people fighting. Still people surviving. Sam did horrible things to them and begged for him to join in too. The pain would be less for them if he submitted. But he couldn't submit. He couldn't give in._

_He could never give in._

-----

_The worst was at night. He remembered struggling the first time. Maybe many times. But he didn't struggle anymore. Not for himself. His struggles had to be saved for others, even though everyone that mattered was gone._

_So he would just lay there, the nightmare made real. Sasha wasn't gentle. And Sam was always there to hold him down._

-----

"_We can make it, Dean! We can get away from him! Together!" Sasha would scream when Sam's influence faltered enough that he remembered who he was supposed to be._

_But it never lasted long. Nothing hurt more than hope and Sam crushed him with it, toying with him on purpose only to take everything away again._

"_Dean!"_

_Eventually, he just stopped listening._

-----

"_It can be like it was," Sam would lie, passing a gentle hand over his hair, "I can take all the pain away, Dean, if you'll only say the words. It'll be okay. It'll all be over."_

"_No…"_

_Sam's wrath was always terrible._

-----

_Less and less could he recognize the face in the mirror as time passed. He knew now what he hadn't been able to accept before._

_He was home._

-----

_Sometimes he would go for walks. It didn't matter. There was no place to escape to now, and none of the things that lived in this new world would dare touch him. He tried to goad them, tried to trick them into attacking him, but they never did. The times he tried to do the job himself, Sam would always be there._

"_You know where release can be found, Dean."_

-----

_He never gave in. He didn't. At least not the way Sam wanted. But the day he found that little boy hiding in an old house, a boy who pleaded with him and begged for help, he knew he couldn't make the same mistake again. _

_It was mercy. He believed it had to be mercy, it had to be, even though Sam had robbed him of the meaning._

-----

"_Did you think you were going against me, Dean?" Sam taunted after what must have been years, "You've become everything I could have wanted."_

_He didn't want to believe it. But the stains on his hands had grown so dark from the countless people he had 'saved' that he finally understood what Sam kept trying to tell him._

-----

"_Just say it, Dean. Just say it and this will all be over."_

_Hands everywhere. Sasha's. Sam's. The feeling of being surrounded, trapped. He didn't try to move away when lips pressed to his neck._

_Sam's words fell hot on his ear. "All the pain, Dean. The remorse. The guilt. I can take it away. Don't you want it to be like it was? Just the three of us. Unstoppable. I can give you anything, Dean. I saved you, didn't I? And I will give you everything you ever wanted. Release. Finally release if you'll just say the words."_

_He wished he couldn't feel anything. He wished he couldn't feel a god damn _thing_._

"_Okay, Sammy," he said, "Okay…"_

-----

Dean didn't wake up screaming. He woke up drowning, his tears so thick, soundless as they were, that he had soaked the pillow. He was shaking again, but there were arms to hold him, too many arms that weren't too many when it was the Sam and Sasha he loved.

He shook and sobbed as they held him, clinging wherever he could get a tight hold and not caring how or when Sam had crawled into bed with them. It was like Maine when Sam and Sasha were five years old in adult bodies and they had slept all curled together. Now Dean was the little boy. Now Dean was the one who needed this comfort.

He couldn't tell them. He could never tell them how much he had longed for the strength to hate them.

If it had been anyone else, any other bastard demon torturing him with every device known to man or beast, Dean could have bore it, could have stood his ground and told the fucker to stick it where the sun shines. But not Sasha. Not Sam. Not when it was real. Not when it was _them_. They had always been his weakness. And Malak had used that to beat him.

Dean didn't fall back asleep after that. He pretended to so Sam and Sasha would think he got some decent rest, that he was okay, but if the past seven years could haunt him while he was awake then he knew it would be like reliving them all over again every time he slept.

Feigning a groggy awakening, Dean waited until both Sam and Sasha were out of bed the next morning before he stretched, sat up blinking and said, "There gonna be breakfast down there?"

Several minutes later he was alone in the bathroom, dressed, clean, teeth brushed. He couldn't seem to get his hair right. It was all smushed to one side of his head from his restless sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had cared to style it.

He had left the door slightly ajar for his sake as well as the others. They were waiting for him, being so patient with him. It would have been the type of thing to get on his nerves once upon a time. All they knew was that they had rescued him from Hell. They didn't know Hell had been them.

Part of Dean thought that it should have been obvious, that he should have been able to tell the difference. But as much as the real Sam and Sasha soothed him, being back wasn't enough to even feel that difference now. He still found himself flinching at the initial sight of them, waiting for a blow, an order, a word of false, perverse love.

"Dean…?" It was Sam, hand on the door as he peeked inside, "You know…you don't have to do this now. If you want to take another day…" he trailed to give Dean the chance to take the out.

But he couldn't. If he did then he might never step foot outside this room again. "Head first, Sammy. I'm okay. You guys go ahead. I'll be right down."

"You sure?" Sasha asked, his disembodied voice coming from beyond Sam.

"Yeah. Yeah, go ahead. I just…" Dean couldn't stop staring at his reflection, "I just need a sec." And Sam and Sasha agreed because they didn't want to push him anywhere but towards the direction he wanted to go. Only Dean didn't know where that was. So he took his second, his minute, _five_. Any longer and they would be back to get him.

Staring pained into his own eyes, Dean felt immediate hatred boil up inside him. What happened, what he had been through and done, it wasn't real. But it was, and what would they think of him if they knew? If they knew how easily he had been broken? Seven years. What was seven years? He should have been able to last longer.

Dean pushed away from the sink and went back to the main part of the room. Their life was strewn about him. Sam's duffle. Sasha's. A pair of Sam's jeans in the corner. Sasha's jacket left on the hastily made bed.

The jacket. Dean picked it up in his hands, held the lining to his face and breathed in. It still smelled so new, sweet and musky from the leather but also so much like Sasha. In moments Dean was back in that damn mall in Denver, remembering the day they had bought the jacket together.

Smell was the best sense for being transported. Dean had hoped that being so close to his incubus last night, and later when Sam was there too that the familiar smell of them both would ground him. But it hadn't been enough.

Glancing up, Dean saw a closet on the far side of the room. It was open. His own leather jacket—his father's jacket—was hanging up next to the clothes he had been wearing the night Sam…no. The night _Malak_ took him.

But it looked wrong. There wasn't any blood on it. There had been blood. Dean remembered so clearly. He remembered it. So much blood. There had been blood everywhere when Sam—

"_No_."

No, it wasn't real, it wasn't _real_.

Dean closed his eyes tight, Sasha's leather still in his hands. He tried so hard to stay here, be here. But when he opened his eyes again…he was _there_.

-----

_Sam was laughing. Laughing. Like there was something funny about that little girl having been alive one moment and then dead at his feet the next. And why were the hellhounds still back there, hovering, waiting for further orders?_

"_Sam?" Bobby braved the question first, "What's with you, boy? What happened to that girl?" She was just lying there, still, as if something had…stopped her heart in her chest._

"_Sam?" came Sarah's voice next, strong with concern. She tried to move towards Sam but Sasha held her back, shaking his head, knowing what Dean knew but the others didn't._

_Something had gone wrong. Tapping fully into his powers, defeating Lilith, taking up her mantle as master of the hellhounds, maybe it had even been the act of saving Dean from Malak. Whatever the final catalyst had been, Sam wasn't Sam anymore._

_Dean didn't want to believe it. Not for him. Sam couldn't have turned because of him._

_Sprinting down the hill, Dean finally joined the half circle the others had formed around Sam and Lilith, just in time for his brother to turn and face them all. The white eyes Dean expected, even the sneer, but there was something far darker than he could have ever predicted burning strongly within Sam now._

"_What's wrong, Dean," Sam said with a grin, "You should be happy. You should be thanking me. Malak can't have you now."_

_Something shuddered deep in Dean's gut at the sight of Sam glowing with power like that, at the sound of those words. It was the cave all over again. "Sammy…"_

"_Don't worry, Dean," Sam said as if his voice were soothing and not so horribly tainted, "Don't you remember what I keep telling you? You don't understand now. But you will." Those blank white eyes looked to the side, to Sarah and Bobby and Sasha. Then he turned, looking at Ellen and Jo as well. His grin widened. "No time like the present. Right, big brother?"_

"_Run!" Dean shouted at the others, knowing he had to stand his ground, he had to, but they could still get away. "Run!" he called again. They weren't moving. They were faltering, hesitant steps barely taking them away. Sarah and Sasha hadn't moved at all._

_But it was Dean's folly to tell them to go; running couldn't save them._

_Ellen and Jo broke away first. Maybe if they hadn't, if they had hesitated just one moment more like the others things wouldn't have ended so horribly for them. As soon as they started off, Sam's arm rose after them, white light gathering just like it had with Lilith. This light burned hotter, brighter, until once again Dean had to look away. When the light faded, Ellen and Jo were still alive, but Dean wished for their sake they weren't._

_Sarah was screaming, Bobby and Sasha both pulling their weapons while Dean could only stand and stare. It was because of him. It was all because of _him_._

"_Sam, stop!"_

"_What did you do!?"_

"_Oh god…_Sam_."_

_If only Sasha had used the Colt that moment, right then when he had his chance, but just as Dean knew it would have been the same for him, the incubus couldn't fire. A moment later the demon-killing gun, the gun that could kill almost anything, body and soul, was in_ Bobby's _hand, swiped away easily as the elder hunter pointed the Colt in Sasha's face. His eyes were dull, his motions mechanical._

_It was _Sam_._

"_Run?" Sam said mockingly, stepping slowly towards Dean and leaving his puppet Bobby to keep Sasha at gunpoint. He didn't bother with Sarah as she was still hurt, and stunned now as well as she looked on and couldn't do anything. "Dean, why would they need to run from me? If they stay, if they follow me and do as they're told by choice, I'd never hurt them. Don't you know that?" He was practically on top of Dean, walking up almost flush to him without reservation. "That's all you need to do too, Dean. Malak can't have you because you're _mine_. In time I'll be even stronger than him. I can give you everything, Dean, and no one will ever be able to hurt us again. No one will ever be able to leave us. Don't you want that? All you have to do is choose me, Dean. Choose me and I promise…I won't have Bobby blow off Sasha's pretty face."_

_This wasn't happening. This wasn't Sam. Dean tried to back away but Sam's arm grabbed him at the waist, holding him close in a half kind of hug. "Sam," he pleaded, "Don't do this. It's Sash, damn it, you're having Bobby point the Colt at _Sasha_! And look what you…what you _did_ to Ellen and Jo..." he still couldn't believe it, "They're…they're family." And they were still struggling to stay alive, burnt or melted to almost nothing on the now red and tissue-covered grass as if their skin had been peeled away. Dean could barely look at them._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw Sarah make a break for the dying Harvelles, maybe only to offer some reprieve with use of the gun she still had tucked in her jeans as backup for her sniper rifle. She was almost to them when Sam said, "I wouldn't do that," soft enough to be a deadly warning but loud enough that Sarah heard him, paused, turned to him in horror._

"_Sam," Dean tried again._

"_Family? You call them family?" Sam scoffed, "_I'm_ your family. I know you need Sasha. I know how you love him. I love him too. And if Sarah joins us like a good girl I might even keep Bobby around," he said, glancing to the side as if he could see Sarah perfectly even though she was behind him, "But it's all up to you, Dean. Choose me. Just say it. Say you belong to_ me_."_

_What horror was this? Why would Sam want this? Had the demon blood twisted him so much finally that all he saw were his basest desires and a sense of possession? This was the part of Sam that wanted to claim the world. Not to save it or even control it, but to make it pay for everything he had ever had to suffer through. Dean could understand that, he really could, but he couldn't let Sam do this._

_Without fear or reservation, he leaned right into Sam's face, pleading with whatever gods may exist that Sam wasn't too far gone to bring back._

_His gaze was steady, his voice a rock of resolve as he said, "I don't belong to anyone."_

_How wrong he was._

_Sam's eyes flashed brightly, his sneer growing into a snarl that made him look ugly in his viciousness. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to. Bobby cocked the gun. Then too swiftly for Dean or ever Sasha so close to stop it, the Colt was to Bobby's temple and he fired._

"_No!"_

"_Bobby!"_

_Sarah was screaming again._

"_Do you understand yet, Dean?" Sam spat through clenched teeth as he wrenched Dean's arm and forcefully led him back towards the others where too much blood was on the grass and more would follow. The hellhounds were already taking off to find the bodies of the family they had tried to save. _

_And Dean could do nothing. He didn't have the strength to match Sam's, didn't have a weapon that would ever be enough. Even if he could get to the Colt, Sam could just control him to put it down again. Why hadn't they foreseen this? Why hadn't they tried to stop it before it was too late? Sasha and Sarah were equally helpless._

_As the weight of what was happening struck Dean, fully and horribly, realizing all he might have done to prevent this once but couldn't now, Sam made a promise close against his ear, "Next time, brother…I won't be so kind."_

-----

Dean was shaking so hard that Sasha's jacket had fallen from his hands and was draped over his lap. He was on the floor now, head and shoulders back against the frame of the bed. The room spun and refocused in front of him. He wasn't there anymore, he was here, he was _here_, but 'there' would always be with him. He knew that now.

He had to go downstairs, had to show everyone that he was fine, he was okay, he was back just the way he had left them. Even though all of that was a lie, he had to make them believe it. He tried to get up off the floor, but his hands had clutched again the smooth black leather of Sasha's jacket, so like his wings, Dean thought, and he couldn't loosen his grip enough to get a grip on himself.

He couldn't have understood before. He understood now. He had been dead. Dead, gone, in Hell. That's why this was so hard. _Living_. Living was hard. And as much as he knew he had to get up, had to keep going, he wasn't sure he wanted to anymore.

tbc...

A/N: Ta da! So did I throw you for a loop? If you're confused about everything that happened in Hell, you should be a little. Those snippets from Dean's montage dream will get longer scenes like this last one throughout the arc. Dean is in for a Hell of a recovery. :-P I will be really interested to know what people think of this compared to just physical torture for 30 years with 10 years of being the torturer. In my version, Dean thought he was just living his life; he didn't even know he was in Hell. Thoughts?

After careful consideration, the winner of the 'presents' drabble contest is: Rhys-the-Redeemed from right here on FF! Woohoo! It was much harder this time as so many of them were good, so I chose Rhys on points of creativity. He was definitely the most original. Also, bonus request goes out to deangirl1 who is struggling with real life bombardment and deserves a prize for using both 'present' and 'presence' in one of her drabbles. Get in your requests, guys, when you can!

The drabbles will be up at the site later today hopefully, as will be an idea Blueeyesgreen had for what would happen next after Dean went to Hell. She was wrong, granted, but it was just so good that I have to share it with you all. Also, there will be a link to Dianna Wickam's new "Incubus" fanfic "Dream a little dream of Incubus" that can be read right here on FF. Very hot, tells how that episode would have gone if Sasha was involved. Naughty Dean...

Oh! Shoutout for Deangirl1's "T Minus 60" about the end of the deal that she wrote way back then. Remember, dear, how I said we were working mojo but I couldn't tell you how? Well it was the similarity of the seven days, seven years thing! Finally you can know. :-) The rest of the story is vastly different but a great take and in need of being finished, not that I want to pressure that woman into writing any more than she already has on her plate.

Happy Supernatural Thursday!

Crim


	72. Part 2: Martyr for a Freak

Part 2: Martyr for a Freak

-----

One foot in front of the other was such a crock of an old saying, and yet somehow with every step Dean managed to be steadier. The layout of the Roadhouse came back to him easily even after seven long years, and he found his way through the corridors to the main stairs, taking each step slowly as he moved his still stiff body down to the bar area. He could hear the chorus of voices he knew so well. If there had been any other hunter patrons, Ellen must have shooed them away in honor of Dean's revival.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt nervous like this. To see them all again—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Sarah, even Shiarra—it all seemed so surreal. Dean could remember so vividly how each of them had died.

Pushing those thoughts aside as best he could, Dean stepped into the bar. The many voices quickly stilled. It was always only for show that Dean Winchester liked the limelight. He preferred anonymity most of the time. Having everyone he knew and loved staring at him like he was some second coming was more than a little unnerving.

He thought of saying something witty to break the tension, maybe get the serious crew to crack smiles instead of wearing those drawn and relieved faces. Like, "If you want a hug you better get in line coz nobody's dog-piling me," or something. Instead he managed barely a small shrug and a too quiet, "Hey," that sounded nothing like him and really he was going to have to get over this and _soon_ because the others should not be looking at him like he was too fragile to touch.

He needed to touch. He needed to know this world was real and that the other one was the nightmare.

Sam and Sasha were standing next to Bobby not far from Dean at all, Ellen and Jo were behind the bar, and Sarah and Shiarra were sitting on stools. Somehow Dean found the strength to walk in amongst them. He accepted the hugs that were offered, the pats on his shoulder and arm, the nods and loving looks, even though every glance at one of them brought with it an image of their corpse—or what had been left of it when Dean saw them in their last minutes. Ellen and Jo were the hardest to touch for that reason. Their charred and melted bodies…

Dean went rigid against Jo as he hugged her, just what he hadn't wanted to do, he hadn't wanted them to know what Sam and Sasha knew. Maybe his brother and friend had told them all anyway, that he had been a dribbling, screaming wreck when he first got back, but if they hadn't then he didn't want any extra reason for pity.

"Dean…?" Jo asked gently, her long blonde hair pressing to the side of his face.

"Man…pretty stiff," Dean grabbed at an excuse as he pulled from her embrace, "Guess it sorta goes with being a corpse for a week, huh?" he grinned.

And bless Jo for holding back a smile and shaking her head at him instead of looking on with more sympathy. That was the annoyed but happy expression he was used to from the huntress, starting way back when she first punched him in the face and swiped back her rifle.

Thankfully, the heavy feeling of sentiment died down fairly fast, none of the gathered mass much for sappy stuff to begin with. Dean did get the distinct impression that Shiarra—who hadn't been there to see the end happen—wanted to speak to him. But right now Dean wanted to be immersed in the group, surrounded. He wanted to remember what living his life was supposed to feel like.

There was food and conversation, Dean being somewhat quiet like he had been last night since he enjoyed hearing everyone else's voices. He let those varied timbers carry his visions of a false reality away for awhile as they ate at the bar tables. The food tasted even better than the pizza had last night, which was frickin' incredible in Dean's book. He hadn't at all lost his appetite and he could tell that that simple fact seemed to soothe the others.

Dean knew one thing for certain even though the conversation seemed to steer so much away from it—he wanted to get back to work. If anything could help him get back into the groove, it was hunting.

Something struck Dean then when he looked up and saw Ellen's muscle car calendar. It was a week too late but he remembered. He had deliberately not mentioned anything to Sam those few days before the end of the deal because he knew his brother wouldn't want to hear about it.

"Well, shame on me," Dean announced loud enough for everyone to hear, "I missed your birthday, bro. Guess I got to see the first couple minutes of it, but…things went a little _south_ from there," he tried to snark, "Don't suppose you were able to pull your heads out of your asses long enough to enjoy turning twenty-five?"

Twenty-five. That felt like ages ago to Dean.

He looked around the table and over at the other one with Ellen, Bobby, Jo, and Shiarra. The few who actually met his gaze looked disconcerted to say the least. May 2nd. How cruelly ironic that Sam's birthday was the same day the kid had risen from the dead when Dean made his deal, and then of course it had to be the day Dean died a year later too.

"Right…" Dean hated himself for making them all look at him like that—like they were wind-up toys without any _wind_, "Guess that means you didn't get much of a haul then, eh, Sammy?" Just the burden of having to haul around Dean's dead but not dead body. Or maybe that wasn't it at all that was making everyone so silent. Dean looked up at Sasha who was staring at his mostly uneaten food. "Made that deal right away…" Dean said carefully, "Didn't you?"

Persistent as the incubus had been the night before to tell Dean what had been traded for his life, now Sasha kept his eyes turned down and didn't say anything. Dean knew it had to be something terrible to make everyone hold reverently still and silent, but now he needed to know. Postponing the inevitable on this one would only make things worse.

"Sasha…"

There was a terrible sound like a half-strangled howl or cry from a wounded animal. They all turned startled to look where the noise was coming from, and there standing right in the doorway of the bar area was a large grey tabby cat with all its hair standing on end—Wally.

Ellen had mentioned that the chimera was too comfortably situated on her favorite living room couch cushion be bothered but that she would probably join them later. Dean had also been prepared for the cat form as it was safer for her to stay that way when hunters so often came in and out of the Roadhouse. But the arched back and extended fur, the wild eyes, the strange noises growling out of her were nothing like he had ever seen from the creature before.

Worried now, Dean rose from his seat at the small barroom table and made towards the frightened cat-shaped chimera. "What's up, girl? Don't tell me there's something to hunt _here_ again? Not that you count of course," he grinned, holding out a hand as he walked swiftly to her.

Something about his approach only agitated her more, and the sudden hiss she threw at him had Dean stopping in his tracks. Wally wasn't terrified and on guard over some foreign object or creature to hunt; she was focused entirely on him—afraid of _him_.

"Hey…Wally," Dean tried again, voice soothing and hands held up as he took another small step forward.

She immediately started spitting at him like a cat on the attack, frozen to her spot in the doorway as if to ward him off. Did she not recognize him, he wondered at first. But he had never seen her react like this to strangers before. It had to be something else.

Then the awful truth struck Dean; she knew what the others didn't. That had to be it. She knew what he had become while he was gone, the terrible things he had done…

"Wally, stop that, it's just Dean," Sasha said sternly, right behind Dean suddenly and then breezing past him to scoop the animal into his arms. She allowed him to pick her up but she did not relax, hair still sticking up, eyes on Dean, a low growl ever in her throat. "Wally," Sasha said again, "It's Dean. You know Dean."

But not this Dean, Dean thought. _Dean_ barely knew this Dean.

Animals understood things differently. Dean thought of how wary normal domestic animals could be of Sasha and Sam, which was understandable since it was hard for them to accept that something could look one way and smell like something else.

Vaguely, he remembered Meagan's dog Abbott from Prior Lake—it seemed so long ago now—and how the dog had whined and stayed out of Sam's path. Miriam's cat Helga had reacted too, sniffing Sam curiously, not disliking him quite the same way but knowing that something was off.

Wally, however—not anything near normally domestic—had never done anything like that around Sam or Sasha. She had shied from Sam once but realized her mistake and even snuggled up with him later. She always knew she could trust Sam and Sasha because she was a supernatural thing herself and knew that the smell of demon blood didn't have to mean evil. What did that say about Dean then if she no longer counted him among the good and safe? She didn't trust him.

She knew. She _knew_…

"Dean?" Dean wasn't sure who was saying his name but he had to get away. He turned abruptly, no destination in mind just the thought of escape, something he was used to seeking these past few years though he seldom ever got what he wanted.

That held true again because as soon as he turned and tried to move anywhere but where he was, Sarah was in his path, reaching her hands out to grab his arms, her face concerned, her voice plaintive.

"Dean?"

No. Dean knew that look, a look that begged, that pleaded, that didn't understand.

Sam had shredded it from her face.

-----

_He was allowed to wonder the house though he seldom did, afraid of what he might find. He still wasn't sure what the place was, where it was, where _he_ was, but it was a house, and every room seemed to hold something terrible. Only his own room was safe and it was never safe for long._

_When he did venture out it was always for the same purpose—he had to find Sasha. He knew the incubus was alive, had to be alive or Sam would have taunted him with Sasha's corpse. But the silence, the not knowing made him fear so deeply for his love. The things he had seen Sam do to others…he didn't want to think of that happening to Sasha._

_Walking down the upstairs corridor, he could hear screams, growls, voices he knew belonged to demons and creatures under Sam's control. He was safe from them. Only them. So he walked freely until he came to a door that was quiet. Before he could dare try the knob Sam suddenly stepped out of it into the hallway in front of him._

_Sam was dressed simply, just a T-shirt and jeans, sneakers, his hair and face so like how Dean knew it, but Sam's eyes were never hazel anymore and his face was never kind. Something else shook Dean as he looked at his brother._

_He was covered in blood._

"_What…what did you do?" Dean feared this was the room he meant to find after all and that something awful had befallen Sasha._

_Slowly, Sam looked at Dean, unconcerned as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand as though it were as simple a thing as dirt and grime. "She wouldn't choose me either," he said resentful, "I had really hoped she would, that she would be with us. I thought she understood. I guess I lost my temper." He shrugged and walked on past Dean without a glance back._

_It was rare that Sam would leave him so easily, but then the torture this time was in knowing that Dean would have to look inside the room. He did. What was left of the body inside was a mangled mess, only recognizable to Dean because of the long dark hair and the shirt he remembered her wearing the night everything ended._

_Sarah…_

-----

Dean was shaking again, so cold, always shaking and cold. Small gentle hands were holding his shoulders, trying to keep him upright, but he stumbled, falling to his knees and bringing his helper down with him.

"Dean!"

It was Sarah but how could it be Sarah when she was dead, _dead_, so horrible dead.

"Help me get him up," she was saying to someone else, someone whose arms were stronger and Dean knew by the way they grasped him that it was Sam. Sam, who had done those awful things, made him do awful things, who wouldn't leave him alone, God, why wouldn't he leave him alone?

"No…" Dean choked out as he shivered, brought to his feet weakly with all his weight against the solid form of Sam that he knew didn't mean him any harm. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine…" he chanted low enough that he hoped it didn't sound as much like crazed ranting to the others as it did to him, "I'm okay," he said more strongly, looking up at Sam who he knew was his brother and would never hurt him, "Just…got a little…turned around."

The look on Sam's face did not agree with the words that left him. "I know, Dean. Don't worry, it'll be okay. I mean…" he strained to smile, "It'll get easier. I promise."

Dean offered another lie to match Sam's, nodding as he said, "I know."

He couldn't face the others after that, and not just because he'd have to see their worried and pitying looks. He apologized, said he just needed to rest a little, and made scarce fast, avoiding getting too close to Sasha who stared after him still holding a spooked and growling Wally.

She knew what they didn't, what Dean knew too. Easy wasn't going to happen because Dean didn't deserve it. All those years, all those images and horrors. None of it had been real. And he hadn't been able to tell.

What was wrong with him, what kind of brother or lover was he if he couldn't tell that the thing wearing Sam's face wasn't Sam? Or Sasha…

Dean shook his head, knees pulled up into his chest as he stared at the TV in the back living room of the Roadhouse like an angsty teenager. He hadn't even turned the damn thing on. He couldn't think of anything worth watching. But if he kept this up he wouldn't ever get over what had happened. Apparently, telling himself that it wasn't real and that he was safe in the land of the living again wasn't cutting it.

It was just so ingrained in his head, every visual, every sound. Malak had certainly planned things out well if he wanted to break Dean and then send him back as a useless shell incapable of feeling or doing anything constructive. Dean didn't want to do anything anyway. Hunt. He could hunt. But did he have the right? Even Wally sensed the darkness Malak had so easily—too easily—stirred up inside of Dean.

How could he have given in…?

"Hey…you, uhh…absorbed in your program there?"

Bobby. The humored but still sad voice of their last living patriarch. It sounded weird to say it like that, old-school demon hunter kind of talk—patriarch. Dean supposed that was fitting though since they were in the middle of a war with impossible odds they didn't even know how to fight. Or who. They didn't even know who they were supposed to be fighting.

The bad guys. Right. What the Hell did that mean?

He looked over his shoulder and tried to smile. "Next up is watching paint dry," he joked, "I'm sure it'll be just as riveting."

There was that knowing smile on Bobby's face as he walked into the room, ball cap on his head like always, T-shirt and open flannel with the sleeves rolled up. "Got the lot of 'em pretty well worried now, I'm sure you know," he said, "Not to mention me. Gotta admit I didn't think you'd wanna be alone after…" he trailed, a weak hand-gesture failing at articulating what he meant. Of course Dean knew anyway.

"Yeah…don't wanna be alone," he admitted, shifting to put his feet back on the floor as Bobby came around to join him on the couch, "But it doesn't seem I do much better with everybody around either, so…" he shrugged.

Something Bobby was so good at that Sam and Sasha just couldn't get no matter how much time might pass was that sometimes silence did the job better than a speech. Dean could keep staring at the shiny black screen of the turned-off TV with Bobby sitting there beside him, and after a few minutes, damn it if he didn't want to spill everything as if Bobby had been goading him the entire time.

He didn't need to say that he was messed up. That was implied. He didn't need to tell Bobby any details about Hell, because the elder hunter wouldn't push for it and probably knew that Hell was special for each man, something too dark to imagine for anyone else.

"You think…this is what all those Vietnam vets felt like when they came home?" Dean half-grinned, leaning forward now with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together like he was praying. He wasn't. Who the hell would he pray to?

Bobby didn't say anything at first. He had never served any of the armed forces, Dean was fairly certain of that, though Bobby sure did seem the soldier type being such a hardened old hunter. Still, he knew Bobby would understand what he meant. If getting out of war was like getting out of Hell, then getting out of Hell had to be like…

Something. Dean should know. But he didn't. Part of him was still there.

"I don't expect you to talk about it," Bobby said after some time, voice steady and calm, "But Sam and that boy of yours…they do. Yeah, I know he's your boy," Bobby grinned, "No other way to see things, strange as it is to me sometimes having known both your fathers." That thought almost had the hunter blushing. It would be an ordeal indeed if John Winchester and Deklin Kelly were alive to see what their first-born sons got up to.

Namely, each other.

"I'm not usually one to give advice about something I don't got no chance of understanding," Bobby went on, "But, Dean…I think you need to tell them whatever you can manage about what happened while you were…gone. Otherwise you'll just keep getting lost back into it and they'll keep floundering around not knowing how to help."

"They can't help, Bobby," Dean deadpanned, certain of that with every fiber in him. Only he could crawl out of this. "And what happened…" he looked up, looked over and saw his friend and pseudo-father gazing back at him with every bit of understanding a father should have. It almost broke him to instantly remember what that same figure had looked like blowing his own brains out with the Colt. Dean shuddered. "I…I can't," Dean breathed like he was choking, like he was fighting a sob he refused to allow.

Bobby didn't press. Didn't counter. But he stayed. Dean was grateful for that.

One on one was easier, Dean thought, then just being alone or being surrounded. He had thought immersion would be best; now he knew better. His senses were on constant overload, wanting to remind him of the past seven years at any given chance. Maybe it was a good thing that in Dean's Hell Bobby had died so early. It meant there were less of those memories to haunt him.

Later, when Dean had had enough brooding, alone or in Bobby's company, he ventured out again to see what the others were up to. He just had to keep telling himself that he could do this. He could. Of course he could. This was his life. He had to live it if he was ever going to make up for the last one.

Dean hung back a little in the hallway, peering around inside the bar area where most of the others were still gathered. Bobby had left Dean to join them a little earlier and was talking amiably with Shiarra at the bar. No one had anything harder than soda to drink of course since it wasn't even lunch time yet. Ellen wasn't there, so maybe that's exactly what she was doing—making something for lunch. Sarah, Jo, and Sasha were hovered around Sarah's laptop on top of one of the small tables.

They didn't look particularly serious as they chatted and gestured at the screen, so Dean wondered if they were looking at something other than possible cases. Wally was curled up still in cat form right there on the table behind the laptop, dozing contentedly in the path of the machine's heat.

Dean saw Sasha glance several times towards the main entrance, probably assuming that Dean would come from there should he rejoin them. Dean really had to hand it to the incubus; he would have thought it impossible for Sasha to actually give him space. It was clearly weighting heavily on Sasha that he hadn't yet rushed off gallantly to Dean's side. Dean was surprised Sam hadn't done the same either.

Sam. Where was Sam…?

"Dean?"

That voice suddenly behind him jolted Dean and he had to grip the nearby doorframe to keep from plummeting immediately into convulsions. He wasn't cold, he wasn't really cold, so why did he feel like shaking?

A firm hand accompanied the voice, "Dean," Sam said again. The mere insistency, the soft tone that was right there, right there behind him, pulled Dean back into the fold he was struggling so hard to escape.

-----

"_Dean," Sam said with something that might have been love once but was too perverted now, "Why do you do this? Sit in here all day, barely eating, barely talking. You can always talk to me." It was like some awful parody that was never funny. Sam that wasn't Sam. But it was Sam. It was Sam now. The Sam that Dean had known and loved was gone._

_Stuck in this house, this strange place, Dean had lost track of time. It was filled with monsters and horrors around every corner. He wished he knew why. He could imagine though. Sam was slowly building his army. He wanted willing servants but when someone—human or otherwise—refused him, he would simply force them with his powers or make them wish they had chosen him on their own. _

_Why did Sam need an army? Why did he need Dean? Dean was the only one Sam didn't force or attack physically. He coerced, he taunted, he tortured in other ways. Dean would have preferred something physical to be perfectly honest, something he could understand. _

"_I need you, Dean," Sam was saying, crouched down with him where Dean was leaning back against the wall below the window of his bedroom—his, like anything belonged to him anymore, "I need you to choose me, Dean. You I can wait for to be willing."_

_Dean looked up, met Sam's yellow eyes, full on mottled yellow instead of white. Sometimes he wished it was the white. "And what about Sasha?" he asked hoarsely, "Did you wait for him? Or is he another puppet? Or dead? Tell me what you did with him?" The demand was weak but still a demand. Dean didn't fear his brother for his own sake._

_Today Sam surprised him. He stood, offered Dean a hand. "I'll take you to him," he said._

_No matter the amount of time that may have passed, Dean should have known better than to accept anything from Sam. He had to take that hand though; he had to know what had become of Sasha. _

_They walked through the house, Dean keeping close to Sam because he didn't want to have to look at the other things in the house or see any of the people he knew acting as mindless slaves. Once he was almost certain he caught a glimpse of Missouri. _

_Finally, they slipped down into the basement which Dean almost had the sense of humor left to muse seemed cliché of Sam. Maybe the other rooms were full. Maybe Sam just liked having the extra space for Sasha. The incubus certainly took up a lot of room._

_Dean should have expected it. He wasn't certain of time but it had been at least a month, at least, which meant the Sasha he saw, full incubus and tied with chains to an upright table crudely designed to hold him, was frenzied._

"_He wouldn't give in no matter what I did to him or what I threatened," Sam said, maybe a little fondly even as he walked over to where Sasha was bound and reached up to stroke a wing, "Kept talking about you."_

_The irrational part of Dean wanted to scream at Sam to not dare touch his incubus like that when Sasha was snarling and snapping like a beast, hungry for whatever source of sexual energy was closest. But Dean couldn't say anything. Nothing he might say could reverse this, only feeding, and feeding when Sasha was like this would mean someone would have to die._

"_I'll tell you what, Dean?" Sam said, standing casually between Sasha and a table of bloodied weapons that were probably iron used on Sasha earlier, leaving wounds that were curried with the empty bottles of antidote, "Do one simple thing for me and I promise…I won't force him to serve me like the others. I know how you'd hate that," he nearly smirked._

_There was never a good bargain where it came to what this Sam wanted. Dean warily asked, "What?" unable to keep his eyes from watching his love struggle to free himself from his bonds. _

_If movement on Sam's part hadn't caught Dean's attention he might have missed when his brother tossed him one of the weapons from the table. He caught it clumsily. It was a large knife almost like a machete. "Cut off his wings," Sam said plainly._

"_What!?" Dean threw the knife to the cement floor, the metal clanking loudly as it wavered before settling, "Fuck you. _Fuck_ you. You want this to end bloody? _You_ do it."_

"_Your choice," Sam shrugged as if Dean's defiance was a trifling thing, "But you may want to listen. Cut off his wings. He'll die of course. For an incubus I hear it's one of the worst ways to go. _Painful_. Starts an infection that pollutes their body slowly until it finally kills them. Do it. You know what I'll do to him if you don't." Sam's voice lowered with that threat and then returned to cruel brevity. "I'd prefer to keep him. You at my right hand, him at my left, that's what I really want. But I want to give you the chance to choose. As a gift." _

_Nice gift. Dean thought he was going to be sick. He had long since given up hope that trying to talk Sam out of all this would ever be enough. And there was a part of Dean that saw some sense in doing what Sam wanted of him. _

_Sasha was tortured already, frenzied and starving. Who knew what Sam had done to him before his energy ran out? And if Dean refused, Sam would merely use the incubus as another puppet. Wasn't that worse than dying? Dean knew he would rather die._

_He spared a glance at Sasha, chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles to hold him spread eagle, his wings the only things stretching beyond the table's edge. Sasha had given up lunging for Sam and was now growling and fighting to break his way free and reach Dean. Right now he was mindless. It would be mercy really. Mercy…_

_Dean picked up the long knife from the floor. It _was_ like a machete, large enough that if Dean aimed at the base of Sasha's wings he could do it in one or two strokes. He stepped towards the table. Sam was smiling at him as he raised his shaking hand…_

_The clatter was louder this time when the knife fell. What was he thinking? "I can't," he said, backing away, "I…I can't." It wasn't mercy. It was murder, murder of his best friend to please Sam. He couldn't do that. He couldn't give in to Sam like that._

_A deep sigh left Sam's lips. "Well…if it has to be this way," he said. _

_Like Dean had, Sam took a step back, but since he was facing Dean it brought him slightly behind Sasha's table and into the shadows. Dean couldn't see if Sam used his hands or TK but suddenly the chains were unwrapping from around Sasha's limbs. _

"_He is starving, you know? Better to feed him first."_

No_. _

_Dean couldn't move, but even if he had it wouldn't have been fast enough. Sasha was on him in moments, harsh and feral as he tackled Dean and pinned him to the cold floor. The weight of him, the intent behind his crazed red eyes, the feel of claws ripping at Dean's clothing and hips pressing mindlessly down against him all crashed down on Dean with a wave of the worst kind of panic. This wasn't like that day when Lust had set Sasha after Dean and there was the small glimmer of hope that he could reach Sasha or that somehow Sam would save him. This was real frenzy; Sasha couldn't be reached. And Sam wouldn't be doing any saving._

_The one thought that comforted Dean as fresh wounds opened on his chest and thighs with the tearing of his clothes was that if this was how he was going to die, taken hard and left bleeding by the one he loved most, then he just hoped Sam killed Sasha swiftly afterwards._

"_Oh no, Dean," echoed Sam's voice from above him, "I won't let him take enough to kill you. No. You? You get to live."_

-----

Dean's hands were gripping the doorframe and wall so tightly, his knuckles were bone white. He wasn't surprised to be shaking harder, wasn't surprised that Sam's hand had turned into both hands holding his shoulders steady. At first he could only hear whispering, but as he came back to himself he began to make out Sam's hushed words.

"Come on, Dean, stay with me. Be here. You're here now, you're safe. Be _here_. I'm going to make that bastard pay for what he did to you." And so on with similar threats and comforts. Sam didn't even know the details and he hated Malak with a hardened viciousness. Maybe it made it worse that Sam didn't know because his imagination could invent so many terrible things.

It couldn't invent the truth though. The truth was worse than anything Sam might conjure up, Dean was sure of that.

"I wish you'd tell me what happened, Dean," Sam said, maybe half in Dean's head but not enough to see what Dean was hiding. Sam was at least respecting Dean's wishes enough not to cheat with his powers. "It's the trauma. You can't beat it unless you face it, and the first step can be telling us what you went through. We can handle it, Dean."

No. You can't.

"I just want to know what's making you like this." He rubbed up and down Dean's shoulders is if Dean were a freezing cold kid coming in from playing outside in the snow. It was ridiculously maternal and Dean wished he had it in him to make a crack about that.

But he was thinking of Wally, still able to see the chimera asleep on the table with Sasha and the girls. "Whatever happened to me there, Sammy…I guess I'm not the same me anymore," he said.

"That's not true," Sam shot back with anger coloring his words, his grip on Dean's shoulders growing tight, almost painful. He was behind Dean, holding him in an awkward kind of hug. "It hasn't even been a whole day, Dean. You were in Hell. No one expects you to be perfect and fine in a day. It'll just take time."

Deep down Dean knew that. With time it would have to get easier. All the clichés said so, after all. He didn't know how to respond to Sam, he could only look at Sasha who was unaware of being watched. "What did he do to bring me back?" he asked, almost to himself. What did Sasha give up to bring back this mangled mess of a man?

Sam didn't answer, his presence still so close that it made the silence feel like a blow.

"That bad, huh? Wonderful…" Dean pushed from the wall, his trembling under control again, and shook Sam away from holding him. Even if Wally knew better and ran when the others wouldn't, hissing and growling and able to see that he wasn't the same, Dean couldn't give up.

-----

When Dean joined the group again the others tried so hard to act like everything was fine and back to normal that it felt staged, fake. Dean knew they were just trying to be stronger for his sake, so he allowed every forced smile, every awkward joke, and smiled in kind. He was pleased when they turned to talk of potential cases in the area. There wasn't much but the thought of working relaxed Dean.

No one seemed to want to go anywhere quite yet so the talks were mostly about what they could do 'after a few days', something Dean knew was a fluid term. A few days could mean a few weeks if they didn't think he was 'fit' for hunting. He'd half to squash that idea right away.

Shiarra was still giving him looks as if to say she wanted to get him alone. Dean would avoid that for as long as possible. But after lunch when everyone started to variously disperse as if they had things they could be doing elsewhere, Dean didn't mind that he seemed to have been left rather obviously alone…with Sasha.

One on one was easier, he reminded himself, and Sasha looked so beautifully whole and healthy and loving. Dean still wanted to ask what the price had been for his resurrection, but when Sasha smiled warmly at him and walked to the jukebox, he couldn't bear the thought of ruining the moment.

_My funny valentine  
Sweet comic valentine  
You make me smile with my heart_

"Jo downloaded a bunch of Frank for me. Don't laugh, but…my favorite version of this song," Sasha said, smiling sideways at Dean as he leaned against the jukebox, "Was from this movie—"

"Matt Damon in _The Talented Mr. Ripley_," Dean broke in, smiling crookedly too.

Sasha looked surprised. "I already told you that? I don't remember."

"Eh, you might have been a little tipsy at the time," Dean shrugged, moving across the floor to join Sasha, "But I remember. Said the same thing too—don't laugh. Like I can not laugh when a punk actor like Matt Damon's your favorite version of this." Dean barked out something that might have been a laugh. Close enough to one to make Sasha's smile widen.

"It's a good version. All melancholy but hopeful," Sasha said wistfully.

"Yeah," Dean huffed, hand on the jukebox right next to Sasha's, "Unrequited love."

"I hate that kind," the incubus breathed. They were close now, so close. Dean moved his hand a little so that his fingers bumped into Sasha's skin. They leaned in at the same time, a clear path to each other's lips. That was easy. Somehow that was still easy—touching lips, moving lips, slipping his tongue passed Sasha's teeth to get at that familiar taste. It was easy…and made his heart race just like he remembered.

_But dont change a hair for me  
Not if you care for me  
Stay little valentine stay_

As they kissed, soft presses of their lips and strokes of their tongues, Sasha pulled Dean close against him and away from the jukebox, hips swaying gently to the music.

"A little early for a slow-dance," Dean teased, lips damp and still so close to Sasha's as he spoke.

But instead of playing along, Sasha had to ruin the moment by asking almost tearfully, "Are you really okay, Dean?" His hold was as tight as Sam's had been, only this was face to face so it was harder for Dean to keep his real response hidden.

"I'm okay right now."

"Dean."

"I'm adjusting. But this…this is good," he slid his arms around Sasha's waist and held firm, "This is okay. This is me being okay." It was the truth even if it was fleeting.

Sasha smiled, melancholy like the song. "Okay." And they danced, sort of, more like swayed and held onto each other as the music played and switched to another song in Frank's smooth voice.

_There's a saying old says that love is blind  
Still were often told, seek and ye shall find_

Dean looked up at Sasha's face. There was that blue, cobalt brilliance glittering at him. It was early afternoon, the sun was coming in from every window to light up the bar, and they were alone. Dean couldn't even hear signs that the others were anywhere around. He knew they had left them alone on purpose, subtle really for them since it almost would have seemed natural if it hadn't been all of them that mysteriously needed to be elsewhere. Maybe they thought Sasha would be the key to reminding Dean that he was grounded, he was here, he was okay—and not just in words.

Leaning up further, Dean kissed Sasha again just to feel it. Sasha. He was a large part of Dean's world, that's why Sam had used him—_Malak_ had used him to make the torture worse. Dean kissed Sasha deeper as soon as his mind began to wander there. He didn't want to think about that. He was home now.

Dancing like this, kissing Sasha, hands about each others' waists, Dean immediately though of the last time they had slow-danced alone in the Roadhouse bar.

"_We are so dead if Ellen comes down here."_

"_Want to stop?"_

"_Hell no."_

They hadn't. They had writhed and stroked each other and fumbled their way over to the bar, leaving their sleep pants to settle on the floor. Dean could almost see it like real-time played in front of his eyes as he kissed Sasha with newfound fervor, their swaying half-dance faltering as they gripped each other harder. Yes, he could see it—Sasha braced against the bar top, Dean thrusting behind him, the music playing…

_All of me_

_why not take all of me  
Can't you see_

_I'm no good without you_

Dean shuddered. That wasn't one of the songs that had played that night. The jukebox in this time, this place had switched to another song of Frank's. Dean had danced with _Malak_ to this song, not Sasha. He tried to push Sasha away.

"Dean?"

It was too clear, too vivid now, those images of Sasha being fucked against the bar, Dean's hands running up his back and down again with just the tips of his fingers. Sasha shivering back against him. Their pace fast, faster. Sasha reaching for him. Sasha's…_claws_ digging into his skin.

Dean tried to shake the vision off but it was too late, he had conjured it himself and now the image was marred, changed, taken from him as the Sasha in his mind turned from the bar and fell upon him, forcing on Dean what he wanted without preparation or care and thrusting until it burned.

"Dean!"

-----

_He had passed out at some point, maybe from the blood loss, maybe just from the pain, he didn't know, but pain stung him now at every pore of his body as he came to. He couldn't move but he was shivering, his body in shock. He used what strength he had to look down his body, laid out on the cold floor, and all he saw were jagged cuts and ruby red. _

_The sobbing beside him told him why it was over. Sasha had gotten what he needed, enough to pull him from frenzy, and he was whole, human, back to his senses, sitting naked beside Dean. His pale skin was smudged with red though it otherwise remained unmarred and perfect. Sasha's legs were pulled in tight to his chest and he was sobbing into his knees._

"_I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" the incubus chanted in a heart-wrenching voice._

_Dean wanted to reach for him, tried, but his hand only gave a slight twitch at his side. The incubus had certainly done a number on him but it hadn't been his fault. Sasha needed to know that. Dean needed to tell him._

_But another voice broke into their bloody little world before Dean could find his first._

"_I told you this would happen," said Sam, walking up to them so coolly and crouching down in front of where Sasha was shivering and rocking with his chanted 'sorrys', "And it can happen as many times as is necessary. Do you understand?"_

_Slowly, Sasha's head tilted up from his knees to look at Sam. His eyes, although blue, were reddened around the edges from crying._

"_Will you choose me now?" Sam asked._

_It was a trick. Dean knew now. Sam had known all along the choice Dean would make, that he wouldn't be able to kill Sasha and that Sasha, after this, would see no other way out._

_Dean couldn't let Sasha give in. He couldn't allow this to go the way Sam wanted. But he couldn't do anything, couldn't move or speak for all the pain. _

_He saw Sasha nod, unable to look at Dean beside him and see the damage he had inflicted. Sam stood and reached out to Sasha then. And damn everything…because Sasha accepted._

-----

"Dean, stop!"

"Dean!"

"Hold him!"

There was no here, there was only _there_, Dean could see it when he closed his eyes, when he opened them—_everywhere_. This was the illusion, this far worse torture that promised peace but never gave him more than the meagerest taste of it.

Sasha had called for the others and others were there, but Dean could only see Sam, startled and frightened in front of him. There were hands grabbing him everywhere, hands holding back his arms, hands around his waste, hands waving in front of his face to bring him back to his senses. Dean had no sense. Sam had taken everything. _Everything_.

"You promised me!" he screamed as he leapt from the many hands holding him towards his brother's form, only to be lurched back by their collective grip, "You said…it wouldn't hurt anymore…you said you'd take it away! But I still feel it. I feel it…and its worse. _Worse_. Why won't you stop, Sammy, why won't you stop…?" he trailed, his knees going weak. He fell and the hands holding him loosened.

The voices of the others were a chorus around him and finally he started to hear them again. "Dean, it's okay!"

"You're okay!"

"You're here! You're safe!"

"No one's hurting you!"

"Come back, Dean."

"Dean."

"It's over."

"No, it's not…" Dean shook his head, looking up to again see Sam standing a ways away in front of him, looking confused now and saddened. "I'm still there…" Dean could feel panic creeping ever closer and he couldn't stop it, couldn't fight it. A feral sound left him as he threw the loosened hands from his body and jumped to his feet. He rushed Sam, knocking his brother back against the bar, hands gripped in the front of his shirt. "You promised!" Dean screamed in his face

Sam's eyes were swimming. They were damp and swimming. And they were hazel. "Dean…" Sam shook his head.

Again, hands tried to grab for him, coming from behind and Dean swung an arm to knock them away, releasing Sam so he could turn and yell, "Leave me alone!"

Silence fell instantly. Dean could see them all now, those whose hands had held him. Everyone was in the room—Sasha, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Sarah, Shiarra—and all of them were staring at him with horrified expressions. Bobby even had a hand on the gun in his belt.

Reality struck Dean hard. Sam's eyes were hazel. The others were here. Their words were true. He was safe here, it was over, he was home now, but when the visions of the past took him he couldn't remember that. God, what had he said, the things he had _said_. He had lost it and there hadn't been any real reason for it.

"I…damn it," he tried to get steady on his feet, scraped his nails back through his hair. He looked at Bobby, the elder hunter still wide-eyed, hand on his gun. "So…figure you…might as well put me out of my misery, huh, Bobby?" he tried to say offhandedly, maybe even jokingly, but no one laughed.

The looks everyone was giving him were strange, Dean realized. It wasn't the right kind of fear. He looked to each of them, seeking out an answer. Then Bobby, still gripping his gun said, "Dean…"

"Your eyes…" Sasha finished in a breath.

His eyes? Dean didn't know what they were talking about, and maybe it was his honest uncertainty that kept any of them from acting. There was a mirror in the bar, large and covering most of one wall. It stood above the jukebox. Dean was even facing it. All he had to do was look up.

He instantly back-peddled, ramming hard into Sam behind him who was still against the bar. Strong arms came up to hold him. Dean had to be seeing things. It couldn't be real.

_Black_. His eyes were demon black.

Turning wildly in Sam's arms to avoid that awful image, Dean came face to face with Sam's white. Not the yellow of his Hell, but white. As if Sam were trying to tell him something. "You knew…" Dean realized with a sick shock to his stomach.

"It's not what you think, Dean," Sam said.

"I'm possessing my own fucking body!"

"You're not. You're something else." Sam sounded too calm, ready for this. How could the bastard have kept this from Dean if he knew? "I don't know what Malak did to you, Dean, but you're not a demon. There aren't any walls holding me back anymore, I'd know if you were a demon. Somehow…you're closer to what I am than one of them." Sam released his hold on Dean but only with one arm so that his free hand could tug on the front of Dean's shirt and show the black tattoo that rested over his heart.

Dean's body was still his own, and his body was protected against possession. He wasn't a demon. But then what in Hell was he?

No matter the fallout, no matter the consequences, Dean needed to know now. He whirled around again and advanced on Sasha, who was by far the most startled with pain and confusion splashed across his face. Some of the others backed away, maybe on instinct because they didn't understand what was happening, but Sasha stood still. Had he known too?

"What did you give up?" Dean demanded, "What did you trade to bring me back like this?!"

Sasha's mouth quivered, his eyes looking damp again like they hadn't been dry in a week. "Dean…please…"

"Tell me what you gave him!" Dean screamed.

Eyes downcast for a moment, Sasha finally looked up again and when he held Dean's gaze he didn't waver. "When you fell that night, after Malak touched you, you were gone. I knew that. But I…I just couldn't accept it. Malak didn't vanish right away, he was still standing there, and…and I rushed up to him, I begged, I pleaded with him that there had to be something he would take in exchange for getting you back. I said I'd give him anything. He liked the sound of that. He tried to make the deal for a year at first, but that wasn't good enough. I said that wasn't good enough. So he…he said…he'd be willing to take you only for a week…if I gave him one thing."

At the back of his mind Dean came to realize what that one thing had to be even before Sasha said it.

"I can't initiate you, Dean. Ever. I can't initiate anyone. I gave up the ability to keep someone else with me forever…so I could have _you_ back for even one day longer." Sasha's gaze was melancholy but also full of so much love that it wounded Dean to see those emotions so bare. "I'd do it again. It was worth it, Dean. I don't know why your eyes…" he stared into them but he couldn't say it, "I don't know. All I know is that you're here. He said I could have you back, he didn't…" Sasha trailed again.

The fight had drained from Dean but he could still finish bitterly what Sasha hadn't said, "He didn't say what shape I'd be in. Course not. Why would you have made a deal for some half-breed demon _shell_." Dean turned away before Sasha could protest that. He looked back at Sam whose eyes were still white. "He wins. He still wins. It didn't matter how long I was in Hell just as long as I was there long enough. Sammy's perfect little General," Dean laughed sullenly, arms spread wide, "He's giving you your army, Sammy, whether you want it or not. And I'm the one who told you to put on the damn crown."

Dean had given Sam permission, played his part beautifully. Was he destined to lead Sam into damnation next? Was that why he had been allowed to come back? If that was the answer to this riddle then Dean would rather go back to the pit.

He turned to leave the bar.

"Dean!" Sam called after him.

"Dean, please!" Sasha cried, his voice choking on unshed tears, "You know it's not cut and dry! It doesn't have to be! You still get to choose!"

That stopped Dean. He glared over his shoulder. "I made my choice," he said. He had made it that night at the crossroads, and he made his choice again when he gave into Sam, even if it was really Malak, even if it was Hell. "And you made yours."

Dean could still see his black eyes reflected in the mirror above the jukebox playing Frank's songs. He didn't bother figuring out how to get his green eyes back. He just turned and left the room.

tbc...

A/N: These are short but difficult chapters. The arc itself will be short too. Not that that means a fast recovery. :-)

My apologies to anyone who does not like my Hell as you will be seeing more of it in the chapters to come.

It is so interesting to get differing viewpoints from different readers. I have some of you saying that Dean's 30 years of physical torture would be just as mentally awful too, and that it is surprising he is still sane in the show. While others say even 30 years shouldn't have been enough to turn our beloved hero into a villain that enjoyed torturing others. Well, my version is indeed different. I hope I have a nice balance then of torture, how Dean is handling it, and that Dean will always be our hero.

Sorry, Dianna, that Wally's appearance wasn't a nice one. There may not be a good place to fit in a for fun chapter for her in a while.

Did people notice my "My Bloody Valentine" and "Friday the 13th" odes in this chapter? Couldn't help myself. Jensen was awesome in his movie and I can't wait for Jared's. Not to mention Daddy Winchester in "Watchmen". Oh! What a year of movies we have before us.

If you haven't checked out Dianna Wickam's work here or through the website, do now! She has another "Incubus" fic up that is shaping up just wonderfully. Yay for fanfiction of fanfiction!

I'm a bit ill but I'm hoping I'll get around to the things I keep forgetting, reviews and replies and whatnot. Like, Blueeyesgreen, my dear, but of course I'm going to include your idea. It works so wonderfully.

Crim


	73. Part 3: I Saw The End

You may want tissues...

-----

Part 3: I Saw The End

-----

Dean sat huddled beneath the lone window by the bed in his room, the room he had slept in almost soundly the night before until both Sam and Sasha cocooned around him to ease inevitable nightmares. It was ironic that he was doing this, what he had done so often in the house Sam kept him in while he was…in Hell. He would never tell the others, but when he was very young during the year he wouldn't speak after the death of their mother, he would huddle just like this under the window of little Sammy's room in whatever place they stayed, just to make sure nothing got inside to get him. Most nights he would end up in Sammy's crib like it said in their father's journal, curled around him to keep Sam safe. Now Dean was the one who didn't feel safe.

It was foolish to isolate himself, to think it could help. It couldn't help. But how could he face them now? He had already known he wasn't the same Dean as the one that left them, now he knew for certain. Things with demon eyes didn't have to be evil—Sasha and Sam proved that. But did they, or was that just inevitability too?

Knock. Knock.

Dean expected the sound when it came. He had expected it sooner, but again they had surprised him by offering him a few minutes peace. Now, however, the door opened without waiting for his leave. The first image Dean saw when he looked up from his low position was a cruelly grinning, red-eyed and monstrous Sasha. But the Sasha that entered, the Sasha that was really there was just a man—more or less—in a black T-shirt and jeans with kind blue eyes, and slow, fluid steps.

"Dean…?" Sasha looked around the room, unable to spot him at first.

"Here," Dean said weakly, not moving.

Sasha's eyes fell on him and instantly filled with further pain. He approached slowly, cautious, like everyone had been acting around Dean but even more pronounced now. "What are you doing down there? Are you alright? I know…I know this is all a lot to deal with, Dean, but—"

"Did you know about this?" Dean gestured feebly at his eyes. He had willed them back to green, somehow instinctively knowing how to do it, but his meaning was obvious enough.

The brief flash of anger that passed over Sasha's features told Dean the answer before Sasha spoke. "Sam…failed to mention that. He probably didn't want to worry me—worry _you_. It obviously doesn't mean anything as awful as you're thinking, Dean. I know you're still you." Sasha said that so plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing. Dean didn't know how the incubus could believe that so blindly.

Since Dean wasn't moving from the floor, Sasha came over to sit near him on the bed, maybe choosing not to join him completely for fear of invading too much of Dean's space. They all thought he needed space. Space wasn't going to cure this. But then proximity wasn't helping much either. "Guess it doesn't really matter. Can't change any of it now, can we?" Dean dead-panned. He often tried to be less of a pessimist but he was too practical to ever really believe things could go the way he wanted.

"Dean," Sasha started right in again with his blue eyes drooping at their edges and his shoulders hunched, "We'll figure it out. We have all the time in the world now. No rush. As long as I can still look at you, and Sam for that matter too, and see the men I know then it still comes down to choice. Malak can't take choice away from you."

But he can. He already did.

'_We have all the time in the world now.'_

What a lie. Sasha knew it was a lie too. The time they might have had together, that might have lasted longer than a human lifetime even, was just a passing dream now. Once again their love had a time limit. And even if it didn't Dean would still feel too out of place to enjoy being back. He was something of Malak's making now, and it _was_ because of choice. They had made so many choices that lead them right here.

"Dean, I know you don't want to talk about it," Sasha began more carefully, eyes on the floor and hands fidgeting, "But I…I don't understand. Down there before, you…" he trailed, shaking his head. When he looked up to meet Dean's gaze again, his eyes were almost fearful. "When you were still lost, still thinking you were in Hell…why did you say for _Sam_ to stop?"

Oh no.

'_Why won't you stop, Sammy, why won't you stop?'_

What had Dean done, revealing that?

"I was wondering that myself," came Sam's voice from the open doorway. He was peering into the room with eyes too haunted for Dean to look at. They weren't supposed to know. He couldn't let them know.

Dean struggled for something to say that might banish any traitorous thoughts from entering their minds. "I…I was just…confused, and…Sam was the one I was looking at. I didn't mean—"

"Yes you did," Sam cut him off, coming into the room and shutting the door behind him, "I saw the way you were looking at me, Dean. You were saying that to me. You weren't confused. You knew you were saying it to me. Malak…used _us_. Didn't he? Like your dreams. The bastard was giving you a preview."

"What?" Sasha gaped, full realization striking him too.

"No," Dean tried to halt their train of thought, even started scrambling up from the floor.

"Malak used us?" Sasha repeated, "Oh god…_Dean_."

"No," Dean said again, frantic now, "That's not…that's not how it was. You don't know. It wasn't…it wasn't like that." Even he knew his words sounded false, and he could tell Sam and Sasha weren't listening.

Sam remained standing off the foot of the bed. "When you came back, you said you hadn't gone to Hell. You didn't think you had been there, Dean. Malak…he made you think you were still alive."

"And that…_we_…" Sasha finished, shuddering, looking up at Dean from where he was slouched so bonelessly now on the bed, "He made you think it was us? Made you think _we_ were torturing you? And you thought it was all real…" Horror was in every word. They weren't listening to his continued ranting and dissention; they knew the truth. They _knew_.

"No!" But they couldn't know. They couldn't. They were never supposed to know. Dean stared wildly at both of them, Sasha on the bed, Sam standing there, both of them filled with _pity_. Fuck their pity!

When Dean saw them, even when he was seeing them, he was still seeing the Sam and Sasha he had lived with for seven excruciating years. For him it wasn't Malak to blame, it was them, just them. If only they had never found out the truth then he might have been able to stop believing that.

So filled with blind rage now, Dean was shaking. Sam and Sasha's voices drifted around him with soothing words and concern but he didn't want to hear it. He flinched when Sasha reached out to him, his skin burning at the contact when the incubus managed to grab his arm anyway. That touch, that fierce and insistent touch nearly brought Dean back into his visions again. He saw it in flashes that overlapped the real Sam and Sasha that were with him.

The dead land. Barren. Burnt. Buildings and streets in shambles as if bombs had decimated everything. Sam would make him go along. He didn't want to. Never wanted to. He'd plead. He'd beg. He'd scream and curse. No tactic ever saved him. Sasha, monstrous and large like he had been in the cave was always there too. Smiling. Laughing with Sam. Laughing when they brought people before Dean and made him choose who died. How they died. It was always worse if he stayed silent. Worse yet when it was people he knew.

Save one. Kill the other. Choose, Dean. Choose. Choose or they both die. Choose how or it will be slow. It made him active even when he wanted to stay out of it. It made him an accomplice even if he never said a word.

'_Dean! Help! Please!'_

Even…Leven. The bastards had even brought Leven. Dean couldn't save him. He could only make the pain a little less. So he had told them to slit the boy's throat, thinking it would be quicker that way. But Sam had made sure it lasted.

Dean howled at the ceiling as the memories flickered over the truth before his eyes. Rage. Hatred. None of it was as strong as his grief, his guilt. Those emotions were powerful enough to rival any fury. Powerful enough that even though he saw Sam, his real brother before him, he saw the monster too. Dean rushed Sam like he had downstairs, slamming him back into the wall beside the door.

"Why can't I hate you?!" he cried, voice cracking on the final word, "I…wanted to. I tried everyday. But I never could. So I gave in. Do you understand me, I gave in! I gave in…so you'd stop. You promised you'd take the pain away if I just did what you wanted…"

Sam wasn't even attempting to struggle as Dean held him firmly to the wall. "It wasn't me, Dean, it was Malak," he said painfully.

"Malak," Dean huffed, grimacing at that mentioned name, "I barely even remembered Malak." He hadn't. He hadn't remembered Malak at all until Sam and Sasha mentioned him after he woke up.

"How could you forget Malak?" Sasha asked breathless from behind Dean.

The grounding of their voices, their calm tones and patience, stilled the overlaps little by little until finally it was Sam in front of him again. Just Sam. Just Sasha. The ones he wished he could forget wanting to hate. Dean released Sam and stepped back. Turned, saw Sasha so close, his eyes gone liquid blue. He looked back and forth between them and softly admitted, "Because. You were worse."

Dean stumbled away from them then, once more a failure because he had failed to keep this awful secret from them. What did it mean that Malak had used them as his Hell? What did his demon eyes mean? Even Sasha's sacrifice, somewhere it was all connected, but whenever he tried to think of the reasoning behind it he found himself drowning again in those terrible visions.

"I can't…shake it," Dean said, eyes clenched tight as he backed right into the closet door, seeing the cruel versions of Sam and Sasha in the darkness behind his eyes. He opened them but like before that false image overlapped the true Sam and Sasha before him. "Everywhere I look…even seeing things how they're supposed to be…it just makes me remember how it was."

He might have been crying, or maybe it was just that he was shaking so hard his vision seemed blurred. It nearly broke him when Sasha swooped in to gather him in his arms. Dean choked, felt the dam about to burst, but he couldn't let it. He tried to push Sasha away.

"Don't…treat me like I'm…" he shook his head fiercely.

"Hurt?" Sasha finished, refusing to let go and instead holding tighter, enveloping him.

Dean shook his head again, straining against the embrace. "Like I'm…w-weak," he stuttered, hating the word, hating that that's exactly what he was.

"You're _hurt_, Dean," Sasha said, "You're hurt and pained and…and everyone deserves to be a little weak sometimes. It doesn't change anything about you. Not to me. I still love you. I want to figure this out with you and…and make it better. We can make it better."

It was like a mother comforting a child that would die too young and the lie was worse than soothing words. Dean couldn't hate Sasha for it, but he still resented it. "Don't…" Don't try to save me, don't try to fix me, don't hold me like I'm breaking even though I am. "Don't tell the others," he said instead. If he denied anymore that he could be helped they'd only worry more and insist even harder that he could be.

"Dean," filtered over Sam's voice around Sasha's large encompassing body, "Whatever Malak did to you, I swear, you're still the same Dean you've always been. I feel it. There's just something else there too. Like me. If you still have faith in me, Dean, than you have to believe you'll be okay too. Do you…still have faith in me?"

It was a question already knowing the answer. Sam knew Dean couldn't say yes. He had seen what Sam was capable of—what he believed for seven years Sam was capable of. He couldn't just turn that off, and that was the problem. He couldn't think of either of them separate from the way things had been.

He suddenly felt sick having Sasha hold him. He tried harder to push from Sasha's arms.

"Dean…" Sasha tried even though he finally relinquished his grip.

"Not right now. Okay? Can we…not do the group therapy thing, please?" Dean moved swiftly out of reaching distance, sidestepping around Sasha to return to the bed. He almost sat right back down on the floor beneath the window before he thought better of it. He sat on the bed, raked his hands through his hair. His eyes were dry. "Now you know. Okay, you know, and you get why I keep…freaking. But this isn't a 'let's make Dean better with hugs and optimism' kinda thing, okay? I don't know…how to get…better. What Malak did to me, even if I'm me, I'm…I'm _not_. I don't feel like…" Anything. He felt like he was still dead because he had been the walking dead the entire time he existed in that other world.

The dynamic duo just couldn't leave him alone, couldn't let a sentence hang like that or just leave well enough be. They advanced on him together and Dean had to hold back another flinch. "It will get better, Dean," Sam said, "And we will figure this out. You're home now. What happened, whatever Malak made you believe about us or see, it wasn't real. _This_ is. You'll remember that. You will."

He remembered now. It just didn't help.

"And we won't tell the others," Sasha promised, "They don't need to know about this. But Dean," and just like Dean didn't want, Sasha dropped to his knees in front of him, hands wanting so badly to rest on Dean's thighs though he resisted, "You have to believe us that you're home, you're safe. This is us, the real us, Dean, and you're you. I love you."

Those words were a knife to Dean's chest. He couldn't say them back. He couldn't remember the last time he had said them and meant it. So he didn't say anything. He just looked up, saw those blue eyes glittering at him, and tried to remember the relief and joy he had felt when he first woke up and realized he was back where he belonged, tried to remember the feelings that had swelled in his chest when he kissed his incubus again for the first time, tried to remember that their dancing downstairs had felt so right before it all went wrong again.

But he couldn't hold onto it all. Because it couldn't be the way it was. Sasha wasn't fully his anymore. Part of Sasha belonged to Malak now and part of Dean would always belong to that bastard too.

Again and again Sam and Sasha tried to tell him that it would be okay, it would get better, they would help him get better. But as Dean listened to their words he could tell too easily that even they didn't believe that.

-----

Somehow, Dean made it to the next day. He stayed in his room, they brought him food, he managed to join the others for a bit in the evening without falling apart, and when he returned to his room Sasha stayed with him. Sam wanted to too but Dean mustered a smile, saying, "That's just a little too kinky for me, bro."

So he slept in Sasha's arms again and as hard as it was at first to curl up and relax, he found a little of the peace he had felt last night and settled in. Sasha didn't even try to kiss him goodnight, just held him close. Dean dreamt of Hell, his choreographed and personal Hell, and once again woke up shivering against Sasha's warm skin. He wouldn't admit it, but he did sort of miss that Sam wasn't there too.

He could cling, he could pretend and force himself to relax, but when he looked up and met Sasha's eyes the overlaps still got to him.

When that next day struck it was even tenser than his first day had been, everyone tiptoeing so lightly around him as if even the smallest thing might set him off. Okay, so some fairly small things had set him off before but he hated their pity. He hated that they kept shooing Wally away so she wouldn't hiss and spit at him again. He hated that he was tiptoeing too, terrified that his eyes would flash black and never go back again if he lost his temper.

No one tried to do anything substantial, no research or talks of hunts like yesterday. Instead they hung around trying to make him feel like life could be normal. They even tried to get Dean to sit down and watch a movie in the living room but he didn't want that. It was too pathetic, too easy, too much a mask that didn't even fit his old, forgotten life. So he helped with what minor things needed to be done around the Roadhouse. A little manual labor was good for keeping his mind occupied on simpler things. Of course he still had flashes, visions that shook him, but he held himself together, bringing himself back each time before anyone could ask if he was okay.

The flask he had snuck some whiskey into helped.

How was he supposed to be anything like normal when he didn't even know what he was? Thinking that made him feel a bit like a hypocrite after all the times he had told Sam that he was still just Sammy, but it was different when it was him and the hand of the Devil himself was involved.

Dean knew that no matter what Malak's plans were, somehow Sasha's deal was the clincher. Becoming an incubus could have undid the deal—at the price of Sam's life, but still—so maybe it could have undone whatever happened to Dean in Hell too. With Sasha having given up his ability to turn Dean that option was out of the question forever now.

Sasha sensed Dean's turmoil over what had been sacrificed, Dean could see it in the incubus' sad eyes. But what would Dean rather have? Would he rather be in Hell still, with Sasha left alone until he either starved to death like an idiot or found somebody else to feed from? Dean didn't know. He should want what he had, that Sasha had brought him back so they could spend their lives together even for a short time, but he just couldn't be happy. He couldn't.

Every time Sasha touched him—and the incubus touched him so much, gently, lovingly—Dean wanted to melt into it, to go back to that bliss that used to come so easily, but even the smallest touches made him think of touching and being touched more deeply. And those thoughts brought with them something else.

That first dream Dean had back when they met Sasha and he never could have guessed he would fall in love with the incubus some day was what Dean had lived through every night for those seven years.

Sasha always looked so beautiful before the scene turned horrifying.

Sam would hold Dean down, always grinning at him with those damn yellow eyes, and Sasha would take him, deep and unforgiving, all fangs and claws and brutal touches—the very opposite of everything Sasha had ever been with Dean. Eventually, Sam didn't even need to hold Dean down because Dean stopped fighting. But that could be terrible too. If Sam's hands weren't holding him then they would travel other places and Dean couldn't stomach that, couldn't handle all that unwanted skin, or the sound of Sasha and Sam's laughter reminding him that he had no power. The power was theirs.

Of course Dean knew that wasn't the way Sasha and Sam really were or…or damn it, ever could be. He just wanted to forget all that so he could think of Sasha's touches the way he used to. Even though now he couldn't be with Sasha forever. Oh he hadn't been ready for that anyway, not yet, but one day…he might have been.

After the things Dean had seen and done and been—_was_—maybe this was what he deserved.

-----

The day was too long and everyone's looks too lingering. Dean snuck outside to the Impala as soon as he had the chance. His baby. Sam hadn't taken the Impala from him in Hell, but he hadn't let him drive it either. Talk about torture. It soothed him more than other things had just sitting in it, though maybe that was because he had refilled his flask a third time and was stealing sips while he blared some trusty Metallica on his stereo.

If Dean had been paying a little more attention, he might have noticed a certain succubus come out of the Roadhouse, walk up to the Impala, and open the passenger side door. Since he wasn't paying attention, he merely stared at Shiarra when she was suddenly sitting beside him.

"Well this is healthy," she eyed him with that judgmental air. Granted, Miss High Society was grunged up a bit, even wearing jeans and a simple teal sweater that hugged all the right places. Young as she looked, Dean could always see the age in her eyes.

"Just got back from Hell. Figured I should celebrate," Dean shrugged, tipping the flask.

She snatched it from him just as a few more drops were about to pleasantly burn his tongue. But although he turned a ready glare on her, Shiarra didn't tuck the alcohol away. She tipped a good amount down her own throat and licked her lips appreciatively before handing the flask back. "At least you snatched the good stuff," she said, "Nice to actually hear you answer a question too. Almost thought Old Scratch had taken your tongue before sending you back."

Dean certainly wouldn't put that past Malak. "Always appreciate your sarcasm, Shi. Now what do you want? And if you say some shit about wanting to talk," he took the drink she had denied him earlier, "I'm not in the mood."

"If you hadn't noticed, _everyone's_ been trying to get you to talk, Dean," she went right on, "But I'm not here to try and weasel out of you what horrors befell you in Hell. Having to relive any of that wouldn't help you overcome it, that much I'm sure of. But as much as I would like to stay a bit longer at these lovely accommodations, I think perhaps you're a bit overwhelmed and suffocated right now, and I do have things to get back to."

"Flashy billionaires to seduce?" Dean snarked.

Of course Shiarra didn't even bat an eyelash at his whiskey-induced rudeness. "Actually, I've been a bit more into the working class man lately. They're so much more creative." She valiantly reached over to the radio and flicked it off, leaving the Impala to a strange silence Dean didn't like at all, something that even the engine's sweet purr couldn't dull. "Dean, you proved me wrong, just like I knew you could. Maybe it was because my nephew decided to give up everything in order to bring you back…but still, here you are, breathing and alive and drowning your damn sorrows in drink and loud music like a good ol' boy."

"And you have a problem with that," Dean snapped at first. But even a little drunk he didn't want to be cruel. He couldn't let himself be cruel. He looked over at Shiarra and her blue eyes resembled Sasha's so much that he almost couldn't stand it. "I'm trying. I just want a little oblivion before I have to face this shit again, you understand? If it's not pity it's worry, or even god damn fear on their faces. I have enough trouble dealing with bad memories. I don't need to see that when I finally get a hold of myself enough to see what's actually there in front of me."

"No. You're right," Shiarra said in too calm a voice, too steady a stare, "You shouldn't have to deal with picking up their pieces when you have plenty of your own. But sadly, we don't get those kind of luxuries. I had thought from what I had learned of you over the months that you were one of the few who could always beat the odds and come out ahead, no matter how trying or terrible the disaster. It's only your second day, Dean, and already you're playing the part of the failure. Give yourself more credit. And don't disappoint me."

For a moment Dean truly hated Shiarra for sounding so eerily and perfectly like his father. Then he just sank into himself again and took another swift drink, scrunched down in the driver's seat with his head resting back on the leather. "You're already set up for disappointment, Shi. You have faith in me."

"For good reason, Dean," she countered him, "I don't suppose you'd like to offer that flask to an old woman about to hit the road. I really should be going." She looked at him patiently.

He considered her offer but oblivion was too sweet a prospect right now.

"Well then. For your own sake, Dean, if not for mine, head inside soon. They miss you."

After Shiarra had left, her blue Bentley kicking up dust along the lone road that led from the Roadhouse, Dean sat for a long time just holding the flask, not drinking, and sitting there in the silence of the car. Why did everyone believe so much in him, believe so whole-heartedly that he could beat anything so therefore he had to be able to beat this?

Dean knew what he really wanted right now. He wanted anything but the lazy wanderings the others were pulling, trying to coax him out of his half-faked, half-frazzled shell. Whenever he couldn't force a smile or joke, he just walked away. He wanted a hunt, something to get his mind off being. But maybe the only reason he wanted a job right now was for some sick release, so he'd have something to kill.

All the people he had killed, all those years, trying to thwart Sam when all he was doing was playing into his hands. That boy, the first one Dean had…saved…had looked so much like Sammy at that age. And the way he had pleaded as Dean held him, the knife that usually stayed beneath Dean's pillow finding an unyielding sheath in soft skin, his free hand covering the boy's mouth to muffle that pleading, those cries…

Sam and Sasha weren't the only twisted things in Dean's Hell. They had twisted him.

"_You think you're going against me, but this is all I ever wanted from you, Dean. You make me so proud."_

Dean could hear Sam's cruel voice as clearly as he could hear his baby purring. He had given in and just hadn't known it long before he ever said, "Okay, Sammy. Okay…I'll choose you. I'll do whatever you ask me to."

"Dean!" called a voice from outside the car, muffled around the engine and steel cage Dean had chosen for sanctuary. He looked up and saw Sam and Sasha standing in the doorway of the Roadhouse, looking out at him. They had found him and were staring with worried expressions like they thought he might gun it suddenly and be gone. That option had a nice ring to it to be honest.

Dean waved mutely to say he was coming back in and they reluctantly nodded and left him be, returning inside. He had to wonder, knowing what they were dealing with, what had been given up for him, and what consequences it still might have, if it had really been worth it to save him.

Looking into the rearview mirror, it took barely a thought to summon his full-on black eyes, and deep in his gut he knew what he considered the answer to that question.

-----

Dean pushed himself to make it through another day, but his flask never left him, stolen in small sips he hid from the others whenever the visions threatened to take him again. He tried to act more like the Dean they missed, and sometimes it was almost easy like it had been that first night when he had listened to Sam and Sasha talk, or that first hour amongst the others when they were eating and chatting about nothing. But it was still just an act. The harder he tried to feel like himself the less he could. The less he could feel anything.

Wally still wouldn't go near him. He started asking for menial tasks just so his hands would always be busy. He begged Sam for them to find a hunt, something, even if the only leads they had were meager. Sam was a fucking demon Jesus, after all, he had to be able to sense something, right?

Sam hadn't found that reference funny.

When Dean wasn't thinking on anything specific, when he was just lost in his head or struggling to maintain control, he would do pretty much anything Sam asked him to. He didn't mean to be so obliging, it just came naturally. Sam always asked so kindly too.

"Dean, would you grab me that?"

"Dean, can you help me with this?"

"Dean, you should eat more, you haven't touched your food."

"Dean, what's in that flask, let me see it?"

"Dean, stop scratching that, you're bleeding."

"Dean…"

"_Dean_."

"Dean?"

With anyone else Dean wasn't nearly as obliging. If Ellen or Bobby asked him to do something, he'd always pause a minute, look at them like he hadn't heard what they said, and they would have to repeat themselves. But with Sam it was instinct. With Sasha it was similar but nowhere near as prominent as the power Dean's brother held over him without even trying.

Eventually, Sam started to notice. He tried to test it and Dean didn't even realize he was being used as an experiment.

Sam was watching him pick at his food again—the healthy appetite he had had when he first got back had vanished—and he suddenly asked if Dean would please bring his plate to the kitchen if he wasn't going to eat anymore. Dean had gotten up and done so without thought.

When he got back, Sam watched him walk across the bar and asked if Dean would grab him a drink. A Pepsi. Dean did. Sam accepted and asked if Dean could get him water instead. Again Dean listened and replaced the soda for water. Sam accepted it again, his eyes downturned in a way Dean didn't understand. Then Sam asked Dean to give him the keys to the Impala, something Dean had kept habitually in his pants pocket almost as soon as he got back. Dean didn't even hesitate to reach into that pocket, pull the keys out, and hand over his baby.

Sam didn't take the keys. "Dean…what is wrong with you?" he said plainly, "Do you even know what you're doing? I've been ordering you around for ten minutes and you've done everything I asked like a god damn drone. No snide remark or 'go do it yourself, you lazy ass', nothing. I never asked you to be my General, Dean. Malak can't make you be that so stop acting like this. Stop following orders." There was venom in the words much as Sam tried so hard not to sound angry with Dean.

Dean stood for a minute processing what Sam had said, going over in his mind all the things he had done. He put the keys back in his own pocket. "Geez, Sammy, I'm finally not complaining that you're a whiney little bitch and you're reaming me for it?" The words sounded like him but the tone was flat.

"Dean, you're walking around like a robot. It's been three days and instead of starting to wake up it's like you're falling further asleep. Like we're losing you all over again. You're not in Hell. This isn't Hell. Stop looking at me like you have to do everything I say or I'll…" Sam just shook his head, he couldn't think up something that would befit the Sam Dean had dealt with in Hell.

Dean could think up plenty. "Well, excuse me, sorry I got so used to guarding my own ass by behaving instead of taking your shit that I'm having a hard time shaking the reflex. Oh, of course I mean Malak's shit. So sorry I keep screwing that up." Dean turned sharply back towards the bar.

"Dean," Sam called after him with a twinge of regret and sorrow to replace his own sharpness.

Sasha and Sarah were in the bar with them, but the others kept finding more and more excuses not to be around. Even Bobby. It had to be hurting the guy something awful that Dean was taking his advice and shitting all over it. "Sorry," Dean choked, even though he wasn't sorry, not like he should be, "I'm just…gonna go up to my room." He continued his trek to the bar, reached over the top to snag a bottle of Jack and didn't look back. It's not like they didn't know how he had been coping the last few days.

Three days. Three fucking days and he didn't feel better, he felt worse. He felt dead.

When Dean got up to his room, he thought this time would be like all the others, and that even if someone followed after him they would at least give him some time alone first. It was late. They had eaten late because Dean kept forgetting to eat at all. But this time he wasn't given any reprieve. He had chucked the cap to the bottle of Jack and was lying back against the headboard taking a long pull when Sasha came in without knocking.

"You know it's usually better if you mix that with something," Sasha said with a blank expression, shutting the door and walking in like he meant to stay. So much for a little peace.

Dean took another pull. "It's not fucking Everclear," he said.

Pain danced through Sasha's eyes, marring his vain attempt at feigning apathy. "The way you're drinking it, it'll probably do the same damage," he snapped. Snippy. Angry. _Hurt_. Well, why not? Dean was getting pretty good at hurting the people he loved. And he almost felt justified in it too since as far as his senses had been able to tell they had been hurting him for years.

Then he caught the incubus' stare again, caught the look in those eyes that had dropped all pretense of being strong, and he had to pull the bottle from his lips for fear of the tears he saw building there drowning him. He set the bottle of Jack on the nightstand. His body was warm from drinking, buzzing, but he wasn't gone enough that he wasn't in control. Sweet oblivion was still far off. Of course there were other ways to achieve that.

Sasha came right up to the bed as if he meant to fall upon Dean, but he merely sat on the edge, far enough away that Dean would have to sit up further if he wanted to touch him. "I don't know what to say anymore, Dean. I've said it all. So you're either not listening or it's so bad…you can't. And if it is that bad…then I don't know what to do." He spoke the truth Sam couldn't, that Sam would never accept, and the tears Dean had feared would fall began a steady, slow stream down Sasha's pale cheeks.

There was a part of Dean that still felt the instinctive urge to brush those tears away, so he clung to that passing feeling, hung on as tight as he could. "Stop trying to do things then," Dean said, scooting forward so he could wipe at those tears like he wanted, "Stop talking at me about how it'll get better and thinking you need to remind me every two seconds that you're the good guys and I'm safe here. You're the ones who said I didn't have to get over this in a day." Even though he was getting worse instead of better now on day three, which didn't make the future look too bright.

"I know, Dean, but when you look at me…" Sasha closed his eyes and further tears fell, his face pressing into Dean's touch, something Dean hadn't offered much since he'd been back, "When you look at me…sometimes I can see it. I can see you remembering and seeing me as something…someone that would hurt you. Dean, I'd never…I'd never hurt you," he said as his eyes opened again and he grasped the hand touching his face.

The part of Dean that still wanted to soothe Sasha knew the incubus' words were true. But the feelings in Dean were fleeting, so that he had to hang on so damn tight it almost hurt.

"I love you, Dean," Sasha said again, like he kept saying even though Dean had yet to say it back. The incubus was waiting to hear those words on Dean's lips, it was so clearly written across his anguished face and in the way his hand clung to Dean's and held it to his skin. Sasha needed Dean to feel that love in return. Dean knew the love was still there, that he still possessed it somewhere, but he couldn't find it. He wanted to. He wanted to want and need and feel.

Yes, there were other ways to seek oblivion, and Dean would have felt guilty for wanting to seek it in Sasha, but he told himself that if it helped, if it dulled the pain enough for even a short time then maybe he could finally start remembering how to be okay as more than just an act.

Dean scooted closer to Sasha on the bed until their hips touched, turned the hand that was pressed to Sasha's face into a hold, and drew that face and those full soft lips towards his own.

"Show me," he whispered, alcohol and the haze of bad memories making anything justifiable now, "Remind me what it's s'pposed to be like…"

The first brush of lips was filled with static, shocking Dean back to the last time he had kissed Sasha, a day ago on the dance floor downstairs. They never went so long between kisses when things were normal.

Dean pressed forward, deeper, and sought at that tongue that knew him so well, that knew his mouth and his skin better than he knew himself. Sasha did taste so wonderful, and it almost felt right kissing him, almost.

"Dean…" Sasha's voice shook, his eyes still damp as he looked at Dean. But Dean didn't want to talk. Talking wasn't helping. Drinking was only helping a little. Action would have to do. Action would help him feel again.

"Show me," he repeated, kissing Sasha once more, both hands holding the incubus' face so Sasha couldn't pull away. He kissed with fierceness, forgetting tenderness completely. The darkness behind Dean's eyes that beckoned images of a different Sasha was not going to win this time. Dean fought back by kissing Sasha harder, his hands sliding down Sasha's face to his shoulders so he could push the redhead back onto the bed.

His intentions were clear and it made Sasha gasp and twist his head away. "Dean…we…we shouldn't. You're drunk and frustrated and your emotions are all over the place. I…I wouldn't feel right…"

"What?" Dean scoffed, "Taking advantage of me? You can't take advantage of me…if I'm taking advantage of you." Dean tried to grin, tried to make it curve in a way that would resemble how he used to be so that Sasha would listen and leave things alone.

No further dissention rose so Dean took the silence for permission. He tugged on Sasha's shirt until he had it pulled over the incubus' head and let it fall. There was the tattoo. And the scar. And a peak of incubus markings at Sasha's waistline. It was all familiar. But Sasha being wanton and willing beneath him, that was new—something he hadn't known in so long.

Leaning down low, Dean let his weight hold Sasha to the bed, their legs both hanging off the side since they were on it sideways. Dean tried tender this time with his kiss but tender stirred voices in the back of his head, Sasha calling him 'weak' and other demeaning things whenever Dean talked of love. So Dean threw tender aside again, prodding insistently with his tongue for that wonderful warmth and wetness that let their mouths connect and meet so perfectly.

He felt Sasha's hands go for the hem of his shirt, but the feeling of warm skin touching him low on his waist made him flinch. He yanked his shirt free himself, returning for another fierce kiss that he moved down Sasha's neck, latching on hotly. Sasha gasped, probably feeling the sting of teeth because Dean wasn't being gentle. What did he know of gentle anymore?

"Dean…" Sasha breathed, back arching as Dean moved further down his neck, biting and sucking hard, his hands smoothing roughly down Sasha's sides, "God, Dean…I missed you so much." Sasha grasped Dean's head and pulled him up for another hungry kiss that Dean heightened with a nip at Sasha's lips. Within his grasp, tight and demanding, Dean felt Sasha shiver.

There was something so satisfying about that, causing a growl to build in Dean's throat—Dean's not Sasha's—as he pulled away and roughly started shifting Sasha further up the bed. The bed was still made but they didn't need covers for this. Dean thought of stealing one last pull from the bottle of Jack, but he knew that if the broke away from this rush for even a moment he'df lose it.

Sasha was mewling nonsensical words of devotion as Dean pinned him down and claimed patches of skin with sharp kisses. Dean really didn't want to hear that right now. He kissed Sasha's mouth again just to silence the incubus and reached down between their bodies for the clasp of Sasha's jeans. They were tossed aside so easily, Dean's too, leaving only thin cotton that teased their erections when they pressed together through the thin barrier.

Actually, Dean was still getting revved up, his own erection only halfway there. It had become so difficult to get hard when the attentions he had been given in Hell were always unwanted. Now that he was seeking it himself, free from that horror, he had to will his body to believe it really wanted this as much as he did. He needed the moments of blank nothingness that orgasm and the sweet sticky crescendo up to it could give him.

"Dean…slow down, you're shaking," he heard vaguely and breathless from Sasha. Dean _was_ shaking, overly anxious, desperate for this. He paused to take a breath and still his tremors. Sasha looked so gloriously flush beneath him.

"Yeah…s-sorry, just…just…_fuck_. Need you so bad…" Need this. Need _this_. It didn't really matter if it was Sasha. That should have set off alarm bells for Dean but he wasn't paying attention, focused only on what he wanted and how he could get it.

Grinding down against Sasha through their matching cotton, Dean finally felt the blood pumping hot the way it should be. He was burning up and still a little shaky when he fell upon Sasha again with a claiming kiss, his nails raking down Sasha's smooth thighs, grasping somewhere below Sasha's knee to hoist a leg up. He hadn't even pulled down Sasha's shorts yet.

"_You always feel so good, Dean…even when you fight me."_

Dean's eyes snapped open and he nearly bit down on Sasha's tongue. Sasha hadn't said that. It was just in Dean's head, just his traitorous imagination. Dean banished those thoughts by kissing harder, gripping Sasha tighter. He pulled away and raked his hands up Sasha's thighs beneath his boxers clear to his waistline and down again, making the incubus tremble visibly.

No one had claim over Dean. He was in control. He had the power. He grasped Sasha through his shorts tightly and gave a firm pull. Sasha cried out from the unexpected harshness and Dean felt the sick twist of satisfaction grow in his gut. He had the power. He had the power…

A few more pulls, firm and unyielding, and Sasha was whimpering, his head tossed back. Dean needed this now, needed the release, the blinding oblivion. He pulled on Sasha's shorts until they were down his hips, enough that he could get at what he wanted. Pushing up Sasha's legs, Dean slid forward, his hands feverish over Sasha's skin and gripping hard again. He had barely pressed digits to Sasha's entrance before he was angling to sheath himself.

"_Dean_," Sasha said in a startled voice, shifting away from him, "What are you doing? I said _slow down_, you're going too fast. You're not thinking." What had made Sasha so wantonly submissive before still had his voice coming in ragged pants but his eyes were no longer clouded. They were narrowed.

Dean's annoyance fueled quickly into frustration. "Just going at it a little rough," he defended, "Thought you liked that. What, can't take a few aches and pains?" Dean just wanted to get Sasha back in position, back in the moment, but the incubus's legs were pulled together and his hips were turned away from Dean to the side.

Sasha's narrowed eyes softened with something like sadness and Dean would almost say the incubus looked…disturbed. "I thought I wanted this too. Thought…I don't know what," Sasha shook his head, "But this isn't right, Dean. I can feel your emotions as easily as I ever could, and they aren't what they should be. You're not thinking of me, you're not in the moment because…because you love me. You're using me to prove something to yourself, and…I can't be that. I should be more than that to you. I should be more than…convenient."

That should have been a blow to Dean's pride, a knock to his senses, but Sasha's unwillingness and albeit accurate assessment of the situation only made frustration turn to anger. Dean pulled up onto his knees. "Convenient?" he repeated with a sneer, "Yeah…you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Making that deal to save my ass sure was _convenient_, after all."

Sasha looked up at him in shock. "What are you talking about? I did what I had to so I could bring you back, Dean. So we could be together even if it's—"

"Even if it's for a short time, right?" Dean broke in, glaring at Sasha now as the incubus pulled away from him and sat up, shimmying back into his shorts, "You get to save me and free your guilty conscience without any of the burden. Making that deal…you made sure that even though you knew I'd come back broken, at least you wouldn't have to deal with me for long. _That's_ convenient."

Sorrow vanished in favor of narrowed offence once again as Dean's words struck Sasha hard.

"Now when you leave me, you won't even have to feel guilty," Dean went on venomously, "Coz hey, you saved me from Hell. That's gotta count for _something_."

Red flared to life in Sasha's eyes, his body going rigid and flinching forward like he was one harmful word away from clocking Dean hard across the jaw. Dean wanted him to. The pain would be a relief, something physical he knew how to grit his teeth through and survive.

So he goaded Sasha. "You wanna hit me? _Hit_ me. At least then I'd actually feel something. If it wasn't for being rough with you, I wouldn't have even had the energy to get it up."

Red flashed in Sasha's eyes again and his body gave a telling jolt, but this time his momentum took him right off the bed, avoiding Dean. "Stop saying things like that," the incubus nearly growled, "I know you're frustrated. I know you're angry. But you…you don't mean this."

Maybe Dean did. Maybe he meant all of it. One thing he knew for certain was that the most alive he had felt since his return was right now, heated and arguing. "Are you really that delusional?" he said without pity, "You and Sam, looking at me like I haven't changed when you _know_ I have. You can't live seven years of one life and then just go back to your old one like nothing happened!"

"I don't expect you to!" Sasha countered, standing defensibly before Dean, who was still on the bed, "I just want to help you get back what you can so we can have _something_. Do you hate me that much for what I did to bring you back? Do you hate me enough because of what Malak made of me that you really don't want this anymore…?" His eyes shimmered back to blue, filling with sudden tears.

Dean hated Sasha for those tears and almost answered with a vehement 'yes' just to spite him. "Are you even listening? I don't feel _anything_. I thought I did, thought I could again, but I shut down a long time ago and every day I'm reminded a little more that there is nothing left. They only left me with fear, and anger, and a whole lotta hatred." So much hatred. He hated himself so damn much. "I don't even know if I love you anymore."

Those words might as well have been a knife to Sasha's gut for all the devastation they left in their wake. The tears dried in Sasha's eyes, too overwhelmed to fall as he stumbled back. "You don't mean that."

Standing slowly from the bed, Dean kept his expression like stone. "You so sure?"

"I know you, Dean," Sasha shook his head, "I know what you're doing. You can't deal with this so you figure better to suffer alone. But you can't push me away. I'm not going anywhere."

Christ, how that stubbornness riled Dean even more. "I. Don't. Love. You," he said deliberately as he stepped closer into Sasha's space, "Dean's not home right now. Dean's an empty meat sack. Dean's still in Hell!" Only this was worse. This was worse because it should be right, it should be okay, but it wasn't. "Thanks so much for your help getting me out," he finished bitterly.

Sasha stumbled in place like he no longer had the strength to stand. His mouth quivered, his hands shook, but still he wouldn't give up. "You're wrong. You're wrong, Dean. I know you're still in there. And I know it's hard, I know I can't ever understand what it was like, what you're going through, but we can find our way back to the way things were, we can. You want that as much as I do, I know you do, or you wouldn't have tried so hard to be with me tonight."

The cruelty building so sharply within Dean almost had him laughing. "I thought you could show me, remind me what I should feel," he said, "You out of everyone should be able to do that, I thought. Then you know what I thought? I thought who the Hell cares, I just wanna _fuck_ and forget for awhile. There is nothing to stir up and dig out of me. This isn't something you can magically fix with a little time and TLC. The harder you try, the harder _I_ try to fake this into working, the more I want nothing to do with you."

And it was true. It filled Dean with despair he wouldn't let Sasha see, but it was true.

He turned to walk away.

"Dean!"

"Shut up."

"_Dean_," Sasha said more insistently.

"Just leave me the fuck alone."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sasha grabbed Dean's wrist tightly.

Dean whirled on him, wrenching his arm back. "I said leave me alone!"

Startled, Sasha instantly backed off. Dean knew why too. It was almost the exact same catalyst. His eyes were demon black again and Sasha looked downright terrified.

"Are you afraid of me?" Dean asked mockingly, lessening the gap between them again with a few quick strides, "I don't even have any powers like Sam, none I can figure out. You could tear me apart. And _you're_ afraid of _me_."

"I couldn't tear you apart, Dean," Sasha said, back to his simpering, sad tone.

"Right," Dean scoffed. He understood. That was Sasha's major problem, the reason he had given into Sam so easily in Dean's Hell. The damn bleeding heart couldn't accept that sometimes other people needed to hurt. _Dean_ needed to hurt. "Yeah, course you wouldn't. You'd just lie there and take it, wouldn't you?" Dean taunted, "And why not? It's in your blood."

There was nothing but heartache in Sasha's eyes. And yet, "I know you love me, Dean," he maintained stubbornly. Then finally he gave Dean what he wanted. He punched Dean so fast and so hard, Dean's head cracked to the side and the room spun around him. "That's why you deserve that." Sasha turned and began scrounging for his clothes. He put them on without saying another word.

It took Dean a moment to realize that the room's spinning had ended with him half-sprawled on the bed, his jaw aching painfully. It felt good. It felt real.

"You can't get rid of me, Dean," Sasha said when he was dressed and a little less flush from anger and dwindling arousal, "I'm sleeping somewhere else tonight. But I'm still going to be here in the morning."

After Sasha had left Dean just stayed there on the bed for awhile, lying back on it with his jaw pulsing. He didn't really feel any physically different than he had when he was last in this world. He could feel when his eyes were black if he really thought about it. But that was it. Whatever had changed in him went deeper than his body. He was sure of that now.

Eventually, he got up, found his own clothes, dressed. All of his things were in this room. Even shoes. His leather. His pendant had never left his body. Dean still had the Impala's keys in his jean pocket. It was easy to pack up what he would need.

"You'll still be here in the morning…" he mumbled to no one, "Then I won't be."

-----

They were still connected, still joined, Dean was still marked. Sasha hadn't told him that but since Dean's body never really died the link between them hadn't been severed. Weeding through all those dark emotions within Dean was difficult, the fear and anger and hatred, but Sasha could still feel love buried beneath it even if Dean couldn't.

But his connection to Dean wasn't enough. It wasn't until Sasha's supernaturally sharp hearing picked up on the rumble of the Impala's engine that he understood what a fool he was.

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?  
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?  
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,  
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.  
_

Sasha had taken a room down the hall. It hadn't been more than half an hour since he left Dean. He tore out of that room the moment he heard the Impala, realizing with a sick shock what must be happening. Suddenly, there was Sam in the hallway too, asking him question he didn't have time to answer.

_So I took what's mine by eternal right.  
Took your soul out into the night.  
It may be over but it won't stop there,  
I am here for you if you'd only care.  
_

Racing down the stairs, Sasha could feel Sam right behind him. They were through the bar and to the main doors in moments. Things of his and Sam's were scattered about the entrance, emptied from the Impala's trunk.

_You touched my heart, you touched my soul.  
You changed my life and all my goals.  
And love is blind and that I knew when,  
My heart was blinded by you.  
I've kissed your lips and held your head.  
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.  
I know you well, I know your smell.  
I've been addicted to you._

Sasha threw open the doors, Sam right beside him. Dirt was flying, stirred up in the Impala's wake. Dean was already halfway down the road.

_Goodbye my lover.  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me.  
_

Sasha dropped to his knees, too much weight, more weight than he could ever bear alone forcing him down. Sam was yelling, running out the door. Then Sam had his phone out as he paced frantically through the tracks Dean had left behind. But Sasha already knew Dean wasn't going to answer. This wasn't a give me space, give me time goodbye. This was forever.

This was goodbye, I'm never coming home.

_I am a dreamer but when I wake,  
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.  
And as you move on, remember me,  
Remember us and all we used to be  
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.  
I've watched you sleeping for a while.  
I'd be the father of your child.  
I'd spend a lifetime with you.  
I know your fears and you know mine.  
We've had our doubts and we're not fine,  
But I love you, I swear that's true.  
I cannot live without you._

Goodbye my lover…

---

THE END!

Just kidding. tbc...because the arc isn't over!

A/N: There will be one more chapter in this arc. Yep, one. I said it was short. There you have the James Blunt song, Winterheart, with a little Sasha POV. "Goodbye my Lover". I hate that guy's voice, really, but the song is great. Did I rip your hearts out, because I think my own is actually twitching on the carpet right now. Phew. That was a crazy one all right. Can't wait for the next chapter.

Thoughts? Man, have there been a bunch of lurkers finally coming out of their shells to review, and tons of new readers too. Welcome! And thank you kindly for your wonderful comments. I suppose that makes me feel a bit better about the reader I lost due to this arc, but I guess I can't please everyone. I hope you are enjoying the uber-angst, or rather...see that it is necessary to the story. As for how things go from here...well. Oh Malak...! ;-)

Crim


	74. Part 4: My Empire of Dirt

Part 4: My Empire of Dirt

-----

It had been almost two days since they tried his cell. Dean kept it on silent, let it buzz on the seat beside him that once upon a time would have sat a Sam or an incubus. He would glance at it from time to time, the screen displaying that he had "3 missed calls" then "11 missed calls" then "27". He thought they would never stop: Sam, Bobby, Jo and the others. Not Sasha though. The calls never came from Sasha. Of course they didn't. Dean had pushed, and Sasha had railed back against him, but Dean had won in the end. Nothing beat walking away. It was the one thing Dean knew Sasha would never be able to forgive him for.

A week had gone by, almost two now. They had called so consistently in the beginning. Dean half expected when he first took off that Sasha would come flying after him, wings spread on the wind in pained desperation. But Sasha hadn't. Doing that wouldn't have stopped Dean anyway, it wouldn't have changed anything. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't fake himself into living a life he barely remembered. He wasn't that strong.

There was never a real destination in mind. Dean thought of trying to hunt but that would make it easier for Sam and the others to find him. So he just drove. He hadn't gotten all that far from Missouri really, having just passed some dinky town called Widener, Arkansas as he headed in the direction of Memphis. Half his time was spent in whatever motel seemed most out of the way, the other half in the car. He only thought to eat when he was halfway to passing out. Most of the time he didn't even turn on the radio.

So it was deep into the twilight hour, three AM maybe, only local roads and no other cars in sight, just the way Dean liked it. But like with everything else since he had been back, even the feel of his baby in his hands, and around and beneath him wasn't enough to make anything feel like home. He'd thought about turning around so many times, about picking up that phone whenever it buzzed. But he couldn't. He didn't belong with them anymore. He'd just ruin everything little by little until they hated him for it, until Sasha left because he didn't remember how to love either, and Sam just gave up.

If it wasn't that then Dean knew he would somehow be the reason Sam finally lost his way, embracing some darker part of him that Dean had seen come to life in Hell. If Dean wasn't there then he couldn't be to blame. If he wasn't there then he would never have to see his world crumble. Again.

Two days without a call. Had they given up? Were they finally going to let him go?

Dean squeezed the steering wheel too tightly in his hands, glanced up at the rearview mirror. His eyes were green. Green. And he'd keep them that way until his body gave out on him. Already, his tired and drawn face resembled more the image Dean remembered from Hell, gazing emptily back at him.

He was dressed like normal, jeans, T-shirt, flannel, and his father's leather. The familiarity didn't comfort him. His pendant, the one Sam had given him that long ago Christmas, hung prominent against his chest, glittering back at him from his reflection.

Grabbing it suddenly with a tight fist, Dean yanked hard enough to break the cord. He tossed the necklace onto the other seat next to his cell phone. He couldn't go back. They didn't want him back, they'd see that soon. Their stopped calls already meant they wouldn't search forever. If Dad could disappear then so could Dean. He didn't even feel regret anymore, it was easy not to feel anything. Finally, two weeks gone, he was certain he had made the right choice.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Dean."

The sound of that voice surged panic through Dean's chest like he hadn't felt in so long. His eyes jumped wide to the rearview mirror, not looking for his own image this time, but for whoever had said those words from the backseat. There was no mistaking the figure Dean saw. Red on black eyes glittered at him from a handsome, smirking face, blonde hair, black suit, red tie.

_Malak_.

Before Dean could react, Malak was already reaching for him, pulling him fast and rough over the seats into the back. Damn Dean for not bothering with his seat belt these days. Or maybe he had and that just didn't matter where Malak was concerned.

Dean had a moment of sensible panic, where he feared the car would pitch towards the ditch and flip, but even as he was being kidnapped into his own backseat he could see that the car was somehow continuing to drive on its own. Then the irrational, overpowering panic came back to Dean as he found himself laid out on the leather, the Devil himself climbing on top of his body and holding him pinned with a surprising amount of weight for so trim a figure.

"I've missed you," Malak practically purred, flush on top of Dean and so close.

It was natural to struggle, to try and push Malak away with how his lean body just seemed to be everywhere, but it did Dean little good. Malak was strong so much more immovably than either Sam or Sasha.

"I was waiting for you, Dean," Malak licked at his lips with what might have been a forked tongue, "And finally…_finally_ you let me in." Suddenly, Dean had a much more personal knowledge of that tongue, and whether forked or not it was definitely demanding. The kiss was fierce, the way Dean knew he had been with Sasha before he left, all claim and possession and glee in the act of owning. It was like the first time Dean had had to kiss this demon, like a rush of dry ice filling him with the shadow of sinister intent.

"S-Stop!" Dean sputtered, jerking his head to the side to escape Malak's mouth. It was so wrong, this bastard pressing him down into the Impala's backseats, a place so intimate for Dean, and stealing kisses like a deserving lover. Dean was certain his eyes flashed black as he snarled up at Malak, "Get the fuck off me, you sick son of a bitch!"

"Now, now," Malak immediately chided, still grinning gleefully, "Don't act like you didn't expect this. I had to wait for the moment you whole-heartedly made your choice, Dean, but you did. Haven't you realized by now that all your choices eventually lead to _me_?"

Wrong didn't even begin to describe this, but then maybe that was because 'right' was closer to the truth. Malak wasn't wrong when he said Dean had had a moment of clarity in abandoning the others. When he pulled the pendant from his neck all his doubts had left him. But this couldn't be what that decision led to. _This_, Malak being here, on top of him, all weight and heat and…okay, Dean was pretty sure that wasn't Malak's pocket watch pressing into his hip, _this_ was still wrong.

"Shall I remind you, Dean…" Malak whispered hot against the side of his face, "…how much you belong to me…?"

Pressure overcame Dean as if Malak were pushing down on his chest. There were pulses of that pressure, flashes in the dark of the car, and Dean realized that it was memory pressing in on him. It was the visions of his time in Hell but they were different, sharper, focused. Dean saw Sam and Sasha, but Sam's eyes weren't mottled yellow and Sasha's weren't his normal slit-pupil red. Their eyes were Malak's eyes—red on black, yellow on black—like Dean's dreams from long ago, his visions of a future that were now his dark past.

Dean understood what Malak was showing him, how in every moment that he was with Sam and Sasha in Hell of course it was really Malak—Malak touching him, torturing him, twisting him into his image. And Dean had bent and broken just like a good little boy.

"Why…?" Dean had to ask, closing his eyes against the visions even though it did nothing to banish them, "Why them? Why _that_? Why was that my Hell?"

The car continued to move along the empty road, smooth and expertly steered by unseen power. Dean was lying flat on his back, his legs slightly tipped down into the crevice between the seats with the master of demons sprawled over him. "Because," Malak grinned—Dean knew the bastard was grinning even though he had his eyes clenched tight, "It was a…_necessary_ evil. To get you here. Now."

"For what?" Dean still didn't know and it was obvious his time to solve the mystery before it was too late had already passed, "Why me? Why do you want _me_?" He opened his eyes and even though he could still feel that strange pressure like a great weight on his chest, the visions stopped, leaving only the form of Malak above him.

"Your scope is so small, Dean," Malak shook his head in disappointment, a hand snaking down Dean's chest to reach inside his jacket, "You think you know something of the bigger picture but you always count yourself out, or give yourself such a small role to play. Don't forget what I've already told you. Sam is merely _an_ important aspect to the grand scheme. Do you understand yet, Dean? That makes_ you_ the prize, not a consolation."

The pressure increased, making Dean's breaths come short and gasping as he grew less and less able to move or struggle. "What are you…talking about…?" he said in disbelief, "Sam…he's the one with the power's. Azazel—"

"Azazel didn't choose Sam," Malak cut Dean off mockingly, chuckling to himself as that hand inside Dean's coat started pushing the leather from Dean's shoulders, "Azazel chose your _mother_."

"What?" Their mother? Dean didn't understand and part of him doubted he really wanted to. He tried to ignore the hand removing him of his coat, trapped as he was, his own demon black eyes locked on Malak's.

"It was Azazel's job to choose appropriate vessels fitting to bear the ones we would really need," Malak went on casually, "You see, we couldn't be certain when the right children would be born, only that they would come from people like…Mary. Why do you think we had so many fail-safes, Dean, even after Sam had been tapped?"

Dean thought of that little girl, six months old just like Sam had been, who they had saved from a like fate. Old Yellow Eyes had been on the prowl still even when Sam's powers were blossoming.

"It was never only about the 'special kids' as you called them," Malak said as he pushed the last of the leather from Dean's shoulders and arms. His hand strayed then to the buttons on Dean's flannel shirt. "It had to be the both of you. You lived, Dean. The partners of all those others didn't. Only you. You stood out like a beacon to me when your brother died in your arms and you still lived."

A shock jolted through Dean's body. The others' partners had all died? Dean remembered that was true of Ava's fiancé, the one they had found in a bloody mess after she had been taken to Cold Oak. Had that happened to someone important in all the other ones lives too? Was Dean the only one spared?

But that hadn't been because of anything special about him. He just hadn't gone into the diner. The law was looking for him and Sam had gone into the diner alone to get them food. Everyone in the diner had died when Sam was taken. Dean could have so easily ended up the same way.

"There you go again, Dean, counting yourself among others so unworthy," Malak said like a reprimand, wedging one of his legs between Dean's thighs as he unbuttoned Dean's shirt with that fluid hand, "It was always going to be you, Dean. We were waiting for you. It had to be a worthy match, a worthy pair, you see, for everything to fall into place. I thought it would be lovers. How much more fitting for it to be brothers. I couldn't have planned it more perfectly."

Dean didn't want to hear this, all this preordained, you did everything just like we wanted bullshit. Dean was in control of his own life. That's why he had left. "But it…it can't be like that," he denied, shaking his head as he fought for the strength to squirm beneath Malak's slow attentions on removing his clothes, "Sam…he…"

"Sam has the powers," Malak sighed, "Yes. The boy with the demon blood. That makes him special. He can control demons and humans alike and is immune to most ways either side might try to kill him. The perfect _General_ to be at our right hand. But not a king. Sam couldn't be the one, Dean, his path was chosen before he was even born. That's what makes you different. To have true power," Malak slid the last button open on Dean's flannel, parting it to touch Dean's chest through his T-shirt, "You have to choose it for yourself."

No. No, this wasn't right. Dean wasn't the King. It couldn't be _Dean_. The horror of Malak even saying that immobilized him further. Flashes of the last year—the year before the deal ended—played over in Dean's mind and he realized what a fool he was. What a fool they all were. "My eyes…" he said, remembering every vision and dream and brief hallucination he had ever had of his eyes being like this—demon black—and worse…of his eyes being like Malak's. Even Sam had had that dream.

"A little part of me, Dean, so much more than just demon blood in your veins," Malak said. He was pawing at the hem of Dean's shirt now and smoothing a palm up Dean's bare chest, "Because you chose me and allowed me to stake the first part of my claim."

"I…chose Sam," Dean countered, flinching as Malak's surprisingly cool hand glided up past his ribs. He wanted this to stop, wanted Malak to stop touching him and pinning him so intimately. He should be struggling harder to get away but the pressure made it impossible to move. "In Hell," Dean remembered too vividly, "I chose Sam, not you."

"Dean," Malak said with something near sympathy but still so mocking, "In that situation how could you think there was any difference?"

Dean had been right before. He was still in Hell.

"Even when you disappoint, Dean, you don't." Malak kept Dean's T-shirt hitched up past his ribs but didn't try to remove it. He looked at Dean appraisingly, pleased, though he quirked an eyebrow when he saw the protection tattoo and traced his fingers lightly over it as he said, "I was so proud those last few days before the deal ended, how you took up your mantle and led. Sam and Sasha, all of them would have followed you anywhere, followed your every lead. It was a shame to see you fall so pitifully to my image of Sam after that, but necessary. You certainly win for stamina. No one has ever lasted with me for so long."

A compliment from the Devil was no compliment at all. The truth that mattered was that Dean had given in. He had done everything Malak wanted of him. And he was even being compliant now. Dean had to find the strength to resist, to fight this, to push the bastard away. Why couldn't he push Malak away?

"You don't need to fight me, Dean. Not anymore. I only want what you want. For you to finally have peace. No fear, no regrets. With Sam and your dear incubus by your side forever."

Right. "And how…can you give me that?" Dean asked. He could fight this, he could. "How do I…fit into your plan? What makes me King?" The pressure was so great now that Dean couldn't even flinch when Malak's hand slid slowly down to his hips.

"All you had to do was choose me, Dean," Malak said in a whisper, leaning in closer so that his cool cheek brushed Dean's, smooth and chilling at the touch, "But there are rules. You have to choose me three times to be truly mine. It would be three already but, damn the details, your crossroads deal can't count. An act of self-sacrifice. I really hate that one. But on my terms…oh, it was a challenge, but I still got you. I always knew Sam and that beautiful incubus of yours was the key. You chose me in Hell, Dean. You chose me again when you decided to leave your dear troupe behind. Running never saved anyone."

Dean wanted to cry, scream, push Malak away with every fiber in him, but the pressure on his chest kept increasing. He couldn't move his arms or legs at all now, he couldn't even twist his hips away when Malak's hand didn't stop at the barrier of Dean's jeans or his shorts but slipped right down beneath the elastic.

"Now I just need one more and it's complete. Choose me, Dean," Malak echoed what Dean had heard from Sam for seven long years, "Choose me and you'll be the one with the power. It was never meant to be Sam. That black desolate world I showed you, it never has to be that way. _Our_ world will be glorious."

Those long cool fingers reached Dean beneath his boxers and firmly took him in hand. Dean's breath hitched. There were so many emotions he should be feeling, and he was surprised because it wasn't that he didn't feeling anything, but he didn't feel what he expected. Suddenly, he wasn't afraid or even nauseous to feel Malak's hand on him.

That too intimate touch, Malak daring to touch him the way only one man was ever allowed to, had Dean filling with fire.

"You need me…" Dean said, realizing that Meg had indeed given the game away. Dean moved his right hand, finding it suddenly no longer paralyzed, and grabbed Malak's wrist, squeezing in warning for the bastard to let go. "You don't have any power here."

Above Dean, Malak's eyes shimmered, the red irises looking even more vibrant against the black. "My power is what you give me," he said gaugingly, "_All_ of you. It's amazing really how little of it I need to be effective." A warning, and not all that veiled either. Malak gave Dean a firm pull to stress his point.

Dean refused to shudder despite the tightness in his gut. "You really like your pound of flesh, don't you?" He squeezed Malak's wrist tighter.

"What better way to take what's mine?" Malak breathed back.

The fire was growing in the pit of Dean's stomach. "You could use your power against me when I was under the deal, I get that. But you only can now because you're _infecting_ me," Dean said of his black eyes and feelings of emotionless despair. He wasn't despairing right now. Right now he was just angry, and finally he was angry for the right reasons. He squeezed Malak's wrist so tight his nails were digging into the skin, and yet the damn demon still wouldn't let go. "I'm betting that's why you had power over Sam and Sasha too. They interfered with the deal the night Sasha almost turned me. If it hadn't been for that you wouldn't have been able to _touch_ them."

Malak knew he was being goaded, grinned even at Dean's defiance. "With the power we could have together, Dean, those rules would be different. I'll admit, if that's what you're after, yes…I need you. If you accept my offer then all the power I have in Hell we would have here too. _We_. Sam would follow you, Dean. They all would. Demons. Humans. Hunters. But it could be a world of your making. The Hell on Earth I showed you would never have to happen. You could make sure of it. All you have to do…" Malak took his free hand and grasped Dean's wrist that was grasping his. Dean felt a shock through his arm that forced his hand to release. Then to Dean's surprise, Malak removed his other hand from beneath Dean's shorts. He began undoing Dean's jeans instead. "Choose me. Choose me once more and everything I am is yours."

"You know…you really suck at the David Bowie impression."

"Dean," Malak laughed, "Still trying to piss me off? You have no idea how much it pleases me that you're the one. So much like myself really. The first war…" Malak's eyes flashed, his voice trailing and his look distant for a moment. Then he shook himself out of it and yanked Dean's jeans down off his hips. "Brothers really should be on the same side. Sam's already tainted, Dean. Sasha's half demon by birth. Choose me and you can be brothers in arms forever."

"You want to possess me," Dean said, not having to ask since he already knew the punch line. Vapula had been the clue but at the time Dean hadn't gotten it. A willing host. Malak needed him to say yes, needed him to choose him, or it would all be for naught.

"This would be so much more than possession, Dean. I'm talking full immersion, you and me, equal." The bastard teased his fingertips along the waistband of Dean's shorts, challenging Dean to try and stop him again. "You wouldn't lose yourself, Dean, I promise you. Everything you love, I will love, and hold sacred and protect."

"I'm sure," Dean scoffed. He really wanted to move now. The small act of moving his arm had been one thing, but he was certain that he had almost gathered enough strength to move the rest of him. Malak grazing his fingers where he had no right to touch only fueled Dean further, making that pressure lessen more and more.

"We'll be one perfect being, Dean, don't you understand," Malak continued.

"So this is what? Masturbation?"

Again, the demon laughed.

But it wasn't funny. "Jesus," Dean realized, laughing along with Malak despite the lack of humor in any part of the _Devil_ tugging at his boxers, "Sammy's not the Anti-Christ. _I_ am."

"It's inevitable, Dean. You'll choose me again eventually. Some act. Some choice. So why not make it now? All the fear and pain, you'll never have to feel that again, and the ones you love will always be safe, always by your side. I promise. Say yes, Dean. You know you already belong to me." Malak jerked Dean's shorts down the rest of the way, revealing him to the cool air like he was property and Malak owned every part of him.

Like Hell Dean was going to allow this any more. He knew he could move, and more than just one arm, so he did, grabbing both of Malak's wrists fiercely. Then, using all of his body to back him, Dean pushed upwards, forcing Malak to fall back on his ass between Dean's legs. Suddenly, it was Dean pressing Malak down into the leather seats and straddling _him_.

Malak's eyes were startled but pleased when Dean's nakedness unwittingly pressed down against him. The bastard was enjoying this. Dean decided to use it.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" he said through clenched teeth, fire in his eyes, he knew, even if they were black, and all the confidence he could muster filling him as he ground down into Malak challengingly, "Huh? Like this? Taking charge, showing you what kind of _king_ I would be?"

"Oh yes, Dean," Malak all but moaned, shifting his hips beneath him, "As I said, the power is yours if you'll only take it. Come on then," he arched up into Dean again, even fully clad in that damn suit, and whispered hotly, "Claim what's yours."

From the deepest part of Dean he shuddered. All the pressure was gone. He was no longer under Malak's thrall. He didn't have to do a thing the bastard said. But even he couldn't deny that he was tempted. Briefly he wondered what it would be like if he accepted Malak's offer and the demon was actually telling the truth. All that power, him still in his right mind, all those he loved at his side fighting with him to bring about the world he saw fit.

But then when the hell had Dean ever been good at knowing what he wanted? If he didn't know what he wanted for himself, how could he decide for everyone else? He wanted peace, he did, something he had only ever felt fleetingly, but he knew better than to believe Malak was the one who could give him that.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Dean glared at those smug demon eyes, "Fool me once, you _fucker_." He pulled back and jerked Malak upright. "Fool me twice, because you're a low son of a bitch for using what I love against me. But you are _never_ fooling me again." Dean let one of Malak's wrists go just long enough to pull back and punch the damn demon clean across the jaw. Malak knocked back against the door, his head smacking into the window with a crack.

Dean's satisfaction over the sight of his adversary sprawled in the backseat of his car was brief, however, because when the demon turned his eyes on Dean again they were crackling with electricity the way he remembered Sam's had after that shock of demonic energy. Malak snarled and something shimmered across his face like a shadow of rows upon rows of fangs.

In hindsight, punching the Devil might not have been the best idea

The shadows of the car seemed to flock to Malak, filling him and making him look large and monstrous, like he had wings as big as Sasha's and they were ready to burst the roof right off the car. He growled and grew with palpable power, his blonde and suit-clad form at the core of what was really a great beast filling the space around him.

Trembling despite himself, Dean scrambled away until his back hit the other door. Even this image of Malak had beauty to it, radiant with so much power, but what might have been light once was the deepest absence of it now, making Dean so scared it choked him. He was going back to Hell. Malak would take him and he would have to relive those horrors all over again.

"N-No…"

"Dean Winchester, you think _you_ can deny _me_?" asked a great echoing rumble of a voice that barely sounded like Malak at all.

No, he couldn't go back, he couldn't go back. But even as Dean thought that he knew he still would. He would if it was the only choice he had instead of giving in to what Malak wanted. "No," Dean said again, only this time it wasn't out of fear, "My answer is no, you god damn son of a bitch."

A howl left Malak's lips, his mouth still shimmering with what looked like sharpened teeth. Then he seemed to grow even larger, filling the whole car, and Dean knew it was over. Malak leapt for him, but just before reaching him it was as if the demon struck some unseen barrier that knocked all that darkness and excess power right out of him. Malak tumbled back, just a man in a suit, his eyes that feigned blue even that Dean hadn't seen in ages.

The cry that left Malak then split the night, so loud and piercing that Dean had to cover his ears and curl in on himself to stand it. When the sound suddenly stopped and Dean looked up again, he only caught the briefest glimpse of a snarling expression before the demon vanished in a shock of fizzling light.

Immediately, the car pitched, spinning wildly off the road without a driver. Dean tumbled down between the seats.

_Shit_.

Scrambling quickly to crawl into the front, Dean reached ahead for the wheel before he was even halfway out of the backseat. He caught it and the car jerked as it tried to steady, spitting up gravel along the lack of a shoulder. Somehow Dean managed to turn the car straight again so that it hit smooth asphalt and didn't tumble into the ditch. That sure would have been an ironic way for him to die, Dean thought.

Slowly, he finished pulling himself into the front seat until he was sitting comfortably again. Comfortably. Right. Dean glanced down at his lap and saw skin, his pants and boxers bunched around his thighs. He tried to just shimmy back into them without thought, but the reality of everything that had just happened bore down on Dean like lead rain at the sight of his own nakedness. He pulled on his pants, but he had to pull over before he could properly do them up, bile rising in his throat. Dean opened his door and dry-heaved down at the road. He hadn't eaten anything in so long, his stomach didn't have anything to throw up.

Dean spit and coughed, his eyes watering from the effort. He groped for a water bottle in the glove box that he had been conscientious enough to buy and rinsed his mouth even though nothing had really left him. After he was at least a little more certain that Malak wasn't about to appear again in the rearview mirror and Dean's slight trembling was more under control, he zipped his pants, slammed his door shut, and pulled back onto the road.

It was then that he realized his car's swerving and his own unthinking driving immediately after had pulled him off onto an exit. The sign that said what lay ahead was behind him, but Dean could see the faint glimmer of lights down the road. It wasn't much, maybe a truck stop. That would do for now. Dean couldn't drive anymore. He needed somewhere a little more solid to sit awhile and think.

The place came into view, a little truck stop/restaurant/something in the middle of nowhere with its sign blinking bright blue _'Dave's.'_ There wasn't a single car in the parking lot and for a minute Dean thought the whole thing was a bust, but the place was lit up like Christmas and sure as hell _looked_ open. He parked anyway, his hand tense on his gun as he neared the building that he had tucked quickly into his jeans before leaving the car.

"Hello?" he called tentatively when he went through the unlocked door. There wasn't anyone immediately visible. The place looked more like an old diner inside, a little 50s style even including an old jukebox in the corner playing Country. "Hey!" Dean called again, "Anyone here?"

The silence that answered back was too unsettling after what Dean had been through. He tightened the grip on his gun. When he heard sudden movement coming from the kitchen Dean's hunter instincts had him drawing his weapon and he aimed it dead on…at the man who came out of the back wearing a T-shirt, jeans, open blue button-down, and a slightly greasy apron around his waist.

Dean felt low as dirt when the guy's hands reached for the ceiling.

"Now, son, I'm sure we can work out something if you're a little short on cash," the man said evenly. He was only about mid-30s, less than 40 anyway, so a little too young to be calling Dean 'son' in Dean's opinion.

He immediately pointed the gun away and showed that he had no intention of using it. "No, I…I'm not holding you up," he tried to explain, "I just…there was no one here and there aren't any cars out there and…" he took a breath, "Guess I'm a little…trigger happy these days. Sorry." He put the gun back into his jeans and wondered if he should just leave.

His expression must have been as easy to read as the old Coca Cola posters on the walls because the man said, "Have a seat now, no need to leave," with a relieved smile. "And don't worry too much about the mistake. Don't mind a man carrying a weapon long as it's not pointed at me," he chuckled. His voice had a soft southern drawl Dean couldn't place but it might have been local. This guy wasn't exactly what Dean expected to find of a lone truck stop owner in the middle of the night. He wasn't 75 and sporting a beer gut for one. He had short brown hair that dusted his eyes, eyes that were a kind, pale blue that looked entirely humored and understanding, and his body was built strong more like a hunter than a cook.

Dean hoped the grin he tossed the man wasn't the grimace he imagined and he went up to the main counter to sit down.

"Coffee?" the man asked, ducking behind the counter and lifting up a pot. Before Dean could answer though the man wrinkled his nose and gave the pot a shake. "On second thought let me make you a fresh one. You're the first customer I've had since half past ten. Wouldn't want to poison ya." He smiled at Dean again, turning around to fiddle with what looked like an ancient coffee machine.

"Thanks," Dean said, rubbing a hand down his face to wake himself up. He definitely needed that coffee. It was something like four in the morning and he was feeling a million miles away from his body. "Don't get much traffic through here, huh?"

With his back still turned, the man shrugged, "Depends, I s'ppose."

"But you stay open anyway? You been here all night?"

The pot securely in place as the gurgling sound of coffee brewing began, the man turned back around to face Dean and tapped the nametag Dean hadn't noticed before. It said _'Dave' _prominently. "Sorta have to, ya see. Don't always get the extra help I'd like around here. But I don't mind. Some nights you'd be surprised how jumping this place is, even at this hour, if it's the right time a year and enough truckers are making rounds. Just us tonight though, I guess, if ya don't mind?" His grin was ever-present, friendly like a Southern boy who had grown up on manners from birth.

Dean respected people like that. He smiled back at the man, _Dave_, as best he could.

"Can I get you something to eat?" Dave asked, "Coffee won't be long. I can whip something up. Or might have something already made. Probably just leftover pie though," he said like that was a poor excuse for a menu.

Part of Dean almost wanted to laugh but he didn't have it in him. "Nah, I…I don't think I could eat anything." He ran a hand down his face again. Every shadow in the place seemed to be jumping at him. That image of Malak looming monstrously in the backseat of his car was a hard thing to shake, that and everything the demon had said. Dean had to repress a shudder before looking back up and catching concerned blue eyes.

"You alright, son?" Dave asked, arms folded as he leaned back on the counter behind him to regard Dean, "You seem maybe like you've seen a ghost. Rough night?"

That was an understatement. "It's…nothing. Just tired. 'Bout near had an accident out there, is all, and I guess it shook me up a little." That wasn't a flat-out lie at least.

Dave nodded in understanding. "Good thing you stopped then. Last thing I'd want is for one of you boys to fall asleep at the wheel out there. Course the boys I'm used to are usually hauling in 9-ton rigs not '67 Impalas," he smiled knowingly.

The jig was up, not that Dean had done all that good a job at hiding it. "Just passing through, pal," he said, silently adding that he didn't mean any harm and didn't need any questions. To his relief, Dave just nodded again.

It was quiet for awhile, just the sound of the coffee machine and the Country music on the jukebox. The lyrics of the song were easy to pick up on filtering through the empty diner. One of the reasons Dean had kept the radio off most of the time while he was driving was because music had a way of speaking about who and where you were right at that moment, even if you didn't know the song.

_Met a kid on a bridge last night  
Contemplating freedom  
Met a kid on a bridge last night  
And he said  
I'm tired of this maddening life  
And I'm ready to go meet Jesus  
I __said_

_He's a friend of mine  
Met him just last night  
And it's alright  
Yeah it's all right_

Dean really needed that coffee.

_I live this life until this life won't let me live here anymore  
Then I will walk yes I will walk  
With patience through that open door  
I have no fears, angels follow me wherever I may go  
I live this life until this life won't let me live here anymore_

"Hey…I don't s'ppose you got something else on that thing?"

"Besides Country? Not really," Dave smiled a little crookedly. He sat up and Dean thought maybe the guy was going to head over to the jukebox but instead he produced a very modern looking remote from under the counter and pointed it in the jukebox's direction. "I'm secretly a tech junkie. Don't tell anyone," he smirked, "I like the old fashioned look but I can fit about a million more songs this way. You seen one a these before?" he asked as he flipped the song to another one that still had a bluegrassy feel but was at least different.

Oh Dean had definitely seen one of those digital jukeboxes. It was just like the one at the Roadhouse where Dean had made his decision to leave, the decision that led to Malak being able to go as far as he did tonight. "Yeah…" Dean admitted, "They're something else."

The new song continued to play and another gruff, somber voice began.

_Take my love, take my land  
Take me where I cannot stand  
_

Not really better but Dean didn't want to put the guy out.

"Let me make you something," Dave insisted after he had stashed the remote again, "You look like you haven't had a decent meal in days. At least let me throw some fries in the fryer," he went on before Dean could protest, "Two minutes. Not even any effort on my part."

Maybe it was the Southern charm or just that this guy was being so damn friendly and accommodating for four in the morning that Dean couldn't bring himself to say no. "Sure, man, knock yourself out. Might help keep me awake anyway."

"Coffee should be done by the time I come back," Dave said before disappearing into the kitchen. It was the least Dean could do to scarf down some fries for this guy. And he really should have something in his stomach.

As he waited, the diner creaked and shifted around him as if it were a living thing, the music still playing from the jukebox almost hauntingly. Dean had been alone almost two weeks but something about being alone now unnerved him. There was a mirror behind the counter directly in front of him and when he glanced over he really did look like shit—worn out, tired, too thin. He blinked and black eyes suddenly stared back at him.

The startling sight had Dean clenching his eyes shut to banish that awful image and when he opened them again they were green the way they should be. Whatever had made Malak ineffective when he lunged for Dean in the car, it didn't mean Dean was free. After all, he was the fucking Anti-Christ.

Wonderful.

But he still had to choose it, that was clear, and he had said 'fuck no'. Then again Dean was still running, had no intention right now of doing anything but, and if he kept running would he remain just as vulnerable, waiting for Malak to come back and try again? Dean couldn't go back to the Roadhouse. How could he go back knowing now what his choices really meant, knowing that he just kept letting all of them down.

_I hurt myself today  
to see if I still feel  
_

Dean's head jerked to the jukebox.

_I focus on the pain  
the only thing that's real  
_

Johnny Cash. And not classic Johnny Cash either but one of the last hits he ever had, a cover of some other band Dean had never gotten into. He remembered the song because it had come out the year Sam graduated high school. The year Sam left him.

_the needle tears a hole  
the old familiar sting  
try to kill it all away  
but I remember everything  
_

Where the hell was that damn remote, Dean thought frantically.

_what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
and you could have it all  
my empire of dirt_

Dean dove over the counter to find the damn thing.

_I will let you down  
I will make you hurt_

Soon as he had the remote snatched up in his hand Dean flicked to the next song. It was a damn cosmic conspiracy, that's what it was. Why couldn't it have been 'Ring of Fire' or 'A Boy Names Sue'? Dean loved 'A Boy Named Sue'. He remembered well the first time he had played it on one of Dad's old tapes for Sammy, and damn how that kid had laughed. Dean called Sam 'Samantha' for a week afterwards because it got the kid giggling more than scowling for a change.

Maybe the music wasn't what Dean should be blaming though. It was back to some random Country song now, something he didn't know, so he ignored it, slipping the remote back where he had grabbed it from. Just in time too since it was right then that Dave came back out of the kitchen with a plate of hot fries.

"Hey, and looks like I was right," he said with a grin at the filled coffee pot, "How do you take it?" He set the fries in front of Dean, slid over a bottle of ketchup, and turned back to grab the pot of coffee and a cup.

"Just black, thanks."

"No problem."

Dean wasn't expecting anything special of the coffee when he took his first sip, but damn, it was better than Manfred's and that was saying something. Dean almost asked if the guy had sneaked a little secret stash into the mix. It was hot and bitter and everything Dean liked.

"So," Dave said, leaning forward on the counter all in Dean's space suddenly. He didn't say anything else.

"Uh…" Great. The guy wanted more small talk. Dean really just wanted to sit and enjoy his coffee and, damn, even the fries were awesome.

"Didn't you read the sign when you came in?" Dave smirked, pointing back towards the door.

Dean looked. There wasn't anything but the 'Open' sign that from his angle read 'Closed'.

"If your server is bored to tears, you must keep him company. Diner rules," Dave winked when Dean turned back to him.

It wasn't that Dean didn't like this guy, and he appreciated the extra attention to some degree, but right now he really didn't want to deal with anyone. "I don't think I'll be all that good a company tonight," he said plainly, taking another long gulp of that amazing coffee.

"What's your definition of good?" Dave shot back, "Coz mine's pretty loose. Haven't even gotten your name yet, son."

Fair enough. "Dean," Dean said.

"Well, Dean, it's nice to meet you. And it seems to me the people who most don't wanna talk to the bartender or waiter," he gestured to himself, "Are usually the ones who most need it. So what's with the haunted look? You're too young to be a war vet. So as the grand scheme of things usually goes that leaves trouble with the law or trouble with a woman. Maybe in your case it's a little a both. Am I close?"

A smile wormed its way out of Dean despite himself. In a strange way that was exactly right. "You could say that," Dean said, "But uhh…and I'm risking you asking me oh so politely to leave after I say this…" Dean didn't know why he had the urge to explain himself, "It's not a woman. The rest you meant by saying that is implied, but…definitely not a woman." He eyed Dave carefully to gauge the guy's reaction.

To his credit, Dave only looked mildly ruffled. "Okay then. Well. I won't be asking you to leave, I can tell ya that. Can't say I know how to give the right advice though. All my tricks involve flowers and candy. Unless your man likes that sorta thing," he smirked, "You don't seem the type for that though."

And then some. Dean didn't like those kinds of women either who could be bought with things that didn't have any meaning. "I don't think there are any tricks for making up for what I did. And it's not just him, I…" why was Dean even saying all this, "My…brother. Our whole mock family, I…sorta ran out. Still thinking it was the right choice to be honest but…I don't know." Dean shook his head, took another drink of coffee, smashed a few fries into his mouth. He really didn't. He didn't know what the right answer was anymore. Even if he wanted to run back home, even if that was the right choice, how could he face them? "I used to believe I was a good man…"

"You don't think you're a good man anymore?" Dave asked.

"I'm not," Dean said without pausing to think about it. How could he even imagine considering himself good after the things he had done and knowing now what he really was and how far he had fallen?

Dave leaned a little further over the counter, stole a fry from Dean's plate. "Did someone tell you that, give you a reason to believe it, or did you just decide that for yourself?" He raised an eyebrow at Dean as he ate the pilfered fry.

"How many good men do you know carry guns in the back of their jeans?" Dean asked.

The guy just smirked wider at him. "Son, this is the South. Every good man carries a gun," he chuckled, "Well maybe not, but I always love that joke. And you know, the thing about good men is, and despite what you say, Dean, your eyes say ya are one," he looked at Dean squarely, "Good men can always go home."

Well intentioned or not, Dean was done listening to this. He set his coffee down and stared at Dave with a narrowed brow. "You don't know the things I said before I left, the things I've done." Dave opened his mouth to say something and Dean held up his hand to stop him. "You don't know me. So stop trying to. You don't know if I'm a murderer…or a monster…or what." Dean knew he was both. "So best not to push your luck, pal."

So much for not wanting to scare the guy, though despite Dean's best efforts, Dave didn't look at all spooked. "Top you off?" he asked with a kind smile, raising the pot of coffee.

Now Dean really felt like a dick. He held out his cup. "Just…leave it alone, alright?" he asked a little more kindly, "Your coffee's awesome and I appreciate the fries, but I didn't stop for conversation. I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

"Headed back out on the road?" Dave asked as he poured, jumping right back in with questions Dean didn't want to answer, "Seems to me you'll just keep ending up here if you do that."

Dean knew there was double meaning in that phrase but he wasn't sure what the guy meant.

"You really think you've done some things that make you a murderer or a monster? You wouldn't be the first. But the weight on those shoulders tells me you don't want to be what you think you are. Funny thing about that is if you don't wanna be something, you don't hafta be. Miracle a choice."

Choice was a miracle? Could have fooled Dean. "And what if I don't get to choose, huh? Or what if the choices I made mean I don't get to make another one? What if I'm stuck now and there's not a damn thing I can do about it?" That's how Dean felt—stuck, trapped. By Malak and his own inability to see beyond what he had learned. "If you knew what I was…" he shook his head, "God, I don't even know what I am. Who..."

"It ain't who we are but what we do that defines us," Dave said, reaching to steal another fry.

Dean was about to comment again when something struck him. "Did you steal that from Batman Begins?"

Dave blanched. "It's good sentiment," he shrugged.

Dean laughed, and it felt kind of good to be honest, his previous anger dulled.

"You can always choose to do the right thing, Dean," Dave went on, "There's no end point no matter how far you fall. But whatever you do choose I hope it doesn't include robbing me at gunpoint like I thought you were gonna do earlier, coz I really do like my body without any holes, if ya don't mind," he smirked, "Ya see, you're not only made of the bad choices ya make, not anymore than the most righteous of men is only made of the good ones. Maybe you've heard all this before, maybe a million times."

Dean had.

"But if you're still not listening…maybe there's a deeper problem. Here…" Dave reached up around his neck and pulled off a chain Dean hadn't noticed before. The pendant on the end was an engraved circle. Dean recognized it as a saint medallion. "Now you may not be a religious man," Dave shrugged, "But—"

"Saint Anthony," Dean said, recognizing the symbols. He knew a thing or two about saints. "Patron saint of lost things. He's a popular one."

A laugh bubbled up from Dave and he nodded. "Yeah, I s'ppose he is. People do hate to lose things. See, I always liked the whole saint idea, though I don't reckon I'd call myself Catholic. But see the way it works, unlike what some people think, is it's not about praying to the saint, you're just asking 'em, see, asking them to pray with you. I like the community, I guess. Like knowing that even after we're gone we can do a little good in the world still. I swear every time I've asked St. Anthony to pray with me I have always found what I was looking for."

"Yeah, probably coz you finally looked in the right place," Dean countered. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the idea, but it begged to much the question that there was a God above to pray to. Dean just didn't buy that.

"Well, maybe yes, maybe not," Dave conceded, "But if it works, it works, I figure. Why don't you take it," he said suddenly, holding the medallion out to Dean, "Seems you need it more than me right now, and I'm thinking that neck looks a little bare."

Unconsciously, Dean reached for his own pendant, but of course it wasn't there. He had left it on the passenger seat next to his phone. Dean stared at the silver chain and medal in Dave's outstretched hand. Besides the fact that Dean didn't feel right taking anything from this man who was obviously too kind for his own good, Dean didn't understand what he could possible do with help from St. Anthony. "I didn't lose anything," he said.

"Way I see it," Dave smiled, taking Dean's hand and putting the necklace in it whether he wanted to accept the gift or not, "Sometimes a _thing_ ain't what gets lost."

This guy sure didn't give up, but Dean couldn't find it in him to get angry again. He stared down at the medallion as Dave started wiping down the counter that didn't really look all that dirty. What was Dean supposed to do with this?

He understood saints, knew about a few of them, and he could admit that he too had always liked the idea because it was about asking another human being for help, and human beings were at least real. But then these humans were dead and it still involved asking help from God, and since Dean didn't believe in God he figured it was always a bad idea to go there.

If there was anyone watching out for him…maybe it was Dad. And Mom. Sasha's parents too. He could imagine praying to them, because he could have _faith_ in them. He had faith in Sam, Sasha, Bobby and the others. Maybe he didn't have faith in himself but they should be enough.

They hadn't called in two days. But maybe they were still looking for him, he hoped they were still looking for him, because no matter how Dean chose to see it, he knew Dave was right—he was lost. And he didn't want to be lost anymore.

Even over the music the sound of an engine pulling up was unmistakable. Dean almost dropped the medallion as he spun in his stool to stare out the windows. A junker was pulling up, some hideous thing that shouldn't even be able to run. It was dark, but there was a light on in the cab of the car and Dean could see easily the familiar red hair of the driver and the fop of brown hair on the person next to him.

"Don't suppose those belong to you?"

"How…how did they find me…?" Dean gasped. Damn GPS, that was probably it, because Dean hadn't turned off his phone. He'd even had to charge it since it had been almost two weeks. But he had figured he would be able to keep ahead of them enough that they would never get a clear signal.

From behind Dean, Dave's voice sounded softer. "Good things do happen," he said.

"Not in my experience." Dean wondered how this would play out. Maybe all Sasha wanted to do was hit him again and leave, and Sam just came along to get in a few shots of his own.

Dave sighed. "I wouldn't really mind your lack of faith, Dean, if you had some in yourself. It always comes down to choice. Remember that. _Malak_ can't have power over you if you choose them instead."

Dean's eyes widened and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But when he tried to spin back around and demand answers, suddenly there was a hand over his eyes, holding firm. Even if Dean had thought to struggle, he wouldn't have been able to move. "Don't give him another chance," Dave said, but it wasn't Dave, was it? He sounded strangely far away even though Dean could feel breath on the side of his face. "It'll still only take a single choice for Malak to take you, one more time where you choose him, and it'll be over. I know you'll do the right thing, Dean. You always have."

The hand pulled from Dean's eyes and Dean immediately spun the rest of the way around to face Dave and the counter. He shivered at what he saw. Everything was gone.

Standing from his stool, Dean slowly turned in place to look over the entirely of what had once been a diner. It was a diner, had been ages ago maybe, with all the things Dean had seen still there, but they were aged and broken now. The mirror was cracked behind the counter. The jukebox wasn't playing any music. Everything was dirty and dark and all the lights were off.

But the area of the counter Dean had been sitting at was wiped clean and his plate of fries and amazing coffee still sat there, though nothing existed that could have made them.

The sound of a car door slamming made Dean jump. Right, Sam and Sasha were here, and they would be coming for him, having seen the Impala parked outside. Dean could run, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere but gone. He also knew that that wasn't what he wanted. He could feel it, the change, the absence. His eyes would no longer change to black. Somehow, Dave had taken that away.

A shadow of a thought entered Dean's mind but he immediately banished it. No way. Not a chance. The only good side that existed in this damn war was the hunters on Earth. And maybe the occasional supernatural being that didn't feel like destroying everything. There wasn't anything else. Dean didn't believe in anything else.

He looked down and in his hand was the saint medallion on its simple silver chain.

"Smartass," Dean whispered, just in case there _was_ someone listening, "Don't think this means I'm not still pissed." Even if all the choices had been his. Even if those choices were what decided who could help him and when.

Dean looked towards the windows again. Sam and Sasha were peering inside the building through the glass of the door that looked very much locked now. Even though it was dark he knew they could see him, his clear silhouette. They wouldn't come in. They were waiting for him to decide what he would do.

Pocketing the medallion, Dean turned back to the counter, stole one last fry, one last gulp of coffee that he had to admit did taste otherworldly, and headed for the door. He hoped Bobby didn't mind if they left the junker behind, Dean just really didn't want to drive right now and none of them deserved to ride alone. As he went out the door to join Sam and Sasha, he could have sworn he heard the jukebox playing Johnny Cash.

_if I could start again  
a million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way_

THE END of ARC 9...tbc right here with ARC 10...which still needs a title.

A/N: Wow, I have never gone over and over a chapter so much before posting. I should probably do that more often as I love how this came out, but then I would never spend time with my husband. :-) A short arc but I hope you all liked it. Points for who can guess who Dave was. Now I know you're all thinking it's easy, and it is, in part, but I'm also talking about the hints I gave as to who the actor would be if Dave was ever on the show. No, not Castiel, even though I stole his line. This is much better. Prize if someone gets it. And no, you two who I already told, sorry you can't enter. :-P

Wicket Rebel shared some awesome news with me. TV's 50 hottest guys is out and all three of our boys made it into the top 10. Jensen and Chase--Dean and Sasha--are right next to each other, Chase beating Jensen by a hair. The funny part though is that Jared--Sam--came in at #1. Ha! FF doesn't allow full links but just throw in google. It's the first link.

Yes, Malak will return, the war is far from over. But Dean is more or less human despite his potential. Whether it stays that way you'll have to wait and see. More will be explained soon. Castiel shall be showing up soon as well, but we'll get a visit from someone else first. Love me, hate me, still with me?

Crimson


	75. ARC 10: Recruiting, PART 1: Checkers

Dedicated to Blueeyesgreen who definitely knows why.

-----

ARC 10: Recruiting, PART 1: Chinese Checkers

-----

Dean had no plan about what he was going to say when he walked out of that not-there diner, leaving behind his fries and coffee to the dark and dust. Sam and Sasha were both just standing out there, staring at him, not knowing what to say either. Maybe they thought he would walk right by them, get in the Impala, and leave again without so much as a word.

Instead, he went right up to Sasha and couldn't have been more pleased that the incubus didn't push him away when he fell against him, sighing, "Can we go home?"

The incubus hugged him tight, heart in his voice as he answered, "Yeah, Dean. We can go home."

Most of the night blurred after that, whatever other words might have passed between them, though Dean remembered keenly the feeling of Sam hugging him just as tightly as Sasha and making him promise he would never do something like that to them again.

They did end up leaving the junker behind, something they knew Bobby wouldn't mourn the loss of. Sam drove the Impala, Sasha in the back with Dean so he could rest. Dean must have fallen asleep right away. He dreamt, vivid and technicolor clear, but not of Hell. This dream was different. Dean saw the future, both horrible and beautiful intertwined like two different possibilities playing out side by side. He saw something like a battlefield and so many creatures and beings spread over it. The two sides fighting had become a great mass. He was leading one of them but in the midst of it all he couldn't tell which one.

Dean opened his eyes to the sight of sunlight on the horizon and the sounds of Johnny Cash over his baby's stereo. He vaguely remembered requesting for Sam to fish out one of Dad's old tapes from his box beneath the front seat. Sasha's arms were warm around him, holding him close like this was a dream and letting Dean go would mean losing him forever.

When Dean looked up, he found Sasha smiling at him, his blue eyes so tired and red-rimmed but happy. That's when Dean remembered the medallion in his pocket. He fished it out, made Sasha lean down so he could slip it over his head.

The incubus fingered it, not understanding. "St. Anthony?"

"So you don't lose me again," Dean answered.

The puppy eyes just about killed Dean then so he had no choice really, he had to stretch his neck forward and capture a kiss. Sasha tasted like everything wonderful about the past year, not Dean's past seven. It was a brief kiss, mostly chaste, but when Dean pulled away, Sasha was smiling ever brighter. "There you are," the incubus said, "I knew you were still in there, Dean."

Dean had to smile too. "Guess so."

"Dean?" Sam called from the front.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean said on reflex, assuming the mushy PDA fest was getting to the kid. But Sam just chuckled in a relieved, blissful kind of way.

"It's okay. I just wondered if you wanted this back." Sam's arm reached between the seats, his eyes doing their best to stay on the road. Sam was handing him his pendant, the cord Dean had ruined neatly retied. Dean doubted he could have accepted it as whole-heartedly if anyone else were giving it to him.

Dean took it, slipped it back on where it belonged. But peace was a fleeting thing. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he said again as he stared at his brother's hazel eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Dean?"

"It's all so messed up," Dean scrubbed at his face, shifting in Sasha's arms that he never wanted to leave. But he wasn't free yet, not really. They still had work to do.

"It's okay, Dean," Sasha said gently beside his ear, "You needed time. We understand."

"No, I—" Dean shook his head, "Well, I _did_, but…" how could he say this? How could he tell them? He sat further up, much of his body still touching Sasha in a way that was purely comforting. He needed to be sure they both listened and understood even if it scared him to say it all out loud. "I gotta tell you something…"

So he told them everything, even about Dave and how the man, who or whatever he was, had somehow cured Dean's eyes. Sam mentioned that he had thought Dean felt different but hadn't wanted to say anything for fear of it just being that he was so happy to have Dean back with them. There really wasn't anything for them to do with the new information anyway except wait, just like they had done when all signs pointed to Sam.

But something Dean hadn't realized until Sasha smiled supportively and told him was that this was actually the best news they could have ever been given.

"Don't you understand, Dean?" the incubus combed his fingers through Dean's short, mused hair, "Now we know. No more guessing, no more wondering. And the power is all yours, Dean, not Malak's, because you get to make the choice and we know you'll make the right one. You never have to fear some awful evil sneaking up on us in the night to turn Sam and I against you. We're going to be okay. Sam is going to be fine, just Sam, the rest of his life, powers be damned. Because you can make sure of it."

Dean doubted he could have loved the incubus more than he did at that moment, finally able to see the light instead of only darkness on their ever encroaching horizon. He had the power to choose. _Him_. No demonic influence or abilities involved, and there was no way in Hell—yes _Hell_—that he was going to give Malak what he wanted.

When they returned to the Roadhouse and Dean had to explain everything all over again, he was beyond relieved that the others reacted just as supportively as Sam and Sasha had. Shiarra, when they called to make sure she was in on everything too, sounded almost indignant they thought she would even care.

One of the things that helped Dean get through his first few days back the most was something so small but meaningful for him. After their arrival, Wally greeted him as though he were a long lost friend finally come home. Maybe it was just because of the demon eyes being gone but it sure did make Dean feel better.

He got the distinct impression during their time at the Roadhouse that none of the others wanted to leave him alone—ever. Just in case he had another meltdown and tried to split again, he assumed. Bobby was reluctant to go back to South Dakota. Ellen was reluctant to let them leave when Dean announced it was about damn time they got back to doing their job. Sarah was part of the group anyway and that meant Jo wasn't about to be left behind either, so they were still a group of five when they headed out for their first hunt. Even three could be overkill on basic things, but the dynamic had become familiar and Dean couldn't deny that he enjoyed having a larger family.

He was by no means 'all better' and maybe he never would be, but simply _being_ had started to become natural again. Dean still remembered Hell, garishly clear, but there were no more overlaps, no more convulsing back to those terrifying years. Dean was pretty sure he knew why too, because he had been seeing things through Malak's eyes before and it had made his visions of Hell harder to shake. He was free of that now.

Some of the others had questioned Dean initially about Dave and who the strange figure might be, but Dean didn't have an answer, at least not one he wanted to share. No one pushed him. They just had to wait and deal with what they could when it happened.

It hadn't been all that long since the diner anyway, some number of days, nothing dramatic had happened so far, they didn't feel rushed or panicked for a change, and Dean felt honestly good for the first time in longer than he wanted to remember. Especially after a successful hunt. Just a good old salt and burn. Refreshing really.

Dean's phone started ringing as soon as the group began pouring out of the Impala. Mission accomplished, salt, burn, the end—Dean's first hunt back. He was ear to ear grinning when he picked up the call. "Hey, Bobby. Nah, just finished. No trouble. Wish they were all so easy, right?" He waved at the others to go on ahead. Their motel was practically a dead zone so it was easier for him to stay outside if he didn't want to drop the call.

He watched Sarah and Jo go on ahead. They still often shared a room though Sam and Sarah would mysteriously go missing from time to time. The girls probably wanted to get cleaned up before they headed out for a late dinner. Dean was starving but he wanted to grab a quick shower too.

"No, Bobby, no genocidal thoughts or rain of frogs," Dean teased, "Well, maybe some plain old homicidal thoughts when Sam let's one rip and we all have to suffer."

Sam promptly turned around to flick Dean off before going inside after the girls. Sasha stayed behind, hovering closer to Dean than should be appropriate considering Dean was on the phone with Bobby. Of course they had been acting like a couple of horny teenagers since discovering they could be intimate and naughty and, hell, a little dirty even without Dean hyperventilating or acting like a controlling dick. More often than not Sasha was the forceful one lately anyway, making Dean think of when they were first stealing kisses behind Sam's back.

Dean had only waited a day before seeking that connection with his incubus again, despite Sasha's initial protests. Sasha needed it, after all, and so did he. More to the point, Dean needed to reclaim it as something safe and mutual and shiver-inducing—the good kind. Of course he came so fast the first time they were together again that it was almost embarrassing, but things settled down like he knew they would, the slow easing back into how things were supposed to be. Even if Sasha was still incapable of turning him.

That hurt more than Dean could say, to have that option just gone. It might have taken Dean until he was a roguishly handsome and well-preserved 60-year-old before he was able to agree to being initiated, but he knew one day he would have. One day…

He tried to tell himself that this was different than when the deal was closing in, because they could take thirty years to figure a way out of it, there wasn't any rush, they didn't have a time limit except Dean's own natural ticking clock. And with that kind of time they were certain to figure something out eventually. No one mentioned that the general consensus said there was no way out of a devil deal unless Malak released Sasha or they renegotiated. And there was no way in Hell they were going down that road again.

So for now they enjoyed as much of a return to normal as they could. Dean liked the rough-play, the familiarity of it all, the jokes and easy smiles. He also really liked how Sasha was being so constantly forceful and playful in that _good_ way, that 'Christ, it's fucking sexy when he presses up against me even when I'm on the phone with Bobby and that should be wrong somehow but it's such a damn turn-on'.

Yeah, pretty much like that.

"Ya know, Bobby, I gotta go," Dean tried not to let his voice betray that Sasha was flush against him, pressing him to the side of the car, and there was a cool hand snaked around his waist and up beneath his shirt, "Running on empty and I…I gotta get the dirt off before we grab some grub," he shivered as Sasha planted a kiss on his neck, "We'll let the hotline know where we're headed once we decide, okay?" And he so didn't squeak on the end of that sentence.

Thankfully, Bobby said his goodbyes, and as soon as Dean was off the phone he let his cell drop unceremoniously to the dirt so he could grab Sasha by the edges of his jacket and tug.

"You're killing me, baby," he said, smirk on his lips.

Sasha's tongue darted out teasingly and he shrugged like he knew just how naughty he was being. "Just thinking of your best interest, Dean. Wouldn't want you to forget again how much you like it when I…" he purposely trailed, going in for a kiss. Dean could think of about a million different things he liked that Sasha did to him on a regular basis.

Regular. Normal. _Sane_. For now.

That's why Dean clung so damn hard, kissed close to bruising too, and not because of claim or a play for power, but because he was just that desperate every time to feel the rush that filled him when he was with his incubus. Having that feeling back in days instead of it taking weeks and months of recovery was something Dean gratefully attributed to Dave. Sometimes he thought he might even be praying 'thank yous' to the mystery man of the diner, but then that was just plain ridiculous.

The kiss broke with a wet pop. Dean knew he was grinning goofily, couldn't help it. He studied Sasha fondly. The silver chain of the saint medallion glittered back at him. Sasha wore it beneath his shirt against his skin, closer to his heart, he had said.

"Come on, I wasn't lying about wanting that shower," Dean said with a pat on Sasha's chest, "We should conserve water though. Be all environmentally friendly and all that." He winked. His gestures and expressions had come back to him, the ease with which he was just Dean Winchester, and the world reacted accordingly.

They headed for the door, Dean's cell retrieved from the dirt and back in his pocket. Sam was waiting for them with his arms crossed when they reached the door to their room. "About time," he raised an eyebrow at them, "We never got an extra key, remember? The only two we have are in your pockets." Sam wasn't nearly as pissed as he was feigning. He obviously enjoyed that Dean and Sasha had fallen back into their amorous ways, though it would be pretty creepy if he actually admitted that.

"Whine, whine, whine," Dean mocked, fishing out his key, "We get the shower first anyway, Jumbo. Majority rules."

"_How_ is that fair?" Sam shot back, even though he wore a shadow of a grin.

"Who said anything about fair," Sasha snarked.

Dean pushed open the door, flicked on the light reflexively. "Hey, if you wanna room with the girls instead, be my guest. But if you get any Doublemint action you better believe I'm gonna need proof." Dean was ready with a grin to meet the bitch-face he was sure to get in reply, ready for a smack too, but when he took those next few steps into the room, everything froze.

Malak was standing with his back to them, looking out the window.

In moments they had shut the door behind them and pulled their guns, even though they knew it wouldn't do them any good. Dean did his damnedest not to shake visibly. He may have essentially beat Malak the last time they met but that didn't make him feel any better about suddenly being in the guy's presence again.

Then Malak moved, turned towards them and stepped a little more clearly into the light of the room. And…it wasn't Malak at all.

He was wearing a suit, but navy not black, and the _white_ button-down shirt beneath it had the first button undone, no tie. That might not have been enough to signal a difference but while this was clearly Malak physically, that wasn't right either. The blonde hair was slightly longer, just slightly, and the face, although seemingly identical had something Malak's never did—patience.

"Hello, Dean. Sam. Sasha," the stranger said, passing his gaze onto each of them, "You won't be needing those," he smiled in regards to their weapons, "I'm a bit more hospitable than my brother."

A sudden huff alerted the boys to the other figure in the room who they hadn't been able to see since she was seated in one of the lounge chairs in the corner.

She rose, the light catching her as it had the man, and again they were looking at Malak. Red hair in loose curls, slim figure, but her style wasn't Malak at all. Her dress was red, that lone perfect red that redheads could actually pull off, and much more tasteful than how Malak's style was so low-cut and showy. A sheer red scarf wound around the woman's neck. While there was no denying how much she also looked like Malak, her face was the most striking difference again, because it knew joy that had nothing to do with cruelty. Her eyes were pale blue as were the man's, not Malak's red or yellow on black.

"Hospitable must be a lucid term," she teased in regards to her companion who briefly scowled, "But you have nothing to fear from us."

Dean honestly didn't know how he was supposed to respond to this. He was certainly taken by surprise when Sam immediately lowered his gun with wide eyes, and Sasha suddenly dropped to the floor in a kneel—a _bow_, Dean realized.

The incubus spoke softly in a language Dean didn't understand, reverent with his eyes on the floor. The woman just laughed, said something back to him in that same strange-sounding language, and Sasha rose, looking relieved.

Sam, however, had gone from wide-eyed to _pissed_ in about thirty seconds. "How…how dare you come now?" he growled at the man, barely paying mind to the woman, "Now, when it's all over and there's nothing you can do? Why? For what? Why not when we were losing? When Dean was suffering? When that fucking bastard turned me into _this_ and killed everyone we care about!"

The man's face remained patient, understanding. He didn't respond at first but shook his head as if he felt the greatest sympathy and pity for Sam being so angry. "You know the answer already, Sam, even if you don't like it. Free will," he said plainly, "And if it weren't such a great gift I'm sure I would resent it too. When you choose, when you make any choice in your life, it must run its course. We couldn't interfere before now. Your mother made a choice, and we could do nothing. Dean made choices, you made choices, Sam, that left us with nothing. Even you," he said with a steady gaze turned to Sasha, "Had to make a choice. If you had left it to us we could have rescued Dean from Hell without you ever having made that deal. The one that watches over him was ready, but…_Malak_ knew you would not be able to wait."

The relieved smile slipped from Sasha's face, leaving behind a sudden sinking horror.

That did it.

"Time out!" Dean called, gun tucked back in his jeans and hands making a prominent 'T' like Zack from _Saved by the Bell_, though unfortunately for Dean that didn't mean the room would actually freeze like he wanted. He gestured to the strangers with Malak's face. "Who the hell are you? Why do you guys know them?" he whirled on Sam and Sasha, "And what the _fuck_ is going on?" Dean had an idea, a strange, frightening idea, but it was too insane, too impossible, just like he had thought the first time it crossed his mind.

All he could think of, suddenly, was Dave.

The man with blonde hair and the casual suit smiled as if he had heard Dean's thought spoken aloud.

"I wasn't the one who came for you that night, Dean," he said, "But I was sent by him. That night was just for you. A rare thing, believe me. But then denying the _Devil_ so literally is a rare thing too. He wanted to speak with you personally after that. Now he has sent us."

"Well," the woman interrupted again, like it was something she often did when her companion was speaking, "I just tend to tag along."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on," Dean cut in. He didn't even want to say it, but he knew of one thing for sure that could invoke both reverence and anger simultaneously. "_Angels_?" he barked incredulously, "Are you trying to say you're angels? Coz no offence, buddy, but I don't buy that for a second. Give my regards to Dave, who or whatever he is, but…you can't be angels. There's no such thing."

The woman cleared her throat. "Well you're half right. I'm no angel," she said, much as she looked a hell of a lot more like the girl you take home to Mom than Malak ever could.

Dean was getting really frustrated. He turned to Sam and Sasha and smacked both of them in the arm. "Hey. A little backup here, will ya? What is the deal with you two?" Dean was reminded of the night they first met Malak, the actual Malak, and the two of them had turned into dribbling idiots in realization that he/she was an in-the-flesh demon instead of a possessed body.

They snapped out of it this time and Sam spoke first. "_He's_ the angel. Or at least as opposite as I've ever felt to a demon. Don't think that excuses you," he glared at the blonde in the navy suit, "Free will? You could have done _something_."

"Sam," the…_angel_ shook his head.

"You're Michael…aren't you?" Sam said with a sneer, "That's why you look like him, why you call him brother, why it was his voice, _your_ voice I heard when I came back after Meg." Sam wasn't even asking questions, he just knew. He looked to Dean with his brow furrowed. "The twin lore," he spat.

Dean usually stayed away from any lore that dealt with too popular a figure—God, the Devil, angels—because he had never believed in that mess. He believed in Malak now, had all reason to believe the bastard was some version of the Devil, and yeah, he knew the lore Sam was referring to.

Some stories said that the archangel Michael and Lucifer were twins, both beautiful and brilliant before God, but because Lucifer had been created first he was favored. One of them was destined to betray Heaven but no one expected it to be the Morning Star. When Lucifer fell, it was Michael, only Michael who could stand up to his brother, while the other angels and newly turned demons fought their bloody battle.

That was back before the demons' numbers had been multiplied by humans. Back when Azazel would have been glorious too. If any of it was true.

"No way," Dean maintained, realizing what that would mean, "There's no such thing as angels. And Dave…he couldn't have been…" no. No chance in hell was Dean going to say it, even though that very thought had crossed his mind before.

Michael, if that's truly who he was, just smiled at Dean.

The female voice in the room was less forgiving.

"You believe in the Devil, believe yourself to be the Anti-Christ, as you put it, know for a _fact_ that demons exist," the woman said in frustration, "But you won't believe Mike's an angel and that the Big Man upstairs made you a hot plate of fries. Yes, that makes perfect sense," she finished with a smile.

Dean felt another glare coming. "If he's an angel then who the fuck is she?" he demanded of whoever would tell him, though he focused mostly on Sasha since the incubus had bowed to her for goodness' sake.

Sasha looked a little flustered. "Oh, uhh…she's fae. The fae from the legend," he said.

"What legend?"

A small smile curled onto Sasha's face. "The one I told you when we first met."

It took several moments for Dean to process that. Then it clicked. "You're the chick who had an incubus with a demon?" he asked her, remembering vaguely the story Sasha had told them on that first case about where sex demons came from. She certainly was beautiful, and much more so than the female Malak with all her sneers and superiority.

The…_fae_ frowned. "That was a long time ago. Though with lasting effects I have no problem with," she nodded at Sasha, "Granted, it left me with a sort of 'don't come back and we won't officially banish you' standing with the court, but then given their platform of non-involvement, whenever involvement is necessary they expect _me_ to handle it. Gives me excuses to bug Mike though, so I suppose I won't complain." She crossed to her companion and nudged him in the side.

Things had suddenly become far more complicated than Dean could stand. "Are you fucking kidding me? So now we have angels on one side, fae on another, Malak and his damn demons advancing from below, pagan gods, and every monster of the week you can think of, and us poor schmucks in the middle are just s'pposed to deal? When did this war turn into a fucking Chinese Checker board?" he growled.

"Dean," Michael tried to reason with him.

"And why does she look like Malak?" he demanded of the woman, "_Mike_ I understand," he said mockingly, "but you too? I figured Malak just liked it both ways, not that he was mirroring anybody."

The woman cocked her hip, arms still crossed. "His own personal inside joke," she huffed, "Angels are genderless. Technically." She cast Michael a sidelong glance.

"Unless they try really, really hard?" Sasha smirked.

Dean and Sam gaped at him

Michael made a face but didn't get the chance to say anything before the woman continued.

"He sure could try _harder_," she winked, "I guess Malak, as you call him, figured he'd give one last 'up yours' to Heaven by taking on the form of both genders instead of neither, not that it really matters. He chose me to mimic for the female part mainly to piss Mike off. They like to find little ways of doing that to each other. Boys will be boys. Metaphorically anyway," she smirked Michael's direction again.

"Ahem. If you don't mind," Michael raised warning eyebrows at his companion. Then he turned back to Dean and the others. "We have come today for a reason. I understand your anger, I do. But now is not the time for resentment. The months ahead are more important than you realize. We can help each other."

It was Sam who gave a sudden bitter laugh that made Dean flinch for how it reminded him of Hell. "We can help each other? Meaning you need our help now even though you were no where to be found when _we_ needed _you_." Sam even dared to take two solid steps towards Michael, defiant. "Don't sell me free will. We didn't suffer our whole lives for you to use us when you see fit. That's not what I prayed for."

"Sam," Sasha stepped up next to him, sounding concerned, his eyes still reverent towards the redheaded fae—the mother of his kind—and maybe at least wary of Michael.

"Understand, the rules are in place for your protection," Michael said before Sasha could offer his own words, which was probably a good thing since Dean could see how Sam snapped a glare in Sasha's direction, "I know it doesn't seem like it, but believe me, you would think far differently if that freedom were ever taken away."

"It isn't fair," Sam said through clenched teeth, reminding Dean of a little boy who once pouted and complained about everything.

Michael looked honestly compassionate in reply not at all patronizing. "It is what men make of it, Sam," he said.

That seemed to silence Sam because the grand speech he had been preparing for whenever the 'blue marbles' of this fucked up checker board finally showed up had run its course. Even Dean, though he hated to admit it, saw the logic in what Michael was saying. But like he had whispered to Dave that night before he left the diner, it didn't mean he wasn't still pissed.

"Please," Michael went on, gesturing for the boys to sit. Reluctantly, they did. Dean didn't really know why he obeyed so easily and went to sit on the beds like Sam and Sasha, but at this point making new enemies couldn't possibly be a good idea. "You weren't ready yet to make the right choice, Dean, but when the time came you did. I know that wasn't easy for you. My brother's gifts are always tempting."

"So it really was all…true," Dean said, feeling more weight bearing down on him suddenly with such definitive knowledge from both sides now—angels and demons, all of it, "I'm s'pposed to be the bad guy and you want to help me?" Even though Dean knew he had that lone choice left, he still saw himself as public enemy number one. He hadn't wanted to tell the others he felt that way; he figured they probably already knew. And besides, they had dealt enough with that 'I'm gonna turn darkside someday' angst from Sam.

The fae giggled to herself as she returned to her lounge chair, allowing Michael the floor.

He remained standing in front of them.

"Dean, do you really see yourself as the villain in this story? It doesn't take a great man to know when the Devil's temptations aren't worth the sacrifice, but it does take a good one." The angel smiled. It was strange seeing such a kind expression on Malak's face. "You have made just as many good decisions as those bad ones you beat yourself up over. You had faith in your brother, Dean, when so few could. Because of you he had faith in himself and did not fall prey to the evil that might have won within him. The potential for that was never a lie." He looked to Sam gravely.

That figured. If Malak couldn't get Dean one way, then he was sure to have other possibilities waiting in the wings.

"We could be in the thick of the great war this very night if not for you. Each of you. I'm sorry if that's not much consolation considering all you have been through, but we are on the same side. If I didn't believe that then I would not have saved Sam from a second untimely death."

The bitterness had already faded from Sam's face, leaving uncertainty and a sad excuse for a scowl. He perked at Michael's words. "I knew it was you. You were the voice I heard, that's why I thought it was Malak." Sam didn't exactly express gratitude as he said that, but then judging by all this freedom of choice crap, Mr. Angel here probably would have expected Dean to just let Sam stay dead the first time and avoid all this completely.

"Dean," Michael suddenly turned back to him, again as though he had heard Dean's very thoughts, and Dean had a pretty good idea that was true, "You are important. Together. You denied Malak and refused his final temptation, something few have the strength of character to even contemplate. That does not mean the time won't come again that you will be presented with the same choice, but—"

"Yeah, Dave mentioned that," Dean broke in, "Or…_God_ mentioned it? Jesus Christ," he exclaimed, hands running back through his hair. Then Sam and Sasha were giving him a look and he realized how ironic that particular curse choice was. "Sorry, whatever," Dean said for their sake, not Michael's, "But so what? I'm only important because I might royally fuck things up for you guys and bring Sam and Sasha and who knows who else over to my side, not because you need me."

Michael smiled in a strange, knowing way. "That's where you're wrong, Dean."

Moving slowly for the window again like he had been standing when they first came into the room, Michael stood watching the night with his hands clasped behind his back, as though he could see so much more than just a parking lot and street lights.

"You have always thought of yourself as just a man, nothing more, and that is what you are. But even that makes you special. You are a good man who has lived an extraordinary life. And because of that, Malak needs you for the same reason we do. You, Dean, someone who is...just a man," Michael smirked as he glanced at Dean, "You will be the turning point in the war when it comes to a head. What side you choose to fight on is up to you."

Those words seemed to be accompanied by a great gong that clanged in Dean's head. He didn't want this burden that was slowly taking shape, more whole and frightening before him. He'd had enough burdens in his life, most placed on him by his father; he didn't need another _father_ placing the world in his hands like John Winchester had that night in 1983.

"Sam has great gifts, from a dangerous source, true, but he chooses to use them wisely. Sasha too," Michael nodded, his lips curved just slightly as he looked to Sam and Sasha, "Because of what you are you could be a great threat to us, a great ally to evil, but instead both of you use your abilities to help others. So you see," he returned his attention to Dean, "Why they are your consorts, so easily made to be good or evil depending on choice. Depending on you."

Dean didn't want to hear this. It was one of his worst fears, to know that whatever choice he made might make theirs for them too.

Before Dean could respond, however, he looked up and caught Sasha's expression, that sinking horror having returned to the incubus' face. Sasha was alone on one of the beds while Sam and Dean were on the other. He was staring at Michael but then his eyes cast down, ashamed.

"Dean doesn't have to choose Malak or opt out," the incubus said in realization, his voice low and deadened, "He could save everyone. I...I shouldn't be apart of this. I killed that girl when I was younger. I didn't know what I was doing. And…God, is it true, would you really have been able to save Dean sooner if I hadn't made that deal?" Tears sprung easily to Sasha's eyes, they always did.

Dean heard the creek of the chair before he noticed the fae rising from it. "Honestly, between the three of you the amount of angst and guilt could suffocate one of those damn emo teenagers," she smirked, taking Michael's place in front of them, "Choice is a constant thing. We don't run out of them. We don't build up so many bad ones that we can't make a good one in the end. Mike might have been able to send someone to rescue Dean, that's true, but for all we know it would have taken months instead of a week, so don't go hating yourself over a decision you made because you love someone too much to be without them. _Any_ of you. We aren't here to talk about mistakes or reasons you don't deserve your destinies. We're here because of your future. We have work for you in the battle ahead because you are all going to be apart of it on one side or another. Your options aren't only the first Anti-Christ brigade or nothing. You can fight for us."

A sudden flash of Keanu Reeves flitted through Dean's mind with that bad southern accent and the over-priced suits he had dawned in 'The Devil's Advocate'. Dean didn't really want to be Keanu Reeves but the thought of being able to kick Malak's ass had a nice ring to it if that's what being on the opposing side really meant.

He just wished it didn't all have to be up to him. That had been the thought that soothed him before, that the power of choice was in his hands, but it all seemed so real now, the potential to make of Sam and Sasha everything he never wanted them to be.

"So it's not all or nothing, it's all or everything," Dean chuckled darkly, "We're in this war one way or another." He looked up at the fae, looked over at Mike by the window. He could feel Sam and Sasha watching _him_, just him.

"If you choose us," the fae smiled on, "and I include myself and my kind only because most fae consider themselves heavenly anyway even if they're not, and you can bet most will back you…_you_, Dean, will be our warrior, not Malak's vessel. And your crew can fight beside you."

Frightening as it all was, something in those words spread a warmth through Dean's chest. In a way, what this angel and fae were offering was Malak's deal exactly, except Dean would have to fight just as he was instead of being imbued with power. And hell yeah, he liked the sound of that better. He wanted to still be angry, wanted to not believe in Heaven and angels and a God that never seemed to be there when he needed him, but it was hard when he could see the truth before him, hard when he knew that Dave's touch, a strong but kind hand over his eyes to take that awful blackness away, was like every kind of peace Dean had ever longed to feel.

Part of him just wanted to rest. He didn't want to be Heaven's warrior anymore than he wanted to be Malak's bitch. But then he could never turn his back on his mission, helping people, fighting evil, and if this was where that road led…

"Choosing us now will not be enough to keep you out of Malak's clutches forever," Michael said as he walked back from the window, "That choice still lies ahead. Be you, Dean, and I am certain all the choices you make will be the right ones. We can't tell you what's coming. We don't know. When we do, we will help you as much as we are able. Malak will likely be making further plays for you and for others to join his cause. An emissary will come to you to speak on our behalf once we have learned his next move."

"Emissary? What, you don't want the job?" Dean had to grin, thinking that he had been getting some pretty crazy special treatment lately if the Devil, God, and Mr. High-Ranking Angel had all come to see him personally.

Another knowing smile spread over Michael's face. "He has watched over you for a long time, Dean, just like your mother told you. I think he would be rather upset to lose the job now."

A shiver ran through Dean's body.

_Angels are watching over you…_

"And besides," Michael said dismissively, "I have an army to lead. It is your job to lead the one on Earth. I think the three of you should be able to handle that," he smiled, "I hope to see you again. Dear," he nodded at his companion.

She tossed her own joyful smile at each of the hunters. "Things have a way of working out," she winked at Sasha, "Til next time then."

"Wait, I," Sasha stood from his bed, "I mean, _we_…don't know what to call you."

The fae's smile widened. "Just call me Gwen," she said. Then like with all supernatural creatures with more power than seemed fair, a blink of the hunters' eyes and they were gone.

It took Dean a few moments of just sitting there to convince himself that all that had really just happened. Sasha was still standing, Sam was slouched with all this color to his cheeks suddenly, and Dean could admit that as heavy as this new burden was—save the world by Heaven's mandate, not just because it's your job—it had him feeling strangely lighter.

He didn't believe in God or angels. But Dave and Mike were okay.

Gwen didn't seem so bad either.

"This doesn't make me the Anti-Christ _and_ a potential Christ figure, does it?" Dean asked whimsically, "Coz that would be a little much. Though the water into wine thing would be kinda awesome."

Sam snorted, head falling forward into the hands resting on his knees. "Dean," he reprimanded like he didn't want to laugh but was pretty much doing it already, "You realize how serious this is right? I mean, I know it was before, Malak telling you about his plans and all, but…but now we really have a chance to fight back."

"Like we didn't before?" Dean made a face, "Nothing's really changed. I'm still just me. I haven't been imbued with any Heavenly powers, Sammy. All we're getting is a little angel on my shoulder to whisper intel from time to time. That's not exactly the same as having Heaven's army behind us. Is it?"

The look on Sam's face said Dean was an idiot.

"It is? Well, I mean, I guess, but…shit," Dean ran his hands through his hair again, "And fae and all that too? But let's not get ahead of ourselves, we don't even know what's going to happen. And what's with you being all excited now?" he asked Sam, who had gone from holding back laughter to all and out grinning, "I thought you were being all scorned lover with your bible thumbing. You sure gave Mike a tongue-thrashing. Good thing he's a decent guy or he might have smited you." That made Dean laugh. Smited. He liked that word. Or was it smote? God, his life was insane.

Sam's mirth faltered at Dean's words, but only a little. "I was angry," he shrugged, "Felt pretty justified about it too. But…he wasn't wrong. Michael, what he said. We were given this great gift and all we ever do is mess it up by choosing to hurt each other. Doesn't mean I don't wish they hadn't stepped in and leant a hand one of the times we were going through hell."

"Or in it," Dean nudged him. He had to joke where he could. It was part of why he hadn't blown apart yet. Then he looked up and like before he saw a crestfallen Sasha sinking back down onto the other bed. Dean immediately rose to join him, knowing what had to be plaguing the incubus' thoughts. "Hey, you heard what the chick said," he slid in close beside Sasha, "It probably wouldn't have made any difference. Might have even taken longer, and believe me, baby, I wouldn't have lasted _months_."

"But if I hadn't made that deal…I'd still be able to keep you," Sasha smiled sadly, his eyes damp.

Maybe Dean had some lingering reasons to dislike the blue marbles after all if they were responsible for making his baby cry. "You got me out," he said, and it's all he needed to say because he didn't care about consequences that he believed in his bones they could one day fix, and he didn't care about 'what ifs' that couldn't change anything. So he changed the subject instead. "What language was that you spoke to her?" That whole bowing thing still bothered him even if he sort of got it.

Sasha flushed a little like Sam. "Oh, that…that was Gaeilge. Irish Gaelic. Sort of," he shrugged, "More of a combo. It's fae tongue. Was originally anyway, since the first rifts between the plains were in the British Isles. You know," he went on when Dean just stared at him blankly, "Stone Henge. Arthurian Legend." Dean got the references, he was just surprised to discover his boyfriend was bilingual.

"Arthurian Legend…" Sam repeated, catching both their eyes.

As Dean caught up to where Sam's mind had just gone, he had to laugh. Suddenly, 'Just call me _Gwen'_ had a whole new twist. "You don't think…" Dean trailed.

"At this point," Sam slapped his legs and stood, "I just go with the flow. Coz I don't know about you guys but I'm liking our odds a whole lot better now. I think I'm gonna take that shower. We'll have to fill the girls in. Then everyone else."

"Then it's back to the waiting game," Dean sighed as Sam passed him. He wanted his shower too but he was sort of glad Sam had just snuck in before him since he really needed some time to sit and mull all of this over. He and Sasha remained on the bed after Sam had closed the bathroom door, thinking, not really saying anything, when Dean suddenly thought to ask, "Hey, if you recognized Gwen so easily, how come you never said anything about Malak's chick suit?"

The silence broken, Sasha took a moment to think about that. "I didn't know Gwen because of appearance," he replied finally, "I just…_knew_. Guess that explains the red hair. Always bothered me when Malak looked like that," he grimaced.

Dean had to laugh. "And here I thought you hated the male version most."

"Oh I do. He always seems to touch you more in that form," Sasha's grimace deepened into a scowl, "Like he does it on purpose to piss me off. Only I get to touch you like that," he said, fingers reaching up to clutch suddenly at the fabric of Dean's shirt. They were already fairly close on the bed anyway, so it wasn't all that hard to lean in.

"Damn straight, only you," Dean agreed, smiling as they got closer, "Well maybe _straight_ isn't the best—" the kiss cut him off, Sasha's last lunge forward silencing him the best way possible. If Dave really was the reason this was easy again, Dean figured it was the least he could do to help the guy out.

"You are a good man, Dean," Sasha said when they pulled apart, and for a second Dean almost thought it was Dave answering him.

He opened his eyes, saw that brilliant blue, that face he loved, and okay, maybe Heaven wasn't so far-fetched an idea after all. "If you say so, baby," Dean grinned, going in for another kiss that led to him teasing his tongue over Sasha's lips and nipping gently at the especially soft skin.

He felt more than okay right now, more than just fine and _dealing_ with it. Sure, he had considered being as angry as Sam had been at first, all indignant and where were you when, but Dean was done being selfish. Besides, he knew a thing or two about how the good guys sometimes couldn't be around even if they wanted to be. Much as Dean may have had the right, he had never been able to resent Dad for that as much as Sam did.

And it's not like he wanted to take up this mantle as warrior of God for the sake of some higher being he never believed in, even if the guy could admittedly make one mean cup of coffee. No, Dean believed in a different kind of higher power. He believed in Winchesters, Kellys, Harvelles, and Singers. That made him feel strong. That made him feel certain. That made him feel like he might actually be able to do this, make the right choice without condemning anyone, and shove all of that bastard Malak's threats right back in his face.

Right now Dean felt like he could do anything, _be_ anything.

Maybe even the hero.

-----

Retelling the tale to Sarah and Jo was far more exciting than when Dean had explained Malak's little stunt in the backseat of the Impala. Not that Dean had actually admitted to any of the details of what Malak did in the backseat of the Impala, because that would just piss everyone off extra nice and hard and Dean was pissed enough for the lot of them.

At any rate, the girls definitely enjoyed hearing this new story more, as both their eyes lit up and not just from the flickering fluorescent lights in the diner. Jo was more skeptical at first that their encounter had really been with a fae and an angel, and _the_ angel at that, Mr. Archangel with the fiery sword, actually mentioned in the bible—angel. But with how much Sam, Sasha, and even Dean Winchester, the skeptic extraordinaire, believed it, she was eventually just as awed and relieved as Sarah.

Filling in Bobby and Ellen was something they did not want to do over the phone, so they decided to hold off on that for now. Shiarra could wait too, nosy as the succubus was. While waiting for their food to arrive, the group decided their time would best be spent going over everything they knew about this not-quite but getting there cosmic war.

Everything had been set up by Malak, that was certain, forcing people at least as far back as Mary Winchester—though they weren't sure what that entailed—into deals and choices that would keep the blue marbles out of the loop. Dean had officially designated Dave and Mike's side the 'blue marbles' as it made the whole thing seem at least a little less life-threatening.

Even Sam's death and resurrection seemed to have been planned since he was intended to be Dean's right hand demon boy, and although Sasha was an unexpected addition originally, said by Malak himself, the incubus was the perfect consort to make their little dynamic duo into an unholy trio.

On the plus side, it seemed that Dean was currently tied for ownership by the main sides in the war, and he still had a chance to not bring about the Apocalypse unwittingly if he just listened to the advice of what was probably his own guardian angel, and how crazy did _that_ sound, so they could kick Malak's ass and save the day like no hunters had ever done before.

The only problem was that they had no idea how that was going to go down, what they were going to have to do, or what choices might present themselves to Dean in the future that could in all honesty fuck all of them over.

At least no one was dying, Dean thought with a little tragic humor. That was a new one.

"So…onto the next hunt?" Jo shrugged as they were chowing down ridiculously greasy diner burgers that to Dean were just Heavenly—haha, "I mean, we might as well keep fighting the good fight until we have the specifics, right?"

Dean had noticed that Jo seemed abnormally relaxed, or maybe he just hadn't noticed before how tense she had been around his demonically powered brother and his own could-be-the-Anti-Christ self until suddenly that wasn't so big a threat anymore. "Works for me," he said, stealing ketchup off Sasha's plate. He had used up all of his own already and, really, Sasha's plate was so much closer than the bottle.

"I suppose there's no reason we shouldn't," Sarah offered. She had her laptop smushed into the last bit of available table space and clicked through a few bookmarks. "We're pretty equally far from the three leads I have. Potential haunting…mutilated hookers that would look like a serial killer if all their internal fluids other than blood wasn't missing," she rattled off, "And another haunting, possibly a poltergeist. Any takers?"

They had already agreed some time ago that only one laptop was ever allowed out while they ate, and Dean could tell that, for whatever insane reason, it sort of turned Sam on when Sarah was being all research geek for him. _Freak_. "We just did a haunting," Dean said, even though he had enjoyed the ease of a salt and burn, "I'll take the hookers."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Sasha nudged him, also swatting at Dean's hand since he had all but used up Sasha's ketchup now too.

"Hey, if it was a hunt dealing with strippers," Dean grinned, "Dude, we would already be out the door. Always hoped for a case like that some day."

Sam chuckled, passing Dean the ketchup to avoid any flying food as Sasha swatted Dean again. "In your dreams, Dean."

"I don't need dreams for a striptease," Dean defended, patting Sasha's thigh beside him. And damn did that feel good, the way he wasn't trying, not even thinking, just letting those words slide right out natural. He laughed when Sam went pale suddenly, probably remembering that time the kid found those leather chaps hidden with the weapons in the Impala's trunk.

It was like this strange swell in Dean's chest filled with all the good things in life and Hell was barely a memory. Pieces of it would come back to him from time to time, he wasn't deluding himself into thinking he could ever really forget it, but the very thing he had once thought impossible he was doing again and loving it.

Living.

Sasha leaned over and whispered in Dean's ear, promising a striptease later if Dean had his mind set on that. And hell yeah, was all Dean could think, because fun with Sasha was safe and normal again too.

"Hookers, it is," Dean announced to the table, "Now let's get back to the food. It's not all that late, ya know. We could see if a threatre around still has 'Iron Man'. Can't believe I was in Hell for that release," he grumbled, and because it was meant to be comical, everyone laughed.

Later, Jo joined Sasha and Dean for the movie, leaving the other lovebirds to their own devices. Everyone seemed to be on a sort of high, Dean realized. Of course he had a little trouble concentrating on all that was the epically awesome 'Iron Man' movie because Sasha kept squeezing his thigh. And a little bit further to the right of his thigh which would have been okay if Jo wasn't with them and the movie sucked.

By the time they got back late to the motel, Dean was so ready for that striptease. Only damn it, Sam was back in the room and asleep and they just weren't going to tempt fate like that again. Ever.

"Rain check," Sasha had breathed against Dean's neck when they crawled into bed. Dean would totally hold him to that.

It was something like 6:30AM, way too early to be up when they weren't in any rush, but for some reason Dean was just up and couldn't get back to sleep. He figured it was a good opportunity to get an early shower and maybe rearrange the Impala's trunk. Their things never quite seemed to fit anymore, but it didn't make sense for them to have two cars when the five of them fit just fine.

Sam was lightly snoring in his bed and Sasha had sprawled out to take up the space Dean left behind when Dean headed outside to give his other baby some attention. He hadn't even bothered to grab his jacket. Summer was fast on the approach and a little cool morning air felt damn good. Dean couldn't help feeling a little giddy today. He felt like he had a second chance—really this time.

Which was probably why it made his blood run cold when he felt the presence of someone else out by his car. He didn't even get the chance to grab for the gun he always tucked into his jeans before an even-toned voice said, "Hello, Dean. We need to talk."

tbc...

A/N: Redone chapter for the masses.

Dave, besides being God, was played by Nathan Fillion. "Firefly"? Main actor from "Slither", Dean and Sasha's first date? Anyone? Only Hazgarn got that so points for her. And was I really that vague on it being God before. Must have been...

Awesome news, if any of you are Dean/Castiel fans, and really, how could you not be, and happen to like to read good slash about them, and really, how could you not WANT to, a very popular series fic on the subject at livejournal, "On a Wing and Prayer", "Losing My Religion", and currently the third Arc, "Lucifer Rising", has requested for Sasha to make a cameo at the end as part of the hunters fighting the final fight. I know, weird to think of him in a story where Dean is with Cas and not HIM, but he's going to flirt with him, of course, and you know it's gonna be awesome. Check out the story if you can. I read it at the deancastiel community and will post a link on the website.

Almost forgot! That whole idea of angels being able to have a sex if they try really really hard is in honor of "Good Omens" the best book in all the world with some slashy flavor--at least to those like us--between an angel and demon. I figured Sasha wouldn't be able to help making that comment, ha!

Crim


	76. DRABBLE: Season 4

Don't I just have the best fans in the whole wide fandom world? Yes, I do! You guys are awesome! Bonus drabble in honor of all the great support recently.

See, I've been toying with the idea of writing Sasha into the current storyline, just as a one shot side-character kind of deal and how canon Dean would react to him. radekris has informed me I must do this, and in honor of giving in here's a little drabble. No real prompt. 100 words.

-----

Incubus Drabble Season 4

-----

Not human. Dean's mind repeated that every time he looked at the guy—not human. Not human. Not. _Human_. Since when did monsters moonlight as hunters anyway? Sam trusted him but Sam trusted a lot of things he shouldn't these days.

Worse was Dean liked him. A lot. He liked a fucking incubus and that just wasn't kosher.

Pheromones, he thought, that must be why. Like the siren.

"The charm bag I gave you protects against pheromones," Sam said, "You know, just in case. Didn't I tell you?"

Shit. Then why the hell did Dean let the bastard kiss him?

THE END

-----

A/N: That's basically the idea in one condensed form. Thanks again, everyone!

Crimson


	77. Part 2: Unlikely Allies

Part 2: Unlikely Allies

-----

Dean had grown accustomed to what an unnatural presence felt like—ghosts, demons, Malak, now Mike and Gwen, and hell, even Sam and Sasha on occasion. This one shook him to the core because it was familiar but he had no idea why. Familiar but he couldn't place it, couldn't imagine why it should be familiar at all.

He had been looking to the front of the Impala. All he had to do was turn his head just slightly and suddenly he was staring at the back where what looked like a man was leaning, almost sitting on the side of his baby's trunk.

There hadn't been enough time to draw his gun before, but now that he saw this strange figure was unarmed he could go for the weapon if he wanted. He could. But he didn't. Couldn't even move. Couldn't figure out why he couldn't freakin' _move _either coz he still didn't know why he knew this guy.

The sight of the not-man wasn't what was familiar about him. He actually looked fairly ordinary in most ways. He had dark hair, intense blue eyes—okay that wasn't ordinary but Dean was used to that, even the unnatural shimmer—and he was dressed in a rumpled blue suit, a lighter blue tie, white button-down shirt, and a tan trench coat. His eyes looked tired, no, more like aged, and more than they should be since the guy couldn't be too much over 30. He had a placid look on his face to match that even tone he had spoken with. Dean really wished the guy would say something else now instead of just staring at him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean demanded when the silence started to become a little thicker than he could stand.

The guy flinched, like maybe he didn't appreciate Dean's word choice. He looked at Dean with far too steady a gaze as he said, "You were told I would come," like that answered everything, "I thought it best if I spoke to you alone. Is this not acceptable?" He looked around at their surroundings, the mostly empty motel parking lot, the dim light from the sun illuminating the space around them as it peaked up over the horizon.

Something clicked in Dean's head and he calmed slightly, but he didn't want to let his guard down even if he was right. "You're the angel, emissary, whatever?" he questioned, not ready to move any closer, "And I'm just s'pposed to take your word for it, I imagine?"

The man, angel, whatever he was cocked his head like a curious puppy, his sharp blue gaze narrowing. "You had no trouble believing Michael," he said.

Dean couldn't help thinking, well yeah, but the evidence was pretty convincing then, though maybe it hadn't been and Dean had just been able to accept it because of circumstance. Sam had seemed pretty sure after all, and he was their resident blood hound for all things supernatural.

It looked as though the smallest hint of a smile started to overtake Mr. Angel's serious expression. "If you would prefer I speak to you in the presence of your brother…" he said leadingly, obviously having stolen those thoughts from Dean's mind the way Michael had been able to so easily yesterday.

"You know you guys really need to stop doing that," Dean said in regards to that realization. His mind was _his_. Sam was good enough to follow that rule; angels should be able to too.

"My apologies," Mr. Angel nodded his head, pushing away from the Impala, "I am used to being attuned to you. But you are wise to question me as it is highly possible Malak knows of what we do. He may have thought to send someone in my stead and trick you. If I may then…" Again the angel trailed purposely, gesturing to Dean as though asking for some sort of permission. Dean really had no idea what an angel would need his permission for, but he figured what the hell and nodded. Any way an angel thought to 'prove himself' had to be a once in a lifetime opportunity after all.

And damn was Dean right about that. Because just when Dean thought they couldn't look more out of place even as just two guys out by a car in a parking lot at the wee hours of the morning, Mr. I-Look-More-Like-A-Guy-Who-Just-Went-Through-The-Dryer decided to show off.

He merely turned at first, the brick wall of the motel backing him, his normal shadow dimly apparent. Then his shoulders seemed to flex, his arms slightly outstretched, his breathing deepening, and hell yeah, Dean's own breath stopped as soon as he saw it, the outline, the perfect shadow, deep and almost touchable, of wings silhouetted against the brick. They looked as real as if they were coming out of the guy natural, the way Dean saw from Sasha so often. He wondered briefly why he was only being granted an echo of them instead of the real thing.

"Most mortal men are not capable of perceiving our true forms," the angel answered, invading again, as the shadow of wings faded away, "Some few, special cases can, perhaps you could one day, but I would not want to take the risk at this juncture. Michael appeared in his human guise, the representative of the fae did as well, because to see either of them as they truly are might have stuck you blind, maybe even killed you. I come in similar fashion."

Dean blinked a few times to process the formal language this guy spoke in. "Right," he said slowly, circling instinctively as the angel—definitely an angel—came back over to the car, "So Mike's whole casual but still pretty upscale angelic look, I get that. Gwen too. You, uhh…" Dean tried not to chuckle as he looked the guy over, "Figured you'd go with the patron saint of CPAs then or what?" he nearly snorted.

The angel looked down at his clothing, his body, and tugged curiously at the lapels of his trench coat. "Oh, this…this is not my own form made manifest as human. I am not quite so powerful to accomplish that, not like my brother. This is a vessel."

"Michael's your brother too?" Dean noted, remembering the whole twin thing.

The angel frowned, a curious, confused look on his face. "We are all brothers," he said.

Right. Angels. Body of Christ and all that. Peachy. "Any sisters to even out that sausage fest?" Dean couldn't help commenting. Apparently this guy didn't get the joke though because he merely tilted his head at Dean again. "Never mind. But what do you mean, vessel? You don't mean like a regular person you took up residence in for awhile like the demons do."

The angel's frown deepened. "Do not compare my act to a demon's. He was more than willing. A devout and selfless man."

Dean balked. "You mean you're possessing some poor bastard?" He had hoped his assumption was wrong, coz that, possession on any level, just didn't sit right with him, especially after learning Malak wanted to wear him like a Winchester suit.

"It is not the same as possession," the angel defended, "Not even the same as willing possession where a demon is involved. There is no pain, no strain on the body. Should any harm come to it, such wounds will be healed when I leave. He is in no discomfort, I assure you."

Disturbed as he was, Dean decided to leave well enough alone. "Fine. Whatever. Just…put him back where he belongs when you're done with him, huh?" Dean suddenly had this vivid image of some traumatized tax accountant left stranded with Winchesters and company after all was said and done, freaking out all ways this side of the Apocalypse. Thanks but no thanks. "What did you say your name was, pal?" Dean changed the subject.

"I have not yet given you a name," the angel replied.

Oh this was going to be fun. "Do you feel like giving me one now, coz I'll call ya 'Angel Cakes' if ya want, but it might make the other celestial beings jealous." If Sam had been out here with Dean he was certain that comment would have awarded him a smack.

'Angel Cakes' didn't seem too disturbed. He bowed his head slightly. "My name is Castiel. It is my duty to service you as best I can."

Naturally, Dean exploded into coughs as soon as 'My name is Castiel' said '_service'_. "Dude," he struggled to contain himself, holding up a hand when Castiel looked concerned and made to move closer, "We really gotta teach you the difference between speaking English and speaking American, coz you're gonna get yourself in trouble with shit like that."

Again Castiel cringed as though he didn't appreciate Dean's vulgar mouth, but he didn't comment on it. Instead he said, "Forgive me, I…I have watched you all this time but…being here is very different. It is easier for Michael. He has walked among mortals for millenia doing various tasks. This is the first time I have been able to experience it."

"You've never been to Earth before?" Dean surmised, "Just a heavenly voyeur, huh? Well watching is different than doing and being, that's for damn sure. So try and hold back with the 'My Favorite Martian' routine, will ya?"

To Dean's surprise, Castiel seemed to understand that references and was suddenly wearing what could only be described as a pout. "I am not inept. I know what it means to be human, what exists in the world and appropriate ways to act. But as you said, doing and being is very different from watching. I only meant to say…" his brow furrowed like he was trying to think of the most normal way to say what he wanted, "You, Dean, are my duty. To watch over you. Having been granted this opportunity, I want to be of as much help as I can."

Dean swallowed hard, feeling the stirring of resentment and anger suddenly rearing their ugly heads. He tried to swallow again, swallow it down, but his throat was dry, too dry to stop himself from saying, "You know, no offense," even though he sure as hell meant offense with what he was about to say, "But if it's your duty to watch out for me then you've been doing a pretty crappy job so far. What, you take frequent vacations just when I might actually _need_ you?" The words were more biting than Dean meant them, but no they weren't, because he _did_ mean them, how could he not.

They were facing each other beside the car, Castiel only a few feet away. Dean might have expected the angel to respond with similar anger, at least furrow his brow again, looking all confused and indignant, but he didn't. His eyes drooped, his mouth falling slightly open, and he just looked _sad_. "Dean," he said, his voice cradling Dean's name in a way that again made Dean think 'familiar', "I was always with you. I could not be with you like this, solid and visible as I am now. I could not interfere when the choices you made held me back. But I was always there. I thought perhaps you saw me that night when Malak tried to claim you though you had refused him. Finally, you had given me the power I needed to shield you from him completely."

A shiver ran up Dean's spine. Maybe he knew why this guy felt familiar after all. He hadn't seen anything that would have made him think 'angel' the night Malak came for him, but he had seen something, a spark, a shock of light, _something_, when Malak hit that immoveable wall and was knocked back, the fight and power gone from him. "That was…you?" he asked.

"Of course," said Castiel, as though it were merely his duty.

And Dean supposed it was, because after all, the guy had said those exact words, that Dean was his _duty_, and…shit. Dean was definitely feeling that 'how crazy is _this'_ feeling again, presented with his own angel. _His_ angel.

"There was a time, Dean, when you saw me whole, complete before your eyes in my true form. You were a child then. Children can often see what men cannot. You don't remember?" He stepped forward, one, two, three, eradicating any thought of personal space between them until it seemed Castiel was right in Dean's face, leaning even closer, gauging him.

"I…saw you…" Dean repeated, not remembering but thinking maybe he did, and maybe that explained a few things, "When?"

Castiel smiled, still uncomfortably close. "Dean, do you really think a four-year-old could have found his way out of a burning building all on his own, carrying such a heavy burden?"

Dean shivered again. It was right there, hovering on the edge of him actually remembering—light like a beacon leading him out of the house, all light and gold and warmth. He had thought it was his mother, because he hadn't yet known that she was what was burning their house to the ground.

"That I could have done more…" Castiel said, trailing sadly again, his eyes drooping further, so intensely blue, but bright and vibrant in a way so different from Sasha, "If I could have, please know, Dean, that I would have done anything. Yours was always going to be a heavy burden, more than the eight pound child in your arms that night. You, Dean, have the strength to choose a greater destiny than any man before you."

Okay, this was too much. Dean wasn't any sort of Messiah, that wasn't what this was about, he knew that, and yet everything these angels said to him made him sound so much better than he was. Michael had it right—Dean was just a guy, just a man, who had had a crazy life, that's true, but he was still just _Dean_. That's all he wanted to be.

"Forgive me again," Castiel said, pulling back finally from his close perusal of Dean's face, "I speak out of turn. Time is not on our side. I suppose it is selfish of me to want you to be…umm…" he trailed, and Dean thought it was kind of awesome that an angel could say 'umm'.

"Not such a dick to you?" he said, mustering up a smirk and shaking off the strange feeling of being with someone that yes, he did know, knew better than he knew most things really, and it felt beyond weird, sort of like having his parents with him.

Castiel matched Dean's smirk with a smile that Dean already knew he liked better than the blank, curious puppy look. What was it with him and people in his life that made him think of puppies?

"So," Dean tried to move things along, tried to forget he was talking to an angel, _his_ angel, "What's the mission, messenger boy? You got some news for us? Gotta admit, I didn't expect you so soon. Guess you guys work pretty fast."

"It is necessary," Castiel nodded, falling into a more business mode as well, and turning to lean back against the Impala when Dean did, "There are too many things for too few soldiers, but there are important tasks you can aid us with. Be assured, Dean, Malak is ready for war. He will be…recruiting since he has yet to acquire you."

"Recruiting?" Dean didn't like the sound of that. Michael had mentioned something to that fact already, but Dean didn't really know how to take it.

Again, Castiel nodded. "Some men and women who have ties to the supernatural will be more easily swayed to Malak's side. They could become powerful allies against us if he were to claim them first. Malak's power is limited here but mere suggestion may be enough in come cases. You must go to the Roadhouse. A powerful young man with abilities we do not yet know the extent of will be passing through there and he may be easily tempted to the dark."

Really, Dean had to snort at that. "Okay, _Yoda_," he grinned, "And this person would be?"

Points for the angel, Dean thought, coz the guy half-smirked in reply, also seemingly knowing the 'Yoda' reference, and Dean figured, why not, the guy had been watching _him_ for almost thirty years, he should know his fair share of pop culture. "Keep your eyes open," Castiel said, staring ever-intently like he could look right through Dean, deeper, "He will come to you."

"Thanks for the cryptic," Dean chuckled, looking up at the increasingly lighter sky as the sun rose higher, "Guess we can't expect everything to be handed over easily though, huh?" Not that Dean would mind a trip back to the Roadhouse. They hadn't been gone all that long but if some guy was going to be showing up there with supernatural abilities who, like Dean, could either end up playing for the blue marbles or the…huh. Dean hadn't really decided on the right color for Malak's side. Red, black, or yellow all seemed appropriate. Anyway, if this guy could still be swayed one way or the other, Dean was more than willing to help make sure he sided with the right team.

There was the sudden sound of what Dean could only recognize as flapping, and when he looked back at Castiel he saw that his new angel friend had decided to flutter away without so much as a 'seeya around'. Dean understood that times were tough, sure, and obviously Castiel, even if he was Dean's own personal angel of sorts, probably had other things to do involving this war they were in, but the disappearing act still really pissed Dean off.

"Hey! Some guardian angel you are!" Dean called out to the empty parking lot, only meaning his anger halfway since he kind of liked the guy already, "You didn't even let me finish grumbling! Though I guess you've probably heard enough of that after almost thirty years," he huffed to himself, "Damn it. These guys are as bad as the god damn demons with that bamfing crap." Dean smirked to himself as he said that but he wasn't feeling entirely uplifted right now. Just the opposite.

The high Dean had been feeling felt numbed. They had a direction, he liked that, and Mr. Angel emissary, Castiel, wasn't all that bad, if a little lacking in social norms, like knowing about personal bubbles and that staring at someone the entire time they're talking to you is a little unnerving. So there was no reason really why the high Dean had been feeling should be dwindling.

Dean thought of this unknown guy he was supposed to keep an eye out for. A young man, Castiel had said, maybe just a kid, like those boys in Minnesota who had spent five years—600 years—in Hell and been changed forever. If Dean's Hell had lasted even remotely that long he knew he would have lost himself long before then. He couldn't let Malak take somebody else. He knew what that man-demon-bastard's promises were really made of.

Deciding that organizing the trunk was less of a priority now, Dean merely cast his baby a loving glance before turning to head back inside the motel. As he did, for a moment he caught his reflection in the window of the passenger side door and he shivered even though his eyes remained green, not black, no longer black.

This was home, Dean reminded himself. This was real. He couldn't afford to doubt that again.

-----

Days of just him, Sam, Sasha and the girls in one old muscle car had not been enough, Dean realized, to really let them all know just how crazy they could make each other. Dean thought longingly of Sarah's red Camero back at the Roadhouse the closer they got to reaching it. Maybe they did need that second car. Dean could barely think straight with everyone trying to have different conversations with him at the same time. He had explained as short and to the point as possible that, hey, need to be at the Roadhouse to intercept some guy, so let's go, which really should have been the end of it.

Apparently not.

By the time they did reach the Roadhouse and Dean had explained to Jo just like he had explained separately—it seemed—to everyone else that Castiel had not been any more clear about who they were supposed to be looking for than any other supernatural creature had ever been with them, he almost could have driven off a cliff if it wouldn't mean putting the Impala back together. Again.

It was moments like that when Dean really missed it just being him and Sam. And Sasha of course, but that was a given. He loved the girls, it wasn't them that was driving him crazy, just the whole damn lot of them _together_. Maybe he had spoken too soon about enjoying having a bigger family. The thing about normal people's families was they actually got to be apart from one another on occasion. Lucky bastards.

When they did finally reach the Roadhouse it was so hopping mad busy that Dean almost thought he had stumbled upon a real B&B and not their hunter sanctuary. It had been so empty while Dean was recovering, not that Dean hadn't thought Ellen might have had a hand in that.

He did recognize one car among the many, if the more than likely legitimate Colorado plates told him anything. Dean had almost forgotten about the new addition to the Roadhouse. He happily pushed all thoughts of annoying passengers aside as they headed for the doors.

Sasha was wary as he always was when the place was busy, all the normal, not so enlightened hunters being around and all. So Dean gripped Sasha's wrist for a moment before they went inside, tossing him a quick smile that said, 'Relax, baby, you're safe'. It was about time Dean got to be the one reassuring again.

The inside of the Roadhouse made it look twice as busy as it had looked from outside, like a real bar instead of just a stopping point for hunters. The group hadn't so much as opened their mouths in greeting to Ellen before Jo was ducking behind the bar to lend her mother a hand. It was barely dinner time and already the place was crazy. Though Dean supposed this was like hunter happy hour since most of them would be high-tailing it come sundown to hit their hunts.

Soon enough, Sasha called over to Ellen to ask if she wanted yet another pair of hands, and suddenly the incubus was behind the counter too, helping collect empty glasses and even mixing some drinks. Luckily, most hunters liked their alcohol simple and strong, often without ice, so that all Sasha had to do was pour and keep up with demand. It also kept Sasha busy instead of over-thinking that every hunter in the place was giving him the eye.

"We'll wait til things settle down," Dean whispered to Sam. They weren't exactly in any rush if they had to wait for this guy to 'come to them'. Sam nodded, him and Sarah getting comfortable in a couple of the barstools. Seeing that every else was settled, Dean called to Ellen, "Hey! Your new border getting settled in? Thought I saw his car. He around somewhere?"

Ellen was busy pouring about four beers in tandem, but she looked up with a swift nod. "Upstairs. Back lounge up there seemed the best place for books. That kid's been organizing for days now. Go on and check on him for me, will ya?" Ellen managed a smile despite how she was obviously frazzled and thankful to have the extra help from Jo and Sasha.

Dean gave Sam a nod to say he was going to take Ellen up on that, and he quickly made for the stairs. It amazed him how much quieter the whole building seemed as he left the noise of the bar behind him. Even though he hadn't spent much time in the upstairs lounge, he remembered how to get there, past most of the main rooms, last door on the right, where he had once overheard Sam and Sasha mourning over him when he wasn't even gone yet.

It was in that room, just as Ellen had said, that Dean found who he was looking for. Wally was sleeping on the back of a chair, purring contentedly while a tall, lanky brunette was bent over a box of books, swearing liberally at the lack of organization. The place was packed with hard and soft cover tomes, most of which had yet to be placed on any of the newly acquired shelves.

"Shit, where the fuck is that book on dimensional rifts?"

"Hey, impressionable ears, man," Dean grinned, walking up to pet Wally as she awoke happily at his arrival. The brunette, however, jumped, turning with a surprised but pleased smile when he saw that Dean was the one who had interrupted him, "How ya been, Iain? You sure this is what you wanna do with that Library Science Masters of yours?"

Iain Wilde was as much an orphan as the rest of them now, damn shame as that was, and to Dean's surprise, he had discovered from the others that the guy had called Dean's cell at some point while he was…southernly engaged. Apparently, Iain wanted to lend a hand. Of course Iain was no hunter, that was sure, but he figured maybe the hunter crowd could use a little Giles to add to their Buffy and get some of the more likely research tools condensed into one accessible place. The Roadhouse was ideal for that kind of thing anyway so it made a sort of sense to have a supernatural librarian on hand.

Still, it wasn't exactly a dream job. Iain couldn't make much money, if any, but he'd get his meals for free, have a place to live, and apparently his mother had left him enough money and whatnot that he had been able to buy out most of his town's supernatural texts, among others.

Hell, maybe for this guy it was a dream job. Iain was all smiles, all teeth when he stood and approached Dean with an outstretched hand. "Dean," he beamed, shaking Dean's hand fervently, "Wow, it's so good to see you. Oh, uhh…sorry about the crazy mess," he shrugged at the littering of books, "Ellen keeps ragging on me but it's a tough job trying to think of the right categories for this shit, ya know? Plus I kinda don't mind the ragging. Reminds me of my mom." His smile went a little somber but didn't disappear. Few things had the ability to make it completely disappear, Dean remembered.

Dean had been happy to discover that when the others answered Iain's call originally they had made up some story about him just being out of touch for awhile, so Iain knew nothing of Dean's time in Hell. They had also convinced Iain to hold off for awhile. Then later, while Dean was MIA on his little road trip, Iain had called Sasha, saying he was serious about this, had all his things settled, and would drop everything to come to the Roadhouse if they would only let him. Again, they had more or less turned him away.

Finally, Dean had been the one to call Iain after learning all of that, fully intent at the time on telling the guy to stick to his original plan of college research librarian and to leave the supernatural to the expects.

But Dean hadn't been able to do it. Iain sounded so genuine, so certain that nothing could make him happy but being apart of the good fight, and who was Dean to refuse him? Ellen was a little pissed at Dean for pretty much going behind her back to invite some strange guy to live with her, but Dean knew she would learn to love the guy. And the idea did have merit after all—having a research librarian for hunters. Besides, Iain fit into their oversized family amazingly well, especially now that he didn't have one of his own.

"I'm sure it'll all come together," Dean said, much as the room looked like a disaster area now. He moved around to sit in the chair Wally was still stretched out over the back of, and Iain plopped himself down in one opposite. "You get any of Bobby's books yet? He's the one you need to consolidate with." Bobby Singer practically had a library all on his own.

Iain's face twisted into a frustrated pout. "Some, I guess. He's real nice and all, and he says he gets that it would make more sense to have a library like this in the Roadhouse, since hunters come here for info a lot anyway, but he's really protective of his stuff. Even when he has freakin' duplicates. He's only parted with a few things so far. I guess I can relate. I'd never be able to part with any of my shit." He laughed. Then suddenly he seemed to realize he still had a book in one hand and dropped it down onto another randomly assembled pile. "So," he said, "No one ever said where you were all that time before. Did something happen? I mean, I guess shit always happens, you're hunters, for fuck's sake, saving damsels in distress and crap like that, but…I don't know, I guess everyone I talked to sounded kind of out of it til you called me. Everything okay?"

Dean had no intention of going into the mess that was his life right now, even if he liked Iain, and even if he thought this guy was one of the few that might actually be able to listen without freaking out. "It's fine now. Nothing we couldn't handle. Kinda here for part of it, actually. We got some…new contacts," he said in regards to his _Wing_ Commander, Castiel, "Apparently there's someone we need to watch out for here at the Roadhouse. Might even make a new friend if we're lucky."

"Hunter?" Iain asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Guess he might be if he's s'pposed to come through here."

A lopsided smirk worked its way onto Iain's face. "I don't suppose you know if he's single?" he tried to say playfully, which sounded more like awkwardly, and really all Dean could do after that was laugh.

"I'll keep my eyes peeled and be sure and ask him for ya," he replied. Iain wasn't like Leven, Dean reminded himself, all confident flirting and 'look at my rainbow flag' obviousness. Dean found it sort of refreshing, or maybe that was because he knew he didn't have to worry about being hit on. Anymore. "Want any help with this stuff?" Dean asked. He had time to kill, he figured, and Iain looked nearly as frazzled as Ellen had downstairs.

Iain beamed brightly again. "Fuck yeah. I mean…please, you have no idea how much I need an extra pair of eyes right now." He hopped up from his chair and reached back down to pick up the book he had dropped earlier. He studied it a moment. "I could really use a hunter's help categorizing. Where do you think a book on demon sex should go?" he made a face as he asked that.

It took all of Dean's willpower not to bust out laughing again, coz Iain was being so serious, and yet all Dean could think of was that aisle dedicated to demon sex in that one library he and Sasha had made out in. Okay, so maybe they had made out in more than one library by now, but he remembered that one vividly.

Standing to join Iain, Dean walked over and patted his friend good-naturedly on the back.

"We'll make a section for it," he said.

-----

Sasha came and joined Dean a while later, not because there was anything pressing going on, Dean knew, but because the incubus just couldn't stand the thought of leaving Dean alone for too long. Especially when he was in the company of Iain who no matter how much Dean insisted wasn't going to be making any moves on him still was an apparent threat to the redhead.

Of course you never would have been able to tell Sasha felt that way judging off of how nice he acted around Iain. Dean just knew. He knew about possessive. Hell, he and Sasha would go toe to toe if they ever had a competition.

Apparently, Jo was still helping Ellen downstairs, falling easily back into her barmaid role, and Sam and Sarah had taken it upon themselves to get their things settled into their rooms. After a while longer of book organizing, Dean left Sasha and Iain so he could check if Sam had bothered to bring in all of their stuff or just his and Sarah's, and to see if maybe things had settled down in the bar yet.

He came to the room he knew Sam usually frequented, the door slightly ajar so that just as Dean was about to knock, he picked up on a bit of the conversation going on inside. Again, he was reminded of that time he eavesdropped on Sam and Sasha up here, but it's not like he ever felt guilty about things like that, so he really didn't mind eavesdropping again.

"We could probably save room in the Impala if we left some of this warmer clothing behind," Sarah was saying, "Like your heavier jacket. Not that I expect Dean's leather to end up anywhere but on him or safely close by even if it was ninety out," she giggled.

Sam laughed with her. "Yeah. And he says I'm the clingy one. He's much more of a creature of habit than me. I'm sort of loving that lately though. Means he still remembers…ya know," he finished lamely.

_How to be human_, Dean thought in Sam's stead, even though Sam wouldn't say that, privately to Sarah or not. And yeah, Dean did remember how to be human now. Most of the time.

"Sometimes I wonder…I wonder if he's just faking it all so we won't know how bad it really is. You have no idea how many times I've thought of looking in his head to…check. And I know that'd be awful, I should trust that he'd tell me if he was still…still so messed up, but…but it's _Dean_ and he never—"

"Sam," Sarah interrupted with humor and understanding in her tone to counter Sam's fervent rambling, "Whatever Dean's feeling right now, I think if it was still as bad as before, we'd know. He wasn't exactly good at hiding it when he first came back."

No shit, Dean thought.

"And besides," Sarah went on, "I really think he'd tell you this time. After everything, even running away and still having the courage to come back to us, he'd tell you. He doesn't want a repeat of all that mess any more than you do. Than any of us do. It is possible to worry too much you know, though I realize how difficult that is for you, Mr. Winchester." Her tone was teasing now, a grin in the words, Dean could almost see it. He imagined Sarah and Sam were met together somewhere near the door, close into each other's bodies.

When Sam didn't reply but instead Dean began to hear the awkward silence and slightly damp noises of kissing, he knew he was right. It should have grossed him out a little—Sammy making-out on any level—and it did on principle, but just like the day way back when, when they left Sarah the first time and Sam had rushed back to her to claim what even Dean could admit was one hell of a kiss, Dean felt proud more than anything. He felt peaceful. Strange to feel something like 'peaceful' at the prospect of Sammy macking on someone, but that's what it was—peace.

The one thing Dean had wished he could give his brother since the night of Jessica's death was the very thing Sam had managed to find on his own, what he had right that moment on the other side of the door. And extra points for Sammy, coz Sarah was smoking hot and one damn fine sniper on hunts.

"I just…I can't disappoint him again," Sam said suddenly, the kiss having ended obviously and Sam's voice back to petulant, "Now it's not about me turning evil and being…god, I don't know what. I even had an angel, an _angel_ tell me I was doing the right thing using my powers in a good way. But if Dean thought it was his duty to make sure I never went darkside, then he better know I'm gonna be just as stubborn to make sure we don't lose him that way either. I trust him to make the right decision, it's Malak I'm worried about. I still can't believe the bastard hasn't made another play for Dean yet."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" Sarah asked, patient as always with Sam's Dean-obsession. Dean knew that's what it was. He had the same thing with Sam, this overpowering, nothing else matters connection to Sam and the strongest desire imaginable to make sure nothing ever hurt his brother again.

"No news isn't always good news," Sam said forlornly, "I know this other angel sent us here, but I have this bad feeling, I don't know, something that just isn't sitting right about this guy we're supposed to find. He could be really bad news if he's as close to falling into Malak's hands as it sounds."

The smile was in Sarah's words again when she said, "Sam, according to several otherworldly sources, Dean is only _one_ step away from falling into Malak's hands, and I don't think any of us consider him 'bad news'. It's all a matter of perspective. For all we know, this new guy could be someone we're really going to need one day when the shit finally hits the fan. And besides," her tone flirty now, the grin wider, Dean was certain, "There's no way Malak could contend with that Winchester charm. Some of the strongest, most willful people I know have fallen for it."

Dean smirked to himself, couldn't help it, especially when Sam responded, smile in his voice too, "Well I suppose you do have a point there," damp noises again, a contented hum from Sarah, a satisfying pop as they broke apart, "You know…I think I might be in love with you."

Sarah giggled. "You only _think_ so, huh?"

"Just a little."

"I suppose that's good then since I…_think_…I might be in love with you too."

Aww, ain't they just too cute?

Cue Dean's entrance, he smirked to himself as he pushed on the door.

"Hey, guys, you didn't happen to bring up our stuff too, did ya?" he said as he walked right in, of course noticing that Sam and Sarah were very close to the door and each other, and were snapping away from each other after what was obviously another kiss, "Oh, hey," Dean held up his hands like he had no idea what he was walking in on until he did, "Shut the door _all the way_ if you're gonna get frisky, will ya?"

"Dean," Sam said in his best perturbed voice.

"We set yours and Sasha's stuff in your usual room. It wasn't taken," Sarah smiled at him, more understanding of the brotherly banter than the other brother involved in the brotherly banter.

"Thanks," Dean grinned, eating up that Sam looked really annoyed with his older brother right now, "How did things look downstairs when you left? Clearing out at all? Get the chance to mention anything to Ellen about our mystery guy."

Seeing as how he was now entirely thwarted in the continuing to kiss his girlfriend scenario, Sam sighed and moved to his duffle where he began to unpack. "Still pretty nuts," Sam admitted, "We didn't mention anything to Ellen yet. We were thinking of going down to lend her some more hands after we get settled. How's Iain doing?"

"Cursing up a storm in there and loving every minute of it," Dean chuckled, "I think he'll fit in fine if he can stay out of the line of fire. Tell ya what, I'll grab him and the redhead and we'll meet ya downstairs. You know," Dean turned to Sarah before leaving, "I'm thinking Ellen might be needing Jo to stick around more than she's letting on. Don't suppose our little Miss Harvelle would be up for that though." It wasn't that Dean wanted to get rid of Jo, of course, just that he was starting to feel crowded now that the 'one big happy family' thing was wearing a little thin.

Sarah smiled at him knowingly. "It might be a good idea actually. Someone has to keep the hunter demands met or the whole system would fall apart. How _did_ you boys manage without it?" she winked. Then her expression fell a little as she glanced over at Sam. "Maybe…I could be of some help around here too."

The taller hunter froze mid-motion as he was removing his shaving kit from the bottom of his duffle, the little brown leather bag stuck suspended as he stared back at her. Dean suddenly felt like he was invading a lot more than he had been while eavesdropping from outside. "What?" Sam gaped, "You mean you and Jo would stay here?"

"And still help when needed," she nodded, "We've actually discussed it, and…five's a crowd," she looked knowingly at Dean again, "But even more so, it could be a liability. Ellen obviously needs the help here, and we're going to need a base when things start really getting towards that end-all battle, which we all know is going to come out of the woodwork eventually. We can still help with cases, maybe do a few of our own nearby, but…with what's going on right now it might be best for everyone if Jo and I stayed where we can be of the most help. I was going to mention it sooner," she said to Sam apologetically.

"I…think I'm gonna…go," Dean started backing out of the room. He didn't want Sam to know that he was secretly cheering this development. Sarah was right anyway—five people on a hunt could be a liability. If numbers always made things better they would have Bobby on every hunt they ever did.

Sam didn't really acknowledge Dean leaving, but Dean definitely heard the beginnings of their conversation after he had gone. Something of a "So you were just humoring me about making extra room in the Impala" that sounded a little tenser than Dean wanted to leave things. He was pleased, however, after a little extra eavesdropping—what did it matter now anyway—that it didn't sound like a building fight, more of a sappy, 'but I'll miss you' kind of talk that Dean definitely didn't need to hear all of.

This development wouldn't be a forever anyway, Dean knew that, and he didn't want it to be. Hell, if he could have what he wanted he would wish for an end to the world even needing hunters, with him and Sasha living all domestic somewhere, and Sarah and Sam having some picket fence life with two kids and a dog, and the Roadhouse would just be a regular bar they all got together at once in a while.

Well, maybe more than once in a while, because Dean didn't think he could stand life without seeing Sam everyday. When and how things had gotten to that point, he had no idea.

Wherever the lover's not-quite-quarrel had ended, things seemed to be okay between Sam and Sarah when they were all downstairs in the bar again later. The hunters had thinned out, an array of them, most of whom Dean had never seen. He figured it couldn't be a bad thing if there were always new hunters to help the cause though, considering how many of them ended up dead on a regular basis.

Finally, when things weren't quite as insane, and all of them had helped with dishes, wiping off tables, and working things out with who needed what for way longer than they would have wanted, the group settled in at the bar and began to finally fill Ellen in on their mission. They couldn't tell her much, but then they didn't know much, just that they had to stick around and hope their mystery guy presented himself.

There were a handful of hunters still around at this point, most quietly, privately, and diligently working on their own cases, a few huddled together to team up on something, and even that one Asian tarot reader Dean had seen once before. None of them paid much mind to the group at the bar.

"So I guess you got a few extra hands for awhile, Ellen, while we figure this out and see if our guy shows up," Dean said, enjoying his first beer in quite some time since he had been trying to keep a better eye on that after his love affair with a few bottles of Jack when he first got back from Hell.

"Can't say I mind that," said Ellen, "Nothing to go on though? No one's left any messages about heading this way, if you're wondering, though few hunters ever do. Usually, it's just that they happened to be in the area, needed a place to unwind, meet up, regroup, what have you, and they're off again. As you can see," she nodded about the emptying bar, "Don't know who your mystery man might be. He'd have to be a hunter though. Can't imagine anyone else would know about this place."

Dean nodded. A hunter would be quite the ally on Malak's side too. Of course that made Dean wonder. "I know this is gonna sound weird," he said to Ellen, lowering his voice as much as he could, so that the others all leaned in towards him, "But I don't suppose you've ever heard of any younger hunters with…you know…abilities of some kind." Dean realized how stupid that sounded since he was sitting between two of the obvious examples.

Ellen eyed Sam and Sasha as if to say that very thing. "Not any I can think of besides present company, not that I'd imagine any hunter would be dumb enough to let something like that slip, as you boys know. There's sure plenty of strange ones who might be hiding more than a troubled past. A few young ones, not many though. How young are you thinking?"

Dean was about to say, again, that he had no idea. And really if he thought about it this guy might not be young at all. What was young to an angel, after all? So he opened his mouth to say that, shrugging as he did, but another voice beat him to the punch. "Just about your age, kids, twenty-four, twenty-five, I'd say. But if age was a factor, lemme tell ya, I wouldn't be having my little problem."

All eyes lifted up to the other end of the bar, a few stools down from Iain who had been listening intently and loving every minute of being in any way apart of a potential hunt. The librarian looked pretty spooked to suddenly have someone sitting so close to him though, especially since no one had been there a moment before.

Worse was, Dean and Sam recognized the guy immediately, sitting there so casual amongst them, and both of them reached for their guns with the same accusation of 'why the hell aren't you _dead'_ on their tongues.

The guy waved his hand and when Dean clutched the butt of his gun from inside his jeans he was suddenly making a fist as his fingers found nothing but empty air. "Wouldn't want you boys to do that now, not with these more trigger happy fellows around us," the guy gestured over his shoulder at the remaining hunters, "And anyway…guns? You know that's not going to do anything to me."

"Yeah?" Dean growled, "Well apparently the stake that was supposed to kill you didn't do much either." He had to say it. He had been there after all, seen it, felt it, knew that the god damn _Trickster_ he and Sam and eventually Bobby had hunted in Springfield, Ohio was gone and never coming back. Only obviously that was way off the mark because here the guy was, same smaller stature and shit-eating grin, fine as anything like he had never been staked through the heart.

"Can't blame me if you weren't as thorough as you thought," the Trickster shrugged, patting the counter suddenly as he looked at Ellen, "And honey, I don't suppose you'd whip me up a Whiskey Sour. Wait," he grinned when Ellen glowered at him, "Allow me." Another wave of his hand and suddenly there was a drink, a Whiskey Sour surely, even in a glass identical to the ones Ellen used. "You've been working so hard tonight," he smiled at the barmaid.

Ellen continued to glower. "Young man," she said dangerously, "You ever call me 'honey' again and it's not gonna matter what you are or what's not suppose to kill you."

The Trickster ate that threat right up, sending a wink across the bar at Sam and Dean. "Feisty one, huh?"

Thankfully, Sasha reached over the bar to grab Ellen's arm before she could promptly grab the Trickster by the throat and throttle him, which as much as Ellen's threats weren't to be trifled with, probably wouldn't do them any good.

Sam and Dean had told Sasha about the Trickster at some point, maybe Sarah and Jo too, but even for those who might not know what was going on, they all seemed to defer the choice of action to the Winchesters.

"Give us one reason not to cry wolf to this crowd," Dean warned, "Coz I'm sure they would just love a fresh hunt that wandered so willingly into their midst."

"Especially if we mention your track record," Sam seethed beside Dean. The Trickster had only killed a few people in Springfield, some he had just neatly taught a lesson, which was pretty damn awesome, Dean could admit, and had admitted at the time. But the guy had still killed people and that just wasn't okay.

"Now, now, I'm not as bad as you think," the Trickster raised his hands like an offering of surrender, "It was easy enough to get you to kill a decoy. You think I would have had any trouble killing you boys too back then if I had really wanted to? You were far too much fun. Besides, I can respect hunters. Got quite a kick out of it, I'll admit, when _Deklin's_ boy joined up with you," he said with emphasis on the name, "Figured I owed him and Sol more than enough to keep an eye out for their son. Least I could do really." He grinned wide, took a swig of his manifested drink, and matched gazes with Sasha across the bar.

"How…?" the incubus breathed, his expression suddenly blank as he sank back down in his stool after releasing Ellen, "You…knew my parents?"

Dean was all kinds of ready to intercept this. "Jackass. Don't you dare play that card," he warned the Trickster, "You have some business with us, you better spill it. But don't you dare think you can mess with any of us like that."

Again, the Trickster held up his hands in surrender. "Who's messing with anything? I'm a lot of things, Dean, and I can do a lot of things too, but I can't read minds, can't steal little bits of info like those demons or some common shapeshifter. Knowing how much you'd get a kick out of my girls that time was just good intuition."

Dean blanched. Oh yeah, he'd almost forgotten about the girls, though considering they had kicked his ass in lingerie it really should have been a lasting memory.

Before Dean could shake himself out of that, the Trickster was moving on and looking at Sasha again. "Actually, I met Sol first, way back when, maybe 1700s, somewhere around there. Damn, was she something else. Even I couldn't have made a work of art like that, believe me. Sweet thing too, always helping her fellow man," he smirked, "Always giving me a hard time too when our paths crossed. Only reason I'm alive today is because of her. See, good old Deklin was going to succeed where you boys failed," he glanced at Sam and Dean, "Don't think I'll be telling you how, though. I'm no fool. But back to the point, just when I was about to join old Davy Jones, or whoever, there stepped in Sol to my defense. Deklin was a softy anyway, don't let anyone tell ya differently, kid," he winked again at Sasha, "He spared me. On a few conditions though. See, we…came to a little agreement."

"Agreement?" Sasha prompted, utterly entranced now at the prospect of his parents having known this god, something few people could say—having known Deklin and Solaris Kelly as a _couple_.

The Trickster nodded, took another drink of his Whiskey Sour. "Deklin was still human then, still playing that cat and mouse game with your Mom where she'd disappear and then suddenly show up again on a hunt to lend a hand. And lend several other body parts if I remember," he waggled an eyebrow. When no one so much as blinked at his inappropriate comment, he coughed and moved on. "Anyway, they made me promise, on penalty of death, obviously, that my little 'tricks', as Deklin called them, wouldn't end with anyone dead or maimed. Of course I thought at the time, where's the fun in that, but your Mom really got to me, kiddo. Said killing was beneath a man of my…ingenuity," he said fondly as he recollected, "Like I said, she was something else. I just had to agree after that."

"Yeah," Sam interrupted with a huff, "And we know how long that lasted. Did you even wait a day, a week after making that deal before you were back to your old _tricks_?"

The Trickster huffed right back at him. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, " he shook his head, "I always keep my word to a beautiful woman. Course neither Deklin nor Solaris said the deal extended past their deaths, so I figured it was a moot point after that," he shrugged.

This time it was Sasha who was suddenly making to bolt over to where the Trickster was sitting and throttle him. Dean almost hated to have to stop the incubus.

"Sasha, kiddo," the Trickster said appeasingly, "No need for violence. I mean no disrespect to those fine folks of yours. Maybe Solaris was right, maybe killing is beneath me. Lasting effects are always more satisfying anyway. I suppose I just fell into some bad habits after they were gone. Don't think you're the only one who carries some resentment for that. They were good people. Not too many hunters would let something not human live, even if they liked a guy."

Dean understood the reference. Yeah, they were an accommodating group where it came to being accepting of things not human, but that didn't mean they were going to suddenly trust someone they had hunted before with good reason. "You have something to say, pal, get to the damn point already," Dean said, hands still holding onto Sasha who was next to his stool. He couldn't believe their conversation hadn't aroused hunter suspicion yet.

"Point is," the Trickster conceded, leaning closer over the bar top, "I need your help. We have a mutual…well, maybe not enemy for you, but quarry, I guess? See I'm betting that 'kid' you're looking for is the same one that's headed this way and who's been giving me so much trouble lately. You help me keep him off my back, not only do you get your hands on the guy you're looking for so you can…whatever it is you need him for, but I'll make the same pack with you as I did Red's parents. Just harmless pranks and good natured lessons learned from here on out. No killing. Or maiming. Scouts honor," he held up his hand.

This had bad idea written all over it. So Dean was definitely going to regret that he kind of wanted to agree.

He looked to Sasha first since 'Red' had been seething a little himself for awhile there. Now Sasha just looked pensive. He shrugged when Dean looked at him. Most of the others did too. Only Sam seemed wholly against it, but even he only looked that way at first, eventually just shrugging at Dean too, much as he was scowling. Which of course meant that Dean had to make the decision. He kind of hated being the leader.

"How do you know this hunter giving you trouble is the one we're looking for?" Dean asked cautiously.

"You said powers, right? Abilities," the Trickster said in what he probably thought was a fairly decent imitation of Dean, "Well, my guy's definitely got some. Not sure what they are, all I know is somehow he always knows how to find me. Well…" for a moment the Trickster actually looked troubled, which just wasn't him since the guy seemed capable of laughing off anything, "Scratch that. He doesn't come to me so much as…I go to him."

There was a moment of dumbfounded and very warranted silence. "I think I'm sensing the heart of your problem here," Sasha said finally, dripping sarcasm.

The Trickster grinned. "Deklin's sense of humor too. Such a pleasure. I don't _mean_ to go to him, I just…do. It's like if he's within a certain range I just can't help it. Something about him just…draws me in. No sexual innuendos please," he eyed Sasha and Dean, which was really starting to bug Dean since the guy kept _eyeing_ all of them, "I think it's just that he feels like a really good catch, see, someone who just smells like the kinda guy I love to mess with, and suddenly when I get to him, it's not someone to mess with at all but the damn kid again."

"Glamour?" Sam questioned with a look at Sasha.

The incubus shook his head. "Wouldn't fool a god's senses."

"No witchcraft either," the Trickster supplied, "This is something natural. What, I don't know, but he's like a supernatural magnet, whether you want to be drawn in or not. You better be careful," he pointed seriously for a moment at Sasha and Sam, "Make sure he doesn't find out what you are or he might pull you in too. Whatever power this kid has, it's been lethal to more beasties than I could count. I've only made it this long coz of what I am. I am still master of my domain, you better believe it, but…I won't lie. This guy's got me worried. Not like you two," he grinned at Sam and Dean.

Oh, this guy was such a pleasure. "So lemme just get this straight. You want us to do what we'd do anyway, meet up with this guy, but with the added amendment that we don't point him your direction once we've made nice? And all just because you say you made some deal with Sasha's parents back in the day and you promise this time you'll actually be good for it? Yeah, I'm thinking that sounds like some shit deal, buddy." Dean really wished his gun was back in his jeans, even if firing it wouldn't do much good.

"Think about it, Dean," the Trickster stood, walked around Iain, Sarah, Sam, and came to stand by Sasha in front of Dean's chair, completely unafraid, "We could be friends, do a lot of good for each other. You think us lowly demi-gods don't know what's going on with the higher ups and way down lows? We know a war's brewing. _The_ war. Personally, I'd much rather fight on your side. Hell on earth wouldn't be nearly as much fun as dealing with you humans. It's a win-win." His smile was devious, not anything trustworthy, and yet Dean couldn't immediately think of anything to counter the guy's argument.

"I'm not too thrilled about making deals these days," Dean said, which sure as hell wasn't a lie.

The Trickster's expression fell to something entirely serious, lasting just long enough for him to say, "Couldn't have happened to a less deserving guy, Dean-O. Besides, I really do owe Deklin and Solaris a few things," he nudged Sasha in the side, who stood rigidly, not replying, "I'm on your side. So why don't you just…think about it. Okay?" Then he was gone, blink of an eye, even swifter than Malak or Castiel's disappearance that morning.

_Gods_. What side of the checker board _didn't_ Dean hate, he wondered.

For whatever reason, supernatural or otherwise, none of the other patrons seemed to have taken much notice of their conversation with the Trickster. So the group gathered back together, huddling a little closer at the bar, and Dean was about to ask a little more formally what the others thought the best choice of action might be when Ellen hushed him.

"I know what boy he means, and probably the one you're looking for too, only one it could be," she said, eyeing Jo for a moment like she had to know too, though Jo just furrowed her brow, "Sounds like the right one by that description. Right age. And…damn, I could hardly forget the stories I've heard from the boy himself and other hunters, how evil just seems to flock to him. He's a damn good hunter, I can tell ya."

"Who is he?" Sasha pressed.

"Known by several versions of his name depending on who ya ask. Real name's Sonji…something or other. Asian kid. Goes by Solrin too. Sometimes just Sol."

That made Sasha shiver beside Dean. "That's a bit unsettling," the incubus mumbled, since just as the Trickster had reminded them all, Sol was Sasha's mother's nickname too.

"So what's this guy's problem?" Dean asked. He didn't like that Ellen looked so spooked.

"You remember what I first told you about Gordon Walker when you met him?"

Dean could hardly forget since 'really good hunter' also came with warnings of how they should stay the hell away from Gordon coz he was nuts and likely to get them killed. It really didn't make him feel much better about the ever-worsening and complicating situation that Ellen's expression was so damn fierce.

"Compared to this kid," she said, "Gordon was the boy next door."

tbc...

A/N: Oh I'm excited for you to meet Sol. All credit to him goes to Kouken from y!gallery who wondered if I might fit the character in, and it just fit so perfectly with this arc, I couldn't resist using him as the new recruit Malak's after.

How was Castiel? I was nervous using him, as I don't want him to be like some of the brainless versions I've read, but I don't want him quite like he is on the show either. Hmmm.

Sorry again for my high-strung, overreaction about the last chapter, but all for the best again. I adore all my reviewers, I just think some people are better at nicely critiquing than others. See reviews by Haley as example--sorry to spotlight you dear, but you are so good at doing it the way that makes me think instead of feeling like crap. :-)

Uh, and...yeah. You guys rock. Remember to check out Saving Faith's stuff, linked at the website. I'll ask permission to get a pic up of Sol on the website after you've met him personally. More Wally in the next part just for Dianna Wickam, and be sure you check her new stuff too as it is making me all wonderfully nostalgic . :-)

Crim


	78. Part 3: A Taste of Heaven and Hell

I've been re-reading off and on and I think this line from Dean's birthday way back when sums up the whole fic quite nicely:

"Well..." Dean sputtered, giving the hips beneath his hands a good squeeze, "_Incubus_."

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Part 3: A Taste of Heaven and Hell

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A few more hunters had come and gone, most of them gone by the time it was getting late enough for people to head to bed. None of the hunters that had shown up in the later hours proved to be their quarry, Sonji Lorin, however. Bobby had known the guy's full name when they called him. His advice in the matter had been just as daunting as Ellen's, that this kid—okay, so maybe not so much a kid if he was the same age as Sam and Sasha—did not play well with others. He was apparently more of a loner than Sasha had been in that respect, and for good reason. Most hunters found him downright unsettling.

His abilities remained a mystery but seemed to center around drawing evil to him. Sounded more like a curse as far as Dean was concerned. The most they could do for now was take that angel's—Castiel's—advice and wait until this Sol guy came to them. The Trickster had made it sound like the guy was headed their way anyway.

Right. The Trickster. God damn…_god_.

Most of the others had gone to bed, but Dean's thoughts stayed on the Trickster and his proposal, keeping the hunter restless. It wasn't that Dean questioned whether or not it was a good thing for the Trickster to stop killing his victims, but there was no way to know how trustworthy the guy actually was, especially considering _what_ he was. Maybe Sol had good reason to hunt him. Who was Dean to tell a fellow hunter to leave a viable bad guy alone?

Dean would have been upset that the others had all looked to him so readily to take point, but then it was what he had wanted once before, for them to listen to him instead of always going over his head. But it also left him more vulnerable to make a wrong choice instead of a right one, and they all knew that one wrong choice on Dean's part could mean the end of pretty much everything.

Well, Dean didn't really know what it would mean, but he knew it couldn't possibly be anything good if it was what Malak wanted.

So when most of the gang was heading for bed and Ellen had locked the place up for the night—hunters knew better than to come calling on the Roadhouse after a certain hour, unless it was an emergency or they wanted a few bullets put in their brain—Dean had told Sasha not to worry about waiting up for him, that he just needed to think awhile before he hit the hay. The incubus, understanding as he was, had nodded maybe a little reluctantly but left Dean alone.

By now Dean had lost track of time, lying back on the couch up in the, well, _Library_ now, where books were still strewn about waiting for Iain to finish filing them away. Iain had his own room at the end of the hall, one of the larger ones since it was pretty much permanent. He seemed to be getting along well enough.

Absently, Dean picked at a string on his jeans, knees bent up a little as he laid back and tried to find some train of thought that didn't give him the chills. He could leave well enough alone for now, wait and see what happened with Sol before he made any decisions, but the decision would still have to be made.

Was the Trickster a safe ally? Was Sonji, I-come-with-a-warning, any safer? Dean half wanted to call out to his angel—still so fucking weird, _his_ angel—and ask for advice. But that just didn't sit quite right with him. He needed to decide these things on his own. He knew that.

"Prrrp?" came a sudden questioning chirp from somewhere below Dean. He recognized the sound immediately.

Smiling, Dean peered over the side of the couch. "Hey, girl, can't sleep either?" he smiled at Wally, Teddy bear-sized ball of fluff that she was. He was pleased to see her back in chimera form, even though it was generally safer if she stayed a cat. He wondered for a moment if anyone had bothered to explain to Iain that the Roadhouse cat was actually a failed witch's familiar. There were so many ways Dean could have fun with that.

"Prrrp," Wally chirped again, climbing up onto the couch using Dean's nearby arm as support. She weighed next to nothing, less than she should, Dean often thought, since her appearance said she would have to be at least as heavy as a large tom cat. Maybe she was all fur, he mused, stroking her head and fuzzy ears as she settled on his stomach. Actually, she more like sat, so much like a person that Dean had to giggle at how cute it was.

Yeah, he could admit it—he was a sucker for cute. Sam wouldn't have gotten his way so often when they were kids otherwise. "Are we going to have some kinda heart to heart?" he joked, "Coz I'm finally starting to feel a little sleepy here." He was very sleepy all of a sudden, probably because Wally was just so warm and rumbled as she purred on his chest.

Wally cocked her head, reminding Dean instantly of Mr. Angel and how he had looked almost exactly the same way when he was confused.

"Wonder what he'd think of you…?" Dean mumbled to himself, scratching Wally under the chin. She purred more loudly, pushing into his hand. "So what did ya wanna talk about, Wally?" Dean asked almost seriously, "Still trying to figure out why I don't smell all wrong anymore? Had you real freaked for awhile, didn't I?" Dean's voice was soft as he said that, trailing. He knew she could understand everything he said, always could, but he was sort of glad she couldn't answer back.

Instead, the chimera answered the only way she could, standing back up on her little feet and walking up closer to Dean's face. She peered at him, leaning forward like a curious child so that her large blue-grey eyes took up his entire vision. He knew what she was looking for—the black eyes, some sign that what had frightened her was still hiding within Dean somewhere. She seemed to frown for a moment, her face so suddenly human, maybe because of her eyes and the way her expressions were so much more complex than a cat's.

"There's still some in me, isn't there," Dean asked without asking. He had suspected as much. That wonderful high he had been on since Dave had begun to dwindle more and more with the reality of what was to come. He wondered if he would ever escape Malak fully, if it was even possible. "Well," Dean took a breath, picking Wally up by her furry sides and situating her in the crook of his arm where she curled up gratefully without fuss, "Good thing you can tell when there's more of that bastard in me than is okay. Coz I'm gonna count on you…I'm counting on you, Wally…to sound the alarm if it ever happens again. Gotta warn the others for me…if it happens…and they don't know. And I don't…know. Okay?"

Dean looked down at Wally snuggled against him. That was definitely a frown he saw, sadness in those large eyes. She reached up towards his face and pressed one of her tiny human hands to his cheek.

There was no reason why Dean should feel halfway to crying. No god damn reason at all. "I'll take that as a promise," he whispered to her. At least it was one thing he could count on, even if it was small, even if a warning hiss from a chimera might not be enough to save the people he cared about.

"Dean?"

A sudden voice from the doorway made Dean jump. Wally jumped too, which, because she had been trained well, meant she jumped and morphed at the same time, immediately returning to her guise as a cat. She scurried out of Dean's arms and peered over the back of the couch towards the door. A second later she had popped right back to Chimera mode and was climbing up the back of the couch, waiting to be held.

Even if Dean hadn't recognized the voice, Wally's reaction would have given it away eventually. He stayed kicked back, watching fondly as Sasha came into his line of sight and scooped Wally up into his arms, to which she began purring loud as ever.

"Now that just ain't fair at all," Dean mock whined, smile on his lips despite it, "Just gotta keep rubbing it in my face that she loves you more, doncha?"

Sasha smiled, looking rumpled and tired like he had tried to sleep without Dean but couldn't. He was dressed for bed, that much was obvious, and modestly for him in sleep pants and a T-shirt.

Slowly, he came around the side of the couch and Dean pulled his legs in so the incubus could sit on the end, Wally still in his arms, rubbing contentedly into his chest.

"Must be a pheromone thing," he shrugged, smirking like he knew it was more than just that. Sasha had been Wally's safe haven, her first friend in the Roadhouse. She would always have a special attachment to him. But it was Sasha more than the chimera that Dean was watching as they sat there, Dean still mostly lying back. "So, you…come up with anything?" Sasha asked. He looked like he would completely deflate if Dean mentioned wanting to be alone some more.

Dean definitely didn't want to be alone. He had welcomed Wally's entrance. He welcomed Sasha's even more. "Not really," Dean said, sitting up with a stretch, "Probably better if I sleep on it, wait and see what happens with this Sol guy."

Sasha shuddered when Dean called the man by that nickname. "Still creeps me out, like another one of those not so funny cosmic jokes the universe has at our expense. _Sol_. Shi said…she told me once that…Dad was the first one to ever call Mom that."

"Well, I'm pretty sure this guy doesn't have any connection to your Mom," Dean said truthfully. He was only as old as the incubus himself after all, Bobby had confirmed the age for them that the Trickster had given—just around twenty-five.

Looking like he was thinking far too hard for so late at night, Sasha nodded absently, petting Wally in a hypnotic rhythm that had the ball of fluff dozing happily. "Yeah, but…apparently the Trickster does. _Did_. Christ," Sasha brought a hand up to scrub through his hair, an involuntary action Dean was sure the incubus had picked up from him, "I wish I knew if I could trust that. If he…really knew my parents. My dad's notes…I can believe he'd make a deal like that, that he would have had faith in the Trickster to keep his end of the bargain. Dad was a rare hunter that way."

Whenever Sasha talked of his father, Dean would instinctively go back to what he first knew of Deklin Kelly, things his own father had told him about the great hunter. Being benevolent was never a common thread in those stories, but if Deklin was merciful then it wouldn't have been something to spread around to others. Mercy meant weakness in the hunter crowd. Most of the time it also meant 'dead'.

"He…the Trickster…said something about watching out for me, didn't he?" Sasha chuckled shakily, eyes more distant than on Wally or looking anywhere near Dean, "Definitely not the guardian angel I'd wish for."

That made Dean chuckle too. "Ya want mine?" he joked, thinking of how the stiff, mostly awkward angel had seemed so opposite of Sasha, except for the genuinely caring part.

With his head cocked Dean's direction, Sasha's smile quirked up into a smirk. He hoisted Wally up to the back of the couch and settled her there. She protested, grumbling at being moved from her cozy bed, but she must have been content enough because she curled right up again and continued dozing.

As soon as Sasha started scooting closer Dean saw his cue to sit up more fully, legs falling open to invite the incubus in. He let Sasha crowd him into the corner of the couch.

"So this…angel of yours?" the incubus began, effortlessly changing the subject, which they both needed, "You didn't say much about him. What he was like. How he looked. Something about a…suit. Trench. Blue eyes. That's all a little vague. Be honest now," Sasha scooted as close as he could get to Dean without being in his lap, "Was he hot?" The question was whispered close beside Dean's ear, teasingly wet and heated as he crowded Dean further so that Dean's back was pressing into the arm of the couch almost enough to hurt.

Leave it to the incubus to be jealous of a guardian angel, and one he hadn't even met yet. Dean couldn't resist. "Hot? _Oh_ yeah," he said, nuzzling his head against Sasha's if only to feel that silky red hair on his skin, "Sexy as hell, that angel mine. Bet he had one helluva body under that trench too. Totally had the sex-hair thing going for him. Course he was a little petite for me. You know I like my men tall." A growl built in Dean's throat and he let it rumble, loving every second of Sasha being so close that he could barely breathe anything but his lover's name.

"You jerk," Sasha grinned into Dean's neck, grazing his teeth there lightly, his body pressing into Dean so that his hands were mostly trapped, only able to tickle Dean slightly with fingertips at his waistline, "You wouldn't take an angel over me, would you?"

The way Dean's knees were still bent a little made it difficult for their hips to align even with Sasha fitting himself in between Dean's thighs. Dean shifted as best as he could, finding himself sinking back down into a laying position while Sasha took advantage and settled in on top of him.

"You wouldn't, would you?" Sasha asked again, maybe half-serious as he pulled back enough so that he could run his hands up underneath Dean's layered shirts.

Dean shivered pleasantly. "Damn, baby…if that's my final choice then _fuck_ the world. I'm already damned." Dean smiled wide up at Sasha even though the incubus scowled a little at those words. "Come on now, you know you're my savior," Dean amended, "No doubt in my mind. And I'm yours for as long as life'll have me." Oh, of course Dean wanted to say, 'for as long as _you'll_ have me', but life was what was going to get in the way.

When Dean arched his neck for a kiss, he had slid down the cushions enough to already be lying flat on the couch again, legs crooked purposely to hold Sasha between his thighs as the incubus laid out on top of Dean, heavy and solid. But even as they kissed, a small part of Dean felt the cold creeping hand of panic. Being enveloped as he was by Sasha's larger body, Dean was reminded that for a time he hadn't considered this pleasant at all.

There was a bundle of fear crammed into the back of Dean's mind that he had purposely tucked away as far back as possible. It was sort of like his own Pandora's Box, he figured, calling to him every so often, usually when he was like this, blissful the way he was supposed to be whenever he was with Sasha. But that call, it was insistent, it begged and warned, and he knew that if he opened that box again he would be right back in the midst of all that fear and anger from Hell.

So Dean fought to ignore it, had to fight every second. It was always harder like this, with Sasha like this, and sometimes he wondered if it made him cling too tightly, maybe even painfully to Sasha in his need to be okay. He wasn't faking anything, he did feel better, he did feel okay, but it wasn't easy. Living was never easy, even before he had died. And long before that day he left of his own will.

That thought made Dean choke. "Why did you forgive me?" he asked before he even knew the words were leaving him, before he realized he was breaking the mood that had started to become so wonderfully heated.

Sasha pulled up, the playful, seductive expression falling away to something far more serious than Dean intended to invoke. But he couldn't take back what he had said, he didn't want to.

"I left," he said softly, the room, the whole building suddenly feeling so much more quiet and asleep around them, "I did the worst thing I ever could have done to you and left. How could you forgive me for that without even…anything," Dean finished defeatedly.

It wasn't that he expected Sasha to suddenly get angry now and yell at him for all that, but he needed some kind of answer. Maybe a part of his Pandora's Box was filled with the fear that Sasha was faking for him just like he had been faking before. He couldn't live with that, with the thought that they were just ghosts playing out a life that was no longer theirs.

He should have known better though.

The incubus smiled, brilliant, loving. "Why, Dean? How?" he repeated with that smile positively beaming, his face still only inches from Dean and his body all around him, warm, "What would staying angry do for me, other than let me be angry, alone, without you? Forgiving you was easy, _is_ easy because then I get exactly what I want. You. Here…" he trailed a little as he said that, his smile softer, and he stroked Dean's cheek with the back of his fingers more tenderly than Dean had ever allowed or enjoyed from anyone else. Then a corner of Sasha's mouth twisted. "But if you _ever_ leave me again," he warned, "I'll sick Shi on you so fast you won't know what hit you."

Dean let out a great bark of a laugh that he then immediately muffled as he remembered the rest of the Roadhouse was sleeping. He didn't even know how late it was, but it had to be close to 2am. "Threat accepted. I don't even wanna think what that woman would do to me. Not to mention the sex squad," Dean chuckled.

An answering laugh sounded from Sasha, more immediately hushed than Dean had managed. "Sex squad?" he shook his head, "I'm gonna tell them you call them that. Not that it matters. I know you're not going anywhere." Those words weren't a threat, just a promise, pure assurance and optimism that they not only _could_ win this damn war and get everything they wanted, they _would_. Damn, how Dean wanted to believe that.

Sasha sunk down into Dean again, his lips fitting over Dean's with the most familiar and wonderful press, a connection that opened and connected even deeper with tongues sliding smooth and wet within each other's mouths. Dean couldn't resist tugging Sasha down even more flush against him, hooking his ankles around Sasha's lower back so that their hips finally aligned just right. Dean was still in jeans but Sasha was all softness on top of him—soft flannel pants, soft flesh beneath. And then a telling, harder heat was there too, making Dean wish they weren't wearing anything.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed as he pulled from their kiss, lips swollen and red and even more inviting, "That night…in the car…when I said I understood why you needed to leave, I meant it. You needed…you needed time. You needed to not be so suffocated by all of us pretending we were giving you time when we really weren't. I'm so sorry for that," he took Dean's face in his hands, large hands with fingers that fanned over every bit of skin and stubble, "I'm sorry I didn't know how to give you what you needed. I just wanted you to be…better. I wanted you to look at me again the way you can again now. Of course I guess I had my work cut out for me since it took the Lord Almighty to knock some sense into you," he laughed unevenly, his eyes that iridescent blue that glowed and pulled Dean right into their depths.

It didn't upset Dean to be called out on how truly wrecked he had been. He knew and accepted that nothing short of divine intervention could have saved him that night. Well, maybe he'd had a little something to do with it all on his own initially, denying Malak and all, but then there had been Castiel to keep Malak from breaking the rules, knocking him back down to size. And after that there had been Dave.

Dave Almighty. Dean almost laughed aloud again. But instead he settled in more comfortably in the cushions of the couch, tugged Sasha against him with the butt of his heels on the small of Sasha's back, and enjoyed that as impossible as it all was, this felt right again, Pandora's box be damned, and all of Malak's leftover influence be damned too. Here Dean was safe. Here was somewhere Dean would always be safe.

Dean's hips shifted up against Sasha's, mostly involuntarily—well, maybe not, but who was keeping track—and the way the thin cotton barely made it seem like Sasha was wearing anything had Dean suddenly very desperate to be out of his jeans. "You don't have to be sorry," he whispered up at Sasha, the too blue eyes, the somber smile, "No regrets. For me either. The only thing I'm sorry for…is lost time. So let's get back to making up for that why don't we?" He arched his neck up, intent on stealing a kiss, but Sasha—damn incubus—smirked and lifted up enough that Dean couldn't reach him.

"What do you want, Dean?" he asked teasingly, letting a little more of his heavier weight sink down into Dean.

So god damn frustrating, but _fuck_ how Dean loved it. Sasha's hands had fallen from his face, back down to Dean's shoulders and neck, just sort of resting there to help hold him up. Dean used this position to his advantage and began peeling Sasha's T-shirt up past his ribs. "What do I want?" he breathed, shifting his hips again, "I want to be buried hilt-deep in you 24-7, baby. How's that sound?"

Sasha's laughter bubbled up beautifully—Dean's favorite melody, even more so than the best of Metallica, and that was saying something. "I think that might make hunting a little difficult," the redhead grinned, that same laughter in his voice, "And it would probably be awkward for Sam."

"Eh," Dean shrugged—well, as best as he could shrug with a 200 pound incubus on top of him, "He'd get over it."

The shared laughter that erupted then lasted only moments before being swallowed up by each other's mouths, seeking a kiss in perfect tandem. This was all Dean wanted, just this, now, and every fucking day after. If he could take off his mantle as savior/destroyer of the world, he would in a heartbeat, but not if it meant the destroyer part would win. So he would keep it on, for now, as long as he got to keep Sasha on him too.

Dean rocked Sasha against him again, easily with his ankles still tight around Sasha's waist. It continually amazed him that having a much larger and _male_ lover on top of him was never threatening. Well, not threatening to him now anyway. It just made him want to bring Sasha that much closer.

He continued his peeling away of Sasha's T-shirt and clawed at that perfect pale chest, raking his nails back down again to Sasha's belly.

Suddenly, there were hands gripping Dean's wrists and very firmly moving his hands to the side so that Sasha could better lie down on Dean properly. Considering this helped with the whole 'get Sasha as close as frickin' possible' idea, Dean didn't protest. He feathered kisses down Sasha's jaw line, lapping at the skin with swipes of his tongue. Even the skin there on Sasha's jaw was soft, every damn inch of the incubus just so fucking soft it drove Dean up the wall.

Then Sasha's hands were toying with the edge of Dean's shirts again, long-sleeved T and flannel buttoned over it. The incubus echoed what he had done before, just running his hands up underneath those shirts teasingly along Dean's sides.

It was crazy, all Dean wanted was to get them down to nothing, naked already, but neither of them were actually doing anything to take each other's clothes off. It was sort of a little too hot, fucking amazingly hot, and damn Dean's internal monologue was vulgar lately but he just wanted to pull the incubus as far into him as possible, all the way in so nothing could ever separate them again.

Of course this resulted in the most agonizing session of grinding Dean had ever experienced. He just couldn't stop rocking Sasha's hips down against his, couldn't let go of the firm back he had slid his hands around to cling to, and hell yeah he gasped Sasha's name when the incubus grazed his ear with sudden fangs.

They were grinding like fucking teenagers, over the clothes, still with their shirts on, everything, and Dean was almost positive he would explode, implode, maybe both any given minute now. "F-Fuck…" he managed, bucking up into Sasha as the incubus thrust down into him, needing more friction, not getting enough fucking _friction_, but god damn did it feel good, "I'm gonna…gonna…come right in my jeans…right the fuck now…if you don't take 'em offa me." He wasn't kidding either.

Sasha's mouth was latched onto Dean's neck, close beneath his right ear, the fangs piercing just slightly, and when the incubus laughed it rumbled right down into Dean's chest. "Better…remedy that then," Sasha said breathless. _Breathless_ because Dean made him breathless.

Soft hands were at Dean's waist in moments, cool skin against how impossibly hot Dean's own was becoming. It meant Sasha had to pull away slightly if he was going to actually remove Dean of his pants, and that sucked, but Dean was so strained inside the damn denim that he really didn't care right now. He didn't just sigh at the relief when his fly was finally open, he moaned up at the ceiling and his hips bucked up from the couch.

Sasha giggled—not a chuckle, definitely a giggle. "So what do ya think, Dean?" he asked, kissing Dean's cheek, then his neck, then down his chest right on top of the flannel until finally he kissed Dean right below his navel and begun to tug his jeans and shorts down his thighs, "There are…three other hunter staying here tonight besides our group, right? Around that? If one of them happened to come in here…about now…" he didn't finish the thought but his grin was devilish.

"Well…if they said anything…about wanting to join in…I think I'd be scarred for life," Dean snarked, "But honestly? It certainly wouldn't stop me if that's what you're asking." Dean arched his hips off the couch, this time to better allow Sasha to pull his jeans all the way off, leaving him free and bare and really fucking ready to get back to it.

Dean waited for the right moment, and as soon as Sasha sat up on his knees to toss the bundle of jeans and boxers to the floor, Dean tugged those sleeps pants down Sasha's ass as swift as he had pantsed Sam that one time when they stumbled across an all girls camp out on a hunt in the woods. _That_ was funny. This, right now, definitely roused a different reaction.

"Had to keep us even," Dean smirked when Sasha raised an eyebrow at him, the incubus trying but failing at keeping his laughter in check.

As if to prove just how much he really didn't mind, Sasha shimmied the rest of the way out of his sleep pants, leaving them kicked back behind him at the other end of the large couch. This left both of them still in their shirts, Sasha in just a navy T-shirt, and Dean in his layers, and fuck it all, who cared, because at least the connecting parts could fucking connect now.

Dean reached up towards Sasha's neck to pull the incubus back down, coiling his ankles right back where they had been before around Sasha's waist.

The first moment of hotter, sweeter friction struck like a flash bomb and Dean was moaning as soon as their hips aligned, this time into Sasha's shoulder. And right then, right at that moment, Dean opened his eyes to see the back of the couch and everything went suddenly cold.

Over Sasha's shoulder Dean met gazes with the chimera he had completely forgot was supposed to be sleeping there, her large blue-grey eyes just staring at how he and Sasha were so intimately met.

_Crap_.

"Uhh…" Dean tried to push at Sasha's shoulders, "Baby…umm…" he was definitely disturbed now, "Is she…Wally…" really fucking disturbed, "…is she watching us?"

Sasha went rigid for a moment, processed what Dean had said, and then he was looking down at Dean completely bemused. He glanced over his shoulder and obviously saw that the bundle of fluff was staring right at them with fierce interest, but he was still grinning when he turned back to Dean. "So?" he shook his head, chuckling, "What's the big deal?" He leaned right back down as if to capture another kiss.

Dean braced his hands on Sasha's chest to keep him away. "_Dude_. What's the big deal? She's like…a kid. Way more a kid than a cat. It's gotta be like…some form of child endangerment or something to let her watch us fuck."

While he might have gotten frustrated or angry, Sasha merely laughed. Then he realized Dean wasn't at all kidding and was very quickly wearing a pout. "Dean," he said, "It's Wally. Who cares if she's watching? She's an animal. I know she's smart but—"

"She can understand everything I say," Dean broke in, unable to keep his eyes from darting to where Wally was still just sitting on the back of the couch staring at them, "She's not some normal animal. She totally knows what we're doing and she's _watching_. Wally, come on!" he called to the chimera, waving a hand at her, "Go find a cozy bed to sleep in, huh? Go find Jo, or Sam and Sarah, or anyone, just…knock it off with the skeevy peeping."

Sasha snorted.

Wally, head tilting slightly as she regarded Dean, gave another one of her curious little chirps and stayed put.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean grumbled, letting his head fall back to the arm of the couch.

"I'll shoo her away," Sasha offered.

"Well don't be mean about it," Dean immediately rose to Wally's defense, coz after all his whole point was that she wasn't some animal, she was like…family. Okay, so a really whacked version of someone's adopted child, maybe kind of like a niece or cousin to them or something, but she wasn't some cat they could just push off the couch.

Sasha sighed, fitting himself back on top of Dean right where they were most tightly met, their cocks twitching between them, and damn, Dean wanted to buck up again. "Dean…" Sasha said all breathy and damp, close to Dean's lips, "Either I push her off and she's pissed for awhile, or you forget about it and let her watch. Coz option number three?" Sasha punctuated that by grinding down hard enough to make Dean bite back another moan, "_So_ not happening."

That Dean could agree with, since option number three—not continuing the sex—wasn't an option at all. "I guess it…couldn't scar her too badly…" Dean found himself giving in, even though his eyes strayed to Wally again and…why did she look so damn interested in what they were doing?

"Dean," Sasha said firmly, grabbing Dean by the chin and forcing Dean to look at him, "We had sex in front of _Sam_. More or less," he said, since it had actually been Meg driving at the time, "What does it matter if we do this in front of Wally?"

Duh. "Sam wasn't watching."

"_Dean_."

"Sorry, just…keep me focused on you, and I swear," Dean promised, gently reaching up to grasp Sasha's hand on his face, "I'm all yours. No distractions. No interruptions. No…no fallout from any of the bullshit in our lives, just…you and me." Dean matched Sasha's previous buck with one of his own, making the incubus gasp.

A slow grin forming on his face, Sasha dipped down to kiss Dean's lips slow and sweet. "Good. Coz you said 'hilt-deep' and god damn does that sound like just what I need tonight." Sasha's smile was devious again, playful and wanting. He started a series of slow thrusts, their cocks still aligned and sliding tightly together.

It was almost too dry, too rough, all the wetness still gathered mostly at their tips, but then Sasha's hand was down there, wet from his tongue, making everything moist and the friction was even better and _fuck_. Dean's neck arched up, his back arched too, totally rounding him as his head pressed back hard into the armrest of the couch.

"Gotta get you…warmed back up again first," Sasha explained in a growly voice, his eyes flashing red and the fangs visible again in his smile. It was Dean's favorite fetish, those small incubus traces slipping out because of how crazy Dean made Sasha. God damn indeed, coz that was one hell of a turn on.

One of Sasha's hands was braced on Dean's chest, hitching up his layered shirts—they hadn't even unbuttoned the damn flannel—while Sasha's other hand helped things along below, bringing Dean right back to that place where he really couldn't care if a second pair of eyes were on him.

Dean thought briefly of continuing yet again to peel off Sasha's shirt, it currently being hiked and rolled up under the incubus' arms to reveal most of his chest, including the tattooed scar, but then there was something appealing about just leaving the shirt be too. Maybe that same reason was why Sasha's hadn't bothered to remove Dean of his shirts either. It was almost like the allure of fucking a girl with nothing but her skirt on, one of Dean's most fondly remembered past-times. Not that he would trade Sasha for any girl in a skirt these days.

"Dean…" Sasha gasped, falling forward, apparently no longer able to contain himself enough to keep his hand between them. Suddenly, both of Sasha's hands were on either side of Dean's head to support him, his body lower and closer atop Dean. He began thrusting his hips into Dean's slowly like he was desperate to keep their rhythm from spiraling too quickly out of control. "Dean…" he said again, eyes glowing as brilliantly red as they ever did blue.

And somehow Dean just knew, he knew exactly what Sasha wanted him to do. He marveled at their skin to skin communication, how it heightened everything just by touching.

With steady purpose, Dean moved his hands from where they had been braced on Sasha's chest around to Sasha's back and lower. The smooth curve of Sasha's ass fit so nicely in Dean's hands. He couldn't resist using this new leverage to tug the incubus down while giving a swift buck up.

Sasha mewled in frustration. "_Dean_."

"Getting there…" Dean said with a hidden smirk over Sasha's shoulder. He had to lean up like that to get the right angle. If his arm had been any shorter he wouldn't have been able to manage at all. The most he managed anyway was one finger teased inside up to the first knuckle. He stretched Sasha as best he could in this meager way, knowing as he did that Sasha particularly liked this part of the process, and it wasn't long before there were two fingers, scissoring carefully.

If this had been with someone else—and fuck that idea, that there would _ever_ be someone else—Dean would have thought such limited preparation wouldn't be enough, or all that nice really, but as Sasha reminded him on a regular basis, the guy was an incubus and it was pretty damn hard to hurt him. So when Sasha shifted wantonly, his voice pleading as he said again, "_Dean_," like the most bare and honest need, there really was no way Dean could refuse him.

Dean painstakingly lowered his legs from being wrapped around Sasha's waist, slid his hands down Sasha's thighs to nudge the incubus in the right direction, and was pleased once again that they didn't need words to understand each other. Sasha climbed further up Dean's body, straddling his chest. Then it was just a matter of pressing back.

That first glorious jolt shot straight down to Dean's toes. He moaned almost too loudly when Sasha sat up, taking Dean in hilt-deep just like he wanted. It made Dean shudder, made him drunk off the pheromones Sasha gave off naturally, and definitely made him want the incubus to move, good damn _move_, right the fuck now_._.

It had to be close to Heavenly, Dean thought, to be able to rock slowly in and out of the person he loved. Well it was a little more like Sasha rocking down on _him_, but the sentiment was the same.

Beyond Sasha, Dean could see Wally still curled up on the back of the couch, but her eyes were closed now, sleeping, and Dean had to shake his head at himself for thinking the little creature was actually a secret voyeur.

As Sasha rode him—quite wonderfully literally—Dean smoothed his hands up and down Sasha's chest, raking his nails again to make Sasha shiver. Dean had only left a lamp on in the Library, and the rest of the Roadhouse was so dark that Sasha's image was perfectly subdued by the pale golden light and that marvelous contrast of the navy shirt.

Dean rocked up with each buck of Sasha's, watching mesmerized as the incubus' back arched, his head falling back to reveal that long, pale neck. He let his arms hang, but then suddenly he was forward, bracing himself on Dean's chest, panting, whimpers falling from his lips.

Blackened fingers, almost claws, tore into Dean's flannel, popping most of the buttons. Dean had been meaning to get rid of that one anyway, he figured. He squirmed when Sasha trailed those almost claws up his bare chest, pushing up the long-sleeved T-shirt that had been beneath Dean's flannel practically up to his chin.

There were so few scars on Dean's chest, faint, barely memorable compared to the many he had received in Hell. He was glad for that, glad Sasha only saw what the incubus considered—for whatever reason—to be perfect.

"_Harder_…come on, baby," Dean pleaded, frustrated that his bucks up could only be so forceful what with so much weight holding him down and all.

"Mmmm," Sasha hummed agreement, sitting up straight again to better rock back on Dean with the right leverage. Their rhythm picked up fast, fervent, and Dean felt the circuit like a sudden slap in the face, as if Sasha had forgotten to open it and then suddenly remembered. It made Dean gasp, laugh, move his hands from Sasha's chest to firmly grip his hips and squeeze.

Sasha came suddenly on Dean's chest, nearly collapsing forward until his hands caught him. Dean rocked up into Sasha another minute, maybe half a minute more and he was spent too, gasping from the effort of it all and wondering how in hell they had managed to last so long after all that damn grinding beforehand.

"Fuck…" Sasha panted, grin wide on his face as he pulled carefully away and slid off to the side to tuck himself between Dean and the couch. If Ellen hadn't gotten such oversized sofas there was no way that would have been possible. "_That_ was hot," Sasha said, half-laughing, maybe a little drunk on pheromones and sexual energy too.

"_Oh_ yeah," Dean agreed, not wanting to move, maybe ever. He turned his head to meet those adoring eyes, blue again. "Way better than Hellfire," he said, kissing Sasha's shoulder.

Even though it was all kinds of inappropriate, Sasha laughed at Dean's joke anyway, shaking his head at him before stretching forward to capture another slow, easy kiss of Dean's lips. "And better than anything Heavenly…I hope," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Dean laughed. They had made a mess of Ellen's couch, but they'd get to cleaning up, to moving, eventually. "You, baby," Dean promised, "Are better than anything either side could ever hope to conjure up. Even if they worked together. You'd have to be something special…for me to love you so hard."

An answering laugh fell from Sasha's lips, his eyes sparkling as he snuggled closer to Dean, said, "Just checking," and kissed him again, "Coz no one on Earth or otherwise could love you like I do, Dean."

Dean didn't doubt that at all.

In the background, little chimera snores filled the quiet and Dean Winchester's world was alright for awhile, just lying half-naked on a sexed up couch, kissing his incubus.

-----

At some point, Dean and Sasha made it to their bedroom, leaving what they hoped was no trace of their nightly activities in the Library. Wally followed them and slept at the foot of their bed the rest of the night. Dean was just glad she hadn't, well, he didn't know what, but he had been sure the whole having sex in front of her thing would come back to haunt them somehow.

The rest of their group was already up by the time Dean and Sasha stumbled down for some sort of breakfast the next morning. There was no sign of their hunter friend yet, but Ellen promised she had more than enough to keep them busy while they waited.

Dean gladly left the more Roadhouse related work—inventory, supplies, cleanup—to Sasha and the girls while he and Sam checked into possible cases in the area that might be drawing their guy. Of course their main problem was that they didn't know which direction Sol would be coming from so they didn't know which direction to start their search, which pretty much left them with a radius all around Rushville. After deciding on a distance for that radius, Sam and Dean's new problem wasn't lack of potential hunts but an over-abundance of them.

"Maybe that's why he's headed here," Sam began, after they had stumbled upon another possible ghost sighting, "He could be checking into all of these strange occurrences because there's so many suddenly in one area. Which is pretty weird," he admitted. That was always a bigger statement than it sounded since so few things were actually 'weird' to the Winchesters.

"Or," Dean rocked back in his chair, "The activity is _because_ Sol's headed this way. He's supposed to draw evil, right?"

Sam frowned. "Well that doesn't help us then. If he's drawing half of this then the case he's actually on could be any one of them."

"We could just ask him when he gets here," Dean suggested.

An incredulous look was Dean's reply. From what they had heard, this guy was the most private hunter in action today. He didn't even talk to other hunters if he didn't have to. And most that he had talked to apparently regretted it, especially if it got them involved in one of his cases.

Sam stared noncommittally at his laptop then glanced at his watch.

"That's assuming he ever _does_ get here." It was already almost dinner time. The Roadhouse hadn't started to fill up quite like last night, but it was highly possible it would get that way again. As for the group's part in finishing Ellen's chores for them, the Roadhouse had been so nicely taken care of that Jo and Sasha had moved on to helping Iain with the books.

"Why does it matter if we know what case he's on anyway?" Dean stretched back. He really needed a break. Or a drink. He'd take a frickin' Dr. Pepper, just something. Dean saw that Sarah wasn't immediately busy and motioned her over.

"The more we know the better," Sam said, eyes back on his laptop, though he'd been starting to look a little cross-eyed the past hour, "And who knows, maybe it would help us get an in with this guy if he thinks we're working the same case. You're the one who said we should try and team up with him. Make _friends_."

That was true, and Dean still thought it was their best bet. "Yeah, I know. Just getting antsy. Hey Sarah," he said when she sauntered over with a smile, "Not that I mean to hold you in your waitress role or anything, but could you grab us some sodas or something?"

"Sure," Sarah said, and Sam nodded gratefully when she looked to him too, "I don't suppose you'd offer a trade for it, Dean," she added, "Ellen just asked me to grab another batch of glasses. Would you mind grabbing some while I get your drinks?" She smiled knowingly at him, always so knowingly, and she wasn't wrong with what she knew either because if Dean was any more fidgety to be out of his damn chair, his knee would be bouncing up into the bottom of the table.

"Anything for a pretty barmaid," he grinned, standing gratefully and planting a kiss on Sarah's cheek with a wink tossed at Sam, who of course responded with a very annoyed bitch-face, "Back in a sec," he promised.

Not two steps into the hallway on his way to the kitchen, Dean heard a chirp at his feet and looked down to see Wally—cat version—following at his heels. Dean smiled at her.

"Don't think this means you're getting a snack," he said.

He basically had the layout of everything and Ellen's method of restocking down by now. Once glasses were cleaned, they were put away in crates to make it easier to bring larger batches into the bar. Dean found one such crate of clean glasses already on top of the counter waiting for him. He also noticed some leftover donuts from that morning. Store-bought, but tasty.

Dean snatched one before going for the crate.

"Prrp?"

Naturally, Wally was doing the whole wobbly eye thing from down by his feet, pawing up at his shins pleadingly. "Well…guess it's not so nice if _I_ get a snack and then Bogart it all for myself." He patted the counter—which Wally was not supposed to go up on—and the fluffy grey cat immediately jumped up. Dean took a glance around then winked at her. She popped back to chimera form and held out her tiny human hands. Dean chose a plain cake donut for her that she accepted gratefully, immediately beginning to nibble at it and pull off pieces with her hands.

She was cute alright. But that didn't mean Dean's mind didn't stray to more uncomfortable topics. He knew she was more than an animal, after all, no doubt about that.

"Hey, uhh…Wally?" Dean asked, and not at all surprisingly she immediately looked up at him, sitting with her little feet out, her hands clinging to the donuts, crumbs on her furry face as she cast larger than life eyes on him, "You been keeping an eye on my incubus this afternoon?"

Wally chirped affirmatively.

"Yeah, I figured. And, umm…ya know…about that extra bit of interest you had in us last night—" Dean cut off abruptly, as Wally suddenly stood up, popped back to cat form and leapt from the counter, donut safe in her mouth as she scurried away. "Hey!" Dean called after her, easily having caught the glint of mischief in her eyes before she left, "I'm onto you, _cat_!" he said, mostly laughing. Then to himself, "Little perv." Maybe they needed to find Wally a nice tom cat to keep her company, he thought with a snort.

'_Dean?'_

Dean jumped near out of his skin at the sudden invasion of Sam's voice inside his head. _'God damn it, Sammy,'_ he thought back as he steadied himself with a hand against the counter, _'I thought we talked about you warning me before you pull shit like that. What do ya want?'_

'_Sorry, it's just…were you almost ready with those glasses?'_

'_Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just grabbed a quick bite.'_

'_Well good. Because I really think you want to get back in here.'_

The strained evenness of Sam's tone—did he still have a tone when it was mental, Dean wondered—was all the prompting Dean needed. He swallowed the last of his donut, grabbed the crate of glasses, and headed back to the bar.

Sarah met him just inside the door. She took the crate, giving a strong nudge with her eyes towards the far corner of the bar which was a couple tables from where Sam was waiting for Dean to return. Dean didn't have to ask if the new guy now sitting at that corner table was who they had been waiting for. He could see clearly how much Sam was spooked, some of the other hunters too.

Dean couldn't deny a certain shuddery feeling when he looked at the guy, hunched over some unknown drink and strewn about papers, but other than the guy's somewhat unconventional appearance he couldn't immediately figure out why.

From what Dean could see of the guy's face, he was Asian all right, which made it even more plausible that this was Sonji Lorin—second generation Japanese-American or something, Bobby had said. But while Dean would have expected black hair, this guy's shaggy locks were all over white. Not bright the way Lindsey's was, but duller, more natural, like he had gone prematurely grey. There were bandages wrapped messily around his left eye, and although the way the guy was hunched hid most of him, especially with the long black trench he was wearing, Dean could see loose ends of further bandages covering parts of his body.

He didn't look like a threat, not imposing the way Dean had been expecting, and yet he still _felt_ threatening, as if there was an aura radiating off of him, saying 'stay the fuck away'. Dean obliged and went to join Sam, who couldn't have looked more obvious if he started pointing and yelling at the guy directly.

"Hey. Ya mind toning down the freaked out expression, Sammy," Dean hissed, trying to act nonchalant by kicking back in his chair and pretending to return to research, "He's facing the other direction but I bet he can still tell you're freakin' staring at him."

Sam sputtered for words, half out of his chair and bug-eyed like he couldn't get a hold of himself. "I…I-I'm not…trying to. It's just…I can't explain it, Dean," he said hushed over the tabletop, getting as low and close to Dean as he could, "I…I can't…I mean I can't…sense…" he shook his head, "I don't know what I sense from him, but…nothing's ever felt like this. He's human but I don't…god, I don't know."

"Calm down," Dean warned, his voice a hiss again because even though Sam was hushed it was still louder than necessary, "Now what are you talking about? Are you…?" suddenly, seeing the wild look in Sam's eyes, the way he was twitching and balancing on his chair like he wanted to get up, snapped Dean to attention, "Shit," he leaned closer yet over the table, "You're not feeling that whole drawn in thing already, are you? He's been here all of two minutes."

The fact that Sam didn't actually respond didn't make Dean feel much better.

And then suddenly there was Sasha in the doorway to the bar, having come from upstairs, staring across the room right where Dean felt really unnerved to see the incubus' attentions go. He also noticed that Jo was right behind Sasha, holding a rather squirmy Wally. Maybe the chimera hadn't bolted just to annoy Dean.

Pointedly, Dean made eye contact with Jo and gave her what he hoped was an obvious, get the hell back up stairs message with his eyes. She nodded and took Wally with her. They had already decided that keeping Wally away from this guy was an absolute necessity unless they wanted him to figure out her secret and filet her for dinner. Dean sort of wished he could give the same signal to Sasha but he knew better than to think it would be that easy. Sasha was apart of the team, even if he was something supernatural. Sam was a bit more complicated.

A moment later Sasha was headed for their table, and doing a fine sight better at playing calm than Sam was. "So," he said, pulling up a chair.

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"You…okay?" Sam asked warily.

Sasha shrugged. "Kinda hard to say. I don't…really know what I'm feeling right now. I'm thinking you're not going to like to hear this, Dean," he whispered Dean's direction, "But it's…sort of like I'm suddenly real hungry…and…" his eyes flashed over to the hunched over Asian in the corner.

Well Sasha was right; that was the very last thing Dean wanted to hear. "Please tell me it's not so strong that you don't know how fucking insane and hurtful to my feelings jumping that guy would be?" he said, almost joking, but way too serious because this was pretty fucking serious if this whole being drawn in thing was actually strong enough to get Sam or Sasha or both to reveal themselves in the middle of a bar full of hunters.

Thankfully, Sasha nodded at Dean with eyes that, although a bit bright, were steady and in control. "I'm good, Dean," he assured him, "It's more like…if it weren't for you and me, and I had just stumbled upon the guy on accident…_shit_. I don't know what his power is but…I feel it."

"Me too," Sam agreed, "But I…I can't get a grasp on it."

"You feel like humping his leg too?" Dean snarked.

Finally, a little of the wild and terrified fell from Sam's face. "No, Dean. Whatever it is, it's at least making me really want to succeed with getting him onto our side. What should we do? He hasn't approached anyone. When he came in he went straight to the bar, got a drink, and sat down. He's obviously pretty…engrossed over there."

"Gross being a pretty fair word…" Dean grumbled. The guy's trench was a little on the dusty and dirty side, his hair was neat but looked like it hadn't been washed in a week, and his whole persona just screamed not the type you take home to dinner. "I'm thinking direct approach is a no," Dean offered. Standoffish was the nice way of saying how guarded the guy looked.

"So we go the more subtle route," Sasha smiled, "Any luck on narrowing down a hunt?"

Sam and Dean both shrugged.

"Well…we got the perfect recon then." His smile widening, Sasha waved Sarah back over to their table.

By the time the dinner hour had come and gone, so had a lot of hunters, all of whom seemed to get the same vibe as Dean that getting anywhere near the guy in the corner was a bad idea. It actually cleared out a lot sooner than the night before, and for awhile they were worried Sol would disappear with the rest of the crowd. But then thanks to Sarah's quick glances at his notes while serving the guy, they now had their potential hunts narrowed down to three. Regardless of which it was, they were all close enough that it was highly possible Sol would be staying at the Roadhouse tonight.

They waited until it was late, Jo had come down to join Sarah and Ellen with cleaning up, and Iain was doing some cataloguing at a nearby table. Then as soon as Sol packed up his things in a shoulder bag and went up to the bar, Dean went up to the bar too.

"Hey, Ellen, I'll take another beer, if ya don't mind," he smiled warmly at her as he took a stool. He tried to pass that smile onto Sol, but the guy's attention remained straight ahead, meaning all Dean saw was a profile and that bandaged eye.

"Ellen," the guy spoke, the first time Dean had heard a word from him, his voice sounding scratchy and quiet, deep, "I require a room for the night. Is there one available?"

Ellen regarded him the same as she did all hunters—wholly cool. "Plenty to spare, hun. Anything in particular?"

"Whatever you have."

"I'll grab a key for you then. Your first time staying at the new Roadhouse here, ain't it?" she said as she set Dean's filled beer in front of him and then began seeking out a key, "Bit more of a place to get lost. Winchester here could show you how to find the rooms if he's feeling generous." She gave Dean a look that clearly said that was as much help as she dared give him in this situation.

Dean turned with a ready smile to toss his new friend, but that cold creepy feeling of 'stay the fuck away' hit him smack in the face as soon as the guy's head pivoted slowly towards him. He saw the visible eye for the first time and was shocked to see it was a pale green. Definitely not full Asian then, Dean thought, especially since there was something a bit different in his face too. He was pale, a little like a ghost with that grey/white hair, but young, just like the Trickster had said, and even a little handsome if he didn't look so fucking scary.

No one had ever made Dean shiver with a look other than Sasha, and those shivers were entirely different. Dean didn't like it at all. But still, he kept his smile.

"Hey, sure thing, Ellen. If ya don't mind, buddy, I can show ya up there." Ellen set the key down between them. "And hey," Dean said as he noticed the number on it, "You're right next door anyway, so why don't I—" Dean had been about to scoop up the key when suddenly a vice grip was clamped onto his wrist, tight enough to make him hiss. "Hey," he protested through clenched teeth.

"I do not require assistance, thank you," Sol said with ice in his words, real god damn ice because Dean shivered again, "And I do not believe I gave you any permission to _touch_. My things." With that, Sol shoved Dean's hand aside and snatched up the key. "Thank you, Ellen," he said to her, and then he was leaving the bar, bag over his shoulder again, with one last warning look thrown at Dean that honestly made Dean feel like he could choke on his own tongue.

Dean watched Sol walk out of the bar, saw Sam and Sasha turn to him from their table with 'what the Hell' looks, and furiously whipped back towards Ellen. "Well that went smoothly," he grumbled, downing a gulp of the beer he was really happy he ordered.

With a huff, Ellen went back to wiping down the counter. "Tried to tell you boys," she said, "Solrin's polite, damn near gentlemanly even. But he'd just as soon kill you for getting too close as he would look at ya, so you best mind where you step. I don't know how you're going to get to work with that boy, if it's even possible, but charm and a smile ain't gonna cut it this time."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "I think I got that."

Ellen just raised an eyebrow at him and moved on down the bar.

On the plus side, it seemed Sam and Sasha were pretty sure they had discovered which hunt Sol was more than likely interested in, and they had something of a plan for the next morning on how they might peak his interested to team up with them, assuming they even managed to get him to listen to them for longer than a second.

Dean still wasn't sure if he was going to keep the Trickster out of it like the god wanted, or if instead he would use the bastard as a trade-off for getting Sol to trust them. It certainly was an option to set the Trickster up, though that didn't sit too right with Dean.

When everyone started upstairs to call it a night, Dean ducked into the downstairs bathroom, saying he'd be right up. Sasha eyed him warily and Dean tried to say with his eyes that he just needed a minute, not a couple hours like he had taken last night. And bless the incubus because he nodded and let Dean have his time.

Of course Dean really wanted to be alone so he could privately kick himself for screwing up so bad. All he had to do was get the guy to talk for even five minutes, something to start building a little trust, and he had squashed that in under thirty seconds. Now the guy saw him as a threat, an invader. All Dean had wanted to do was be friendly. Apparently, that wasn't the right tactic for Sol. Creepy-ass loner.

Dean half expected his angel friend to come popping out of nowhere to bitch at him, if that guy, Castiel, knew how to bitch. And angel or not, Dean would put money on it that the guy did.

As ready for bed as he was going to be, Dean left the bathroom and walked through the now dark lower level of the Roadhouse for the stairs.

"So…_Dean_. Back to fucking your incubus, I see."

Dean froze, one foot raised ready to begin trekking up the steps. That was the very last voice he wanted to hear, and it definitely wasn't an angel this time.

"Oh, what's wrong Dean?" said a smooth, confident _female_ voice from behind him, taunting him without even trying, "Aren't you pleased to see me again?"

Panic clutched Dean's chest so hard he couldn't breathe, could barely turn to see for himself that yes, it was Malak, red-haired, yellow on black eyed Malak standing before him. Suddenly, it was if the past few weeks hadn't even happened, and Dean was right back to feeling that old desperation he had felt in the Impala before and after Malak's stunt.

Dean wanted to back up, but behind him was the steps and somehow he knew that being taller than Malak wasn't going to make him feel any better about being in her/his/whatever's presence again. He knew he was shaking, hated that he was shaking. His little Pandora's box was shaking too, ready to tip.

"Well that's just so sweet, Dean, to know that I still have such a…powerful effect on you," Malak grinned at him, wearing that black dress and gold belt Dean remembered so well.

"Wh-What do you want?" he asked, really fucking hating that his voice shook with the rest of him, "You can't…you can't touch me," he tried to say assuredly, thinking of Michael. And Gwen. That made Dean smile, at least a little. "Hey, wearing your chick suit, huh? But it's not really yours, I learned. Just a little trick to piss off your little brother. Right?"

To Dean's great pleasure, Malak's smug smile dropped. "Hmph," she huffed, hand on her slender hip, "So, I was right to think they'd send someone to you. Guess it's just my luck it would be that arrogant prick and his…well. Even if Michael had a dick, I doubt he would know how to use it." And just like that the chick suit was gone, leaving Dean once again in the presence of the male version, the one that looked so much like Michael except with trimmer hair, cruelty in every look, and that black suit and red tie that he adjusted even though it was already perfect. "Fine then. No need for pretence."

Moving quickly before Malak could come any closer, Dean circled around the demon and away from the stairs, giving him more room if he needed to…anything. He clung to what comforts he could as he spoke. "So, guess that explains why you didn't know Sammy was brought back to life, or from the brink of it, whatever," he said, "You can't see when the other side comes to us."

"I can see enough," Malak replied sharply, "I don't need to see everything to know what you're plotting here. You're trying to get to him first, aren't you? That…darling young man with the quick reflexes," he glanced up the stairs, obviously meaning Sol, "And why not I suppose. You _should_ make nice. He's going to be such a marvelous General for you. Like your brother will be too."

Finally, something that made Dean angry instead of afraid. "Not gonna happen," he said, standing his ground, "Not for either of them. Coz you can do whatever the fuck you want, but you can't have them or me. You can't get to me anymore. I'm free of that curse you left behind."

"Oh?" Malak replied, poised, standing right in front of Dean, barely a few feet away, "I think we both know it isn't quite so simple. You said I can't…touch you?" he tilted his head, taking a step closer, "Really? You think that…?"

"Stop," Dean said, wanting to step back but not wanting to give Malak the satisfaction.

Malak grinned. "You're feeling pretty good right now. Confident. Empowered. Heaven's warrior. Oh yes, it's a nice parlor trick, that blissful feeling. But it isn't permanent. You didn't really think it would last, did you, your…miraculous recovery?" another step closer, "You see, Dean, we both know that there is still a part of me in you. _Deep_…and tightly wound…right where it matters." Malak's hand came up fast and pressed to Dean's chest over his heart.

Dean flinched, expecting pain, surprised but not yet relieved when there wasn't any.

"You know that's why that good feeling is fading, Dean," Malak went on, his voice softening, his body too close, his eyes shimmering red on black as he grinned, "Why don't we coax a little of that darkness back out again…hmm?"

Then he pressed, just the slightest bit harder against Dean's chest and that's all it took. There was the pain Dean had been waiting for. And darkness. And every horrible feeling of grief and madness he had thought Dave stripped him free of.

He wasn't safe. He wasn't free.

He was in Hell.

tbc...

A/N: Oooo, I think I'm finally truly happy with a chapter again like I haven't been in a while. Is that wrong when half of it, over half maybe, is all sex? Nope? I didn't think so. ;-)

Ahem. Check out Blueeyegreen's work, and Dianna Wickam's pieces, and you better be reading Saving Faith's fic. Come on now, spread the love! Pic of Sol will be up at the website shortly. Mmm, he's yummy for being so creepy. So excited for the rest of this arc. Ooo, the surprises in store.

Oh, and I'm going to forget again. anonymous J! That last chapter was all for you! I was going to say so, but I forget things when I can't respond to people. But yes, the Sarah and Sam part was for you, and thank you for your many wonderful reviews. :-) All you others too, you know you're the best.

Crim


	79. Part 4: All in the Timing

Part 4: All in the Timing

-----

When Dean first surfaced from Hell, struggling to breathe and be free and feel _anything_, he spent three days trying to shake off the feeling that he had never left Hell to begin with. It was because he couldn't shake that feeling that he had run. But running hadn't saved him. He was pushed to the brink, nearly consumed by Hell and the Devil himself right in his own backseat.

But then there was a diner, a place to rest, and mourn, and free his soul of the plague Malak had left within him. There was Dave, and even though Dean hadn't known at first to think of the man as anything but a kind ear, that man/angel/_God_ was what finally reached inside of him to pluck that darkness out.

Dean had thought it would be forever, maybe hoped more than believed, but he thought he would at least be free of the crippling pain and grief that had made it so impossible to live. Normal pain, physical, passing, expected pain, he could handle that. But the kind that shook him to the core and clung so tight he couldn't feel anything else, he thought, _prayed_ he would never have to feel that again.

Apparently, Dave wasn't listening.

Moments after Malak's hand had pressed tighter to Dean's chest, pain and darkness searing through him, Dean opened his eyes—hadn't even been aware they were closed—and was no longer in the Roadhouse. He was in a house, large, maybe one of those old homes that had been renovated into a law office. Only it wasn't so nice anymore, because it was in disrepair, dark and dusty. Dean recognized it, thought maybe he had been here before. He was able to focus more immediately on the building, on the large entryway by a spiral staircase just in front of him, before he noticed more about himself.

He wasn't standing, but sort of crumbled on his knees. He had fallen, he remembered falling, forced down by…something. Weight, he thought, something heavy and struggling that he had had to silence. As soon as Dean had a solid feel for his own body and could better focus, he looked down to see what that weight was, weight that was no longer struggling but spread across his lap.

The darkness and pain carried in Malak's touch surged through Dean again, refreshed and piercing as he saw the boy, the young boy, maybe not even double digits that he had killed with his own hands when he was in Hell, believing twistedly that he was doing the boy a favor. He had asked for Dean's help, pleaded, clung to him, crying. Dean had feigned soothing words, feigned comfort he no longer understood or could feel himself, and when the boy was safely trusting of him, Dean had slipped out the knife he kept under his pillow and slid it cleanly into the boy's chest.

Somehow, he was right there again, the knife in his hand, soaked with blood, the boy's fragile body shivering against him as it died. But he wasn't dead yet, still alive enough that he was staring right up at Dean, warm hazel eyes like Sam's. So much like Sam…

"No…" Dean choked, beginning to tremble, remembering this moment as clear as any memory from his real life. He remembered how it had felt, how the boy had taken so long to die, longer than Dean expected, and how, horribly, Dean had been able to justify it all. See good in it. Feel pride in that he had at least managed to save _someone_.

Malak hadn't made Dean a monster in Hell, nor had the visions of Sam and Sasha, so cruel. Dean had become a monster all on his own, through his own choices. How could he be Heaven's warrior when he had done things willingly that no one should ever be forgiven for?

Dean was weighed down by so much more than just the boy in his lap, slowly dying. He shouldn't be here. Malak couldn't do this. Dean had been freed, saved by yet another deal. Malak didn't go against his deals, so Dean couldn't really be in Hell. He couldn't be back. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _real_.

Clinging to that belief, Dean shoved the boy from his lap, sneering at the pleading face he wouldn't believe, couldn't believe was really there. He stood. The knife was still clutched tight in his hand and for the life of him he couldn't release it. Shakily, he walked towards the stairs, stepping over the boy's body as though it were nothing, had to believe it was _nothing_ or he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of it.

"You can't do this," Dean said through clenched teeth, clinging to anger first, _anger_ because fear and grief would surely consume him, "You can't have me!" he called, even though there was no one else visible but him and the boy. He spun around, looking back towards the front double doors. They were open, he had left them open when he came inside, he remembered, just looking for a place to escape for while when that boy had run full pelt into him.

No, Dean shook his head, banishing the memories. It hadn't been real then and it wasn't real now. He remembered it clearly, so clearly, but none of it mattered. He had made so many wrong choices, but he could make up for them, had started to already. Malak was not going to win.

"You hear me!?" he yelled again, "I'm not yours! You can't have me back! This isn't real! It isn't…real…" Dean turned his head away from the door because even though he was struggling to believe none of this was anything but illusion he couldn't shake the awful sight of that boy, still alive, reaching out to him, gurgling because he couldn't speak for all the fluid filling his lungs.

Dean had done that to him. Dean had driven his knife into the boy, killing him without mercy.

_No_. It _was_ mercy. It was mercy…

"Stop…" Dean clenched his eyes shut. He kept turning until he had to be facing the stairs again. Hot tears stung his eyes, his pulse racing with the edge of fear overtaking his anger. He wanted to wake up now. He wanted to wake up.

"Dean?"

That voice plunged daggers into Dean's heart, as if he had taken his own knife to his chest to end this misery. He couldn't bear for Malak to put him through this again. But opening his eyes, Dean couldn't deny that the figure coming down the stairs was _Sasha_, twisted and deformed into that beast-like version Dean had first seen in the cave. The grin on his face was wicked.

"What are you doing?" the incubus asked, looking at the knife in Dean's hand and beyond him as if it was all terribly pleasing.

Dean's hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon. "Don't do this," he said with a quake in his voice, "You can't do this. Stop being him. You're _not him_." His voice shook but he held fast, steadily standing in place, still hearing the damn gurgling from the boy behind him, and hating the sight of Sasha so wrong before him.

The incubus tilted his head as if he couldn't possibly understand what Dean meant. "What are you talking about?" he said, grin twitching at the corner of his mouth, the doubled fangs prominent and glistening, "You know I'm me, Dean. Who else would I be?" Slowly, Sasha continued down the steps towards him.

This wasn't going to happen. Dean knew where Malak would take this, knew what the bastard would do with Sasha's image, have Sasha do to _him_, and god damn it Dean was not going to let that happen.

He tested his hold on the knife, felt the weight of it in his hand. It made him sick to think of what he had done with the knife already, to think of that boy, real or not, but if he gave into those feelings then he would be trapped all over again. He couldn't do this a second time. He couldn't.

He thought of the djinn's dreamworld and how he had had to take a risk, killing himself to save himself. This time he would show Malak he didn't believe in illusions.

"Dean?" Sasha said again, almost down the steps now, only another one or two to go before he would be right in front of Dean, close enough to reach out and grab Dean forcibly, "What's wrong? Are you alright? Why do you have your knife out?" He almost spoke with true concern, but Dean could see through it, could see that awful version of Sasha and the way he sneered instead of smiled.

"You can't have me anymore," Dean said, steadfast, eyes narrowed, knife ready, "I am _not yours_. Stop trying to be what I want. You are not what I want!" he yelled.

The figure of Sasha stopped, right there on the last step, his body monstrous, his wings so large they took up the entire staircase. "Dean?" he said again. His face wasn't beautiful, nothing about him was beautiful when he looked like this.

It made it almost easy, even though Dean's stomach clenched, even though his hand was trembling. He hadn't been able to do it before, when he was in Hell the first time and Sam and Sasha had tortured him in ways he would never forget, because he hadn't known it wasn't really them. Now that he did, now that he was certain, Dean lunged forward, plowing into Sasha's large form and knocking them both back onto the steps. "I hate you," he sneered as he stabbed the knife cleanly into the imposter's chest. And he meant it. He honestly and truly meant the words as they left him.

If only he had been as right as he thought.

As soon as he stabbed Sasha, the illusion began to fade, just as he believed and hoped it would. He was on the Roadhouse staircase, not one from that nameless house. He wasn't in Hell. But that was just the thing. He had been here all along.

His knife was real. The stairs. And although the image had been glossed over to paint a horrifying picture, Dean saw with sick realization that Sasha was real too.

Dean stared horrified into _blue_ eyes. Sasha's eyes. _Sasha_. Looking just as he had minutes ago when he went up the stairs with the others. Had he heard Dean yelling? Or just come down to check on him? It didn't matter. What mattered was that Sasha was here, _real_, and Dean had stabbed him with his very real, very lethal _iron_ knife.

"No, no, no…" he chanted, pushing himself up, his knee twinging with pain from colliding with the stairs. He was half on top of Sasha—_Sasha_—who was already convulsing, seizing painfully as the ghost of blue veins shimmered beneath his skin. He could barely focus on Dean, his blue eyes wide, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn't.

What had Dean done…?

Laughter from behind Dean reminded him that they were not alone. Malak was still here, his very presence making Dean tense and feel even more like he was going to be sick. But Dean couldn't deal with Malak now. He tried to ignore that laughter too close behind him, focused on Sasha shaking uncontrollably as the poison of the iron worked quickly through his body.

Dean didn't have any time. He knew he had some antidote on him, always did, always carried some just in case the worst happened. He found two vials in his pants pocket, shifted off of Sasha to give the incubus space, and readied himself to pull the knife free. His mouth was already open, ready to tell Sasha that it would be okay, everything would be okay, when the hand reaching for the hilt of the knife was snatched up and pulled back behind him.

"Of course I can't take you back to Hell, Dean," said Malak, snatching up Dean's other hand as well so that the vials clattered onto the step, "But I can certainly make this world feel like it." He pulled Dean back against him with just that hold on his wrists, so unfairly strong and immovable that Dean couldn't even struggle, could only jerk vainly forward trying to get back to Sasha.

"Please…" Dean pleaded, begged, _begged_ of the Devil, "Just let me…let me help him. _Please_. Baby, I didn't know it was you, I swear," he beseeched of Sasha, "You can't do this!" he screamed over his shoulder, hating how close Malak was, pressed up tight against him.

"Me? Why, Dean, I haven't done anything," the bastard had the gall to sound oblivious and innocent, "_You_ did that."

And Dean couldn't deny it, because he _had_ done that. He had stabbed Sasha viciously, merciless, with hatred on his lips. Hatred for Malak though and seven years of pain, not hatred for Sasha, never Sasha. "I…I didn't…_mean_…"

"Mmm…" Malak hummed in contentment, folding Dean's arms in front of him with his own arms folding around Dean too, holding Dean back against him even tighter. They were just off the stairs, Sasha splayed out over the first few steps still convulsing, but less pronounced, more like jerking trembles that proved how little time he had. His eyes were hazy but on Dean, always on Dean. "Not a clean kill," Malak said in a conversational tone that made Dean so angry he nearly choked, "But you definitely nicked the heart with that. I'd say he has…another minute? Less. _My_…" he whispered close and hot against Dean's ear, "He is beautiful when he's dying, isn't he?"

Dean couldn't bear it, not something so close to Hell but real, and all because he had been stupid enough to think Malak would ever make things easy. "Please…" he tried again, because he couldn't even move in Malak's too strong embrace, let alone hope to struggle free, "Not him. Anything but him, _please_." Dean was not above begging, didn't feel even the slightest ashamed for it, because if it was the only option he had, he'd do whatever it took.

"Yes," Malak nearly hissed, mouth ghosting along the edge of Dean's ear, "Anything but him. I know. Perhaps you'd say the same if it were Sam, but…either of them, yes, I know how you would do anything to keep them safe. Why do you think I used them to begin with, Dean? I didn't know if my little visit tonight would amount to much, but then down came your incubus to your rescue, and you reacted so wonderfully. So why don't we make this simple, hmm? I can let you go. Let you save him. Or I can hang on and let you watch him _die_."

The tears in Dean's eyes stung. "Please…"

Even though he couldn't see it, Dean felt Malak's grin widen as lips pressed to his neck. "Nothing is free, Dean. You know what I want in exchange."

God damn it. This wasn't happening now, so soon, so easily for Malak that Dean could do nothing but agree. He couldn't lose Sasha. He couldn't. But he couldn't make the end-all decision now, like this, condemning everyone for his own selfish needs. Could he?

He closed his eyes, even though Sasha was fading right in front of him, blue eyes beseeching, the knife still stuck so deep within him with all those awful veins shimmering. If Dean fell today then all of them would fall. He wouldn't be able to save Sol or Sam or anyone. But he couldn't just let Sasha die.

He thought of calling out to those still upstairs, but for whatever reason they hadn't yet heard any of what was happening so far, so it had to be a lost cause, a veil, something by Malak's doing. The demon may not be all powerful here, but he was powerful enough.

So without a favorable option, Dean went for door number three, against all his better judgment, and damn it if he couldn't believe he was even doing it, but if it was all he had left, he'd do anything. So he prayed. _'Please,'_ he sent out to whoever would listen, _'Please…god damn it, _please_…help me.'_

The shock was immediate, taking Dean so much by surprise that he almost didn't believe he had been thrown forward onto Sasha until he pushed up and saw the incubus' anguished face. Sasha looked to him for mercy, mercy Dean could and would give him that had nothing to do with Sasha dying tonight.

"You overstep your bounds, _demon_," said a new voice, powerful and fierce in a way that shook Dean to the core. But it was a voice he knew, recognized and found familiar for two reasons now, one because he had heard it recently. It was Castiel.

Dean couldn't dwell though, didn't even listen to whatever Castiel said further or how Malak responded. There wasn't any time and Dean was frantic as he snatched up one of the vials from the step. He couldn't pause or steel himself for this; he gripped the hilt of the knife and ripped it free, making Sasha gasp and trembled even more intensely, choking on what little air he was capable of taking in.

Quickly, Dean tore Sasha's T-shirt away and poured half the vial. He was worried then that it was too close to the end and a normal dose wouldn't be enough, so he poured all of it, snatched up the second vial and tipped all of that one down Sasha's throat. It wasn't easy since the incubus was seizing more violently now, with his eyes rolled back into his head. That scared Dean more than he could say, even as he saw the antidote beginning to work, the wound gone away to smooth skin, and that green glow spreading through Sasha's body like a flash fire.

Then Sasha was gasping, gulping in air and shivering as he rolled to his side and coughed, not convulsing anymore but only shivering because his body was weak and spent, yes, but alive. He was still alive.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, heart in his voice the way Sasha was supposed to sound, not him, not 'keep the chick flick moments to a minimum' Dean Winchester, "I'm so sorry." He cradled the incubus close to him, both of them a little awkward on the steps, but Dean couldn't bear to not be touching every part of Sasha possible right now. Having Sasha's head tucked underneath his chin, feeling breath on his neck and the warmth from Sasha's body filled Dean with some of the peace Malak had so cleanly ripped out of him.

"D-Dean…" Sasha tried to speak, his teeth chattering, his body still shivering as it fought to come back from being so god damn unfairly close to death. Again.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, _boy_," came Malak's voice, loud enough that Dean was pulled back into the conversation, finally able to turn his head and see what was happening.

Malak and Castiel were facing each other, equally close to Dean and Sasha on the steps. Castiel looked just as Dean had first seen him, wearing his tax accountant with suit and trench coat. His face was stone, entirely impassive and severe the way Dean thought was much more befitting of an angel than curious head tilts. Malak was seething but hiding the expression behind a twisted smile.

"My claim is just," Malak went on, "Dean is as much mine as yours. I haven't done anything I haven't a right to. And soon I will have even more discretion," he sneered, "You know that as much as I do. I can feel the fear in you, _angel_, fear that your precious charge will turn to me instead."

Even merely hearing Malak say that filled Dean with fire. Anger—he stayed focused on his anger since he no longer felt that awful fear and grief. Surely, he would still grieve, even though Sasha would never blame him for what happened. But to be so obviously weak made Dean angry most of all with himself.

Therefore, it pleased him greatly when Castiel gave a small subtle smile and looked to Dean with pride.

"You speak lofty words. But at great risk Dean called for me rather than accept your offer," he said.

"This is not my last chance to claim him," Malak quickly countered, "The time for that is still ahead. This was merely a…experiment. He'll be mine soon enough." If Dean didn't know any better he would swear Malak was pouting. It seemed the demon couldn't do anything to Castiel. If he could, surely he would have done so by now. That made sense, Dean figured, since Malak's power was limited to those he had influence over or some stake in. And after all, it must be especially difficult to tempt an angel.

Castiel returned his attention to Malak, his expression hardening. He made no move to approach the demon, but his tone was ice in the air. "You will leave now," he commanded, "Dean is safe from you in my presence."

Malak huffed, his black suit-clad arms crossing indignantly over his chest as he looked down his nose at the angel before him. "To think some low-ranking grunt is assigned to so important a quarry. I suppose there is no accounting for intelligence on Michael's part. He could have reassigned someone more fitting when Dean's identity became known. But no, that would be _wrong_," he said mockingly, "Taking from Dean that which has watched over him all his life. Hn. Believe me, _boy_, when Dean is mine I won't even break a sweat over you. I will thoroughly enjoy eviscerating that pretty form. Perhaps I'll even start with that handsome man you're wearing before I _rip_ you out of him." Malak's eyes flashed with his threat, brighter and more menacing with their red on black.

For the first time, Dean saw something like fear waver across Castiel's face, but it was quickly replaced with stern resolve. "You—"

"Dean," Malak turned, walking towards the stairs and ignoring Castiel entirely, "We'll be in touch," he said as he stared fondly down at Dean and Sasha, "You feel it now, how I'm still very much apart of you. And Solrin will be a great asset, a deserving General I will have waiting as a gift for you when you finally make your decision. His abilities are even greater than he knows."

"What are they?" Dean found himself asking, surprised to hear his voice gravelly and hoarse, like he had been sobbing for hours, "What is it about this guy that draws in evil?"

Of course Dean never expected a straight answer from the demon. And not one to disappoint, Malak merely smirked, looked down at Sasha with something between annoyance and desire, and then he turned with a glare back to Castiel. "Do be careful when you choose to go against me," he said to the angel, "I am sure I will deal with you again."

"You will," Castiel promised.

Then with another huff, Malak faded like he so often did and was gone.

Dean's eyes immediately drifted down to Sasha in his arms. The incubus was shivering so hard still, his skin hot like he had the worst fever. This would leave a more lasting effect than when Gordon had caught Sasha square in the heart with that iron alloy. Dean's knife was pure iron, and if Dean's aim had been even a fraction more to the left, Sasha would be dead. It made Dean completely ignore that he should maybe be ashamed of the easy tears dampening his eyes.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean whispered, even though his eyes were on Sasha, on dim blue that peered up at Dean filled with love and understanding.

"I am so sorry, Dean," Castiel said, walking up to them, "Had I been able to see that you were in such danger, I would have come straight away, but Malak's powers prevented it. I did not know you needed me until you called."

Sasha blinked at Dean, his brow furrowing as if to say he hadn't heard Dean call for anyone. Dean had to smirk at that. "So I prayed," he told the incubus, "So sue me. It saved you, didn't it?"

An answering smile, albeit weak, replied. "You…prayed for me?" Sasha spoke, his voice as fragile as the rest of him.

It shouldn't be such a big deal, but Dean supposed for him it sort of was. He smiled wider, turned to Castiel, who crouched beside them with concern on his face as he looked at Sasha. "Baby, this is Cas. Castiel. That angel you were wondering about," he said a little teasingly, somehow managing that even though his eyes were nearly wet enough to overflow.

Castiel smiled at Sasha, that small twitch of his lips, and nodded in greeting. He was close enough that when he reached out a hand he could touch Sasha's forehead without strain. "I am afraid that I do not have much ability to heal you. You are not human and my powers are limited there. But this may…" he trailed, glancing at Dean with another twitch of his lips, "Take the edge off," he finished.

Dean's angel had definitely learned a few things from watching him, Dean decided. He expected glowing light, radiating heat, sparkles, _something_, but Castiel's hand didn't change, just stayed on Sasha's forehead for a moment and then he took it away. Sasha sighed in contentment, visibly relieved and grateful for whatever it was that simple touch had done.

"Thank you for calling me, Dean," Castiel looked over at him, remaining crouched, "in the future, please try and do so earlier. I can always protect you if Malak goes beyond what is allowed. Unfortunately, however, I could not have stepped in to dismiss the visions that caused this to begin with. He was able to pull you in because you allowed it." Castiel frowned, his words coming slow, knowing it would upset Dean to hear them.

As if Dean needed to be reminded that this was all his fault. He had known it the moment he allowed fear and weakness to fill him, before Malak had even touched his chest. "I kinda figured that," Dean admitted, "I just…hadn't seen him since that night, and I…" Dean squeezed his eyes shut to stay the tears threatening to fall. He was weak. He knew that. He had always known that.

"You are not weak, Dean. Far from it. Lesser men would have given into him. You called for me." Castiel smiled, perhaps a little wider than usual, but still subtle, a fleeting thing as he stepped unashamed into Dean's mind and out again.

Dean helped Sasha sit up so they weren't lying uncomfortably on the steps anymore, but he held Sasha close against him, tucked into his side like a child. "I just called for help. Nice to know there's someone on the other end of the line for a change."

Castiel immediately frowned.

"Okay, okay, so you're always on the other line, always have been, whatever," Dean saw right where the angel's mind had been headed, "I guess these are special circumstances so it's a little different to have you…ya know…actually charging into the rescue in person. So thanks. I don't think I could…" he trailed, choked on his words as he looked to Sasha again who wasn't trembling quite so much but still looked pretty well wrecked, "I just…couldn't," he finished.

Castiel was still frowning when Dean looked up again. The angel looked as though he wanted to say something more, but suddenly his head jerked up the stairs and Dean realized they were no longer alone.

Dean turned, looking up the stairs as well.

"What are you doing?" said a rigid, deep voice from the dark as a flashlight struck Dean and Sasha on the stairs. A moment later, the light moved away from them and Dean saw that the owner of the voice was his allusive quarry, Sonji Lorin, half-dressed and carrying a gun in the hand not holding the flashlight.

"Uhh…we…" he turned to maybe get a little help from Castiel, but saw that the angel was gone. Great. Well, less questions, he figured. He looked back up at Sol. "It's, uhh…nothing to get all trigger happy over," he managed, situating Sasha a little better to see if the incubus was capable of standing. Miraculously, Sasha nodded as he realized what Dean intended and was able to mostly get up on his own power while leaning heavily against Dean. "My friend here seems to be coming down with something. Collapsed a few minutes before you came down. Just gotta get him up to bed is all." Dean tried to help Sasha up the first step, but the incubus pitched forward, weaker on his feet then either of them realized as he headed for another collision course with the stairs.

In a matter of seconds, Dean understood why Malak had referred to Sol as the young man with the quick reflexes. Suddenly, he was right there with them, holding Sasha's free arm to keep the incubus from falling. "You seemed fine before," he said plainly, even as he was tucking away the gun and flashlight to better hook Sasha's arm over his shoulders and properly help Dean lead Sasha up the stairs.

It struck Dean as crazily out of character for the guy, at least from the little Dean had seen, but he wasn't about to protest. "Thanks, man," he said as they slowly trekked up the steps, "Yeah, it, uhh…came on fast, I guess. Must be some nasty twenty-four hour bug or something. Don't blame us if you catch it." Dean tried to smirk over at the guy, but Sol was staring ahead, once again only leaving Dean with the sight of the bandaged eye.

Sol was half-dressed, as Dean had noted before, in the same pants he had worn earlier, Dean assumed, but barefoot and shirtless. The rest of the bandages were blatantly apparent now, wrapped around his entire midsection and parts of his arms. The places that weren't bandaged looked pretty scarred up, though Dean didn't notice any fresh wounds or blood seeping through.

Sasha was too weak to manage much more than a slurred thank you in Sol's direction. Sol was unnervingly silent as well, however, and without the nice excuse of almost dying a few minutes earlier. It took them a couple minutes to get Sasha up the stairs, but it felt like ten, twenty, _forever_ with the nauseating quiet.

When they reached the top of the stairs, finally Sol spoke. "Your room is next to mine," he turned to Dean, his good eye almost seeming to glow in the dim light, "Where is his?"

Well, so much for easing in slowly. Dean's smile turned a little crooked as he said, "Same place, pal. We're sorta a package deal, if you get me." He really hoped this guy wasn't as freaky about same sex goings on as he was about monsters.

To Dean's surprise, Sol just nodded, didn't even bat an eyelash before continuing down the hallway to their rooms. They were a few steps along then when Sol asked a question that stopped Dean cold. "How did he rip his shirt?" he said.

"Uhh…musta been the fall, I guess. Didn't notice. If only you knew how many shirts this guy goes through," he chuckled, realizing moments after he said that that it probably made them sound a little kinkier than they…okay, so they were pretty kinky.

"I heard noises," Sol went on, eyes always straight ahead, making it hard for Dean to read him, "Strange, I thought, almost like they weren't really there. It was your voice mostly. It sounded a bit more involved than someone fainting."

This added a new element of strange to Sol, because if there had been anything to hear, Sam would have been the first one to come down the stairs. Which meant that either Sol had hearing that could cut through supernatural static, or Malak had let Sol hear on purpose. "Yeah, well…see, I had fallen asleep down there, and Sasha here was coming down to get me. Guess he didn't realize he was getting sick. Sorta…snuck up on him." That was partially true. Sasha certainly hadn't seen what hit him coming.

"And the yelling?"

Dean decided to follow with another truth. "I don't have the nicest dreams sometimes."

Sol nodded at that, accepting the explanation without further questioning. He turned to Dean for a moment, his face looking even more ghost-like in the dark with that grey/white hair. "I can relate," he said. Dean didn't doubt that at all from the haunted look.

They reached Dean and Sasha's room, just one door down from Solrin's. Dean hoisted Sasha closer to him as he fiddled with the key. He missed the days they didn't have to bother locking their door, but with so many hunters around it was better to be safe. "I got him from here. Thanks for the help. He'll probably pass right out. Right, baby?" he grinned at Sasha.

Sasha smiled weakly, using much effort to turn his head towards Sol and say, "Th-Thanks. Dean…probably woulda…dropped me…all the way down those steps…if you hadn't helped."

Now that they could see Solrin more clearly, the hunter standing just aside of them and no longer holding onto Sasha, he looked very young to Dean, white hair or not. His body was far too thin, muscled but thin, like he barely ever ate. He didn't smile in kind or accept Sasha's thanks. Instead his brow narrowed. "You have rather odd hair for a hunter," he said.

Dean tensed at that but Sasha merely chuckled. "So they…tell me," he answered.

"Well, we…better get you to bed, babe. Thanks again, umm…" Dean knew the guy's name, of course, but this was the best chance he was gonna get for making up for earlier. Getting an introduction was the first step.

"Solrin," he said, just as impassive as ever, but with the meagerest bow of his head, "I…" he looked at Sasha and flinched a little as if what he was about to say was supremely difficult, "I hope…you feel better." Then without so much as a goodnight or goodbye, the guy turned on his heel and headed for his room.

Considering Dean hadn't ended up with any new bruises to match the ones Sol left on his wrist earlier, he decided to mark the encounter as a success.

He got the door open, got Sasha inside without much trouble, and helped the incubus into bed. Dean slipped off Sasha's jeans but left it at that. Much as Dean wanted to express his endless sorrow and regret over what had happened, he was pleased that Sasha almost instantly fell asleep. The incubus needed rest. Tomorrow he'd need…other things, but Dean was always happy to help with that part of the recovery.

Dean was tired too, exhausted, from the day and from Malak's stunt. Now Dean knew better, knew for certain that no matter what powers Malak may have, he couldn't steal Dean away to Hell, not without breaking the rules, and Malak hated doing that. If Dean ever found himself in a similar situation, he had his very own angel to call on.

A small part of Dean wanted to be resentful of that, of all the times he needed an angel and felt like there hadn't been anything but pain to accompany him, but he couldn't be upset with Castiel. He understood why things were the way they were, even if it wasn't fair. After all, he was the one who let Malak in. He made it unfair all on his own.

Much as he would love to avoid telling Sam and the others about Malak's visit, he knew he would have to, especially since Sasha's general state of being out of it would probably give the game away. But that could wait until tomorrow.

Dean got ready for bed, thinking of all the ways tonight could have gone from fucking horrible to fubared. Then he thought of his angel again and felt a little better. After he had curled in next to Sasha, cradling the incubus to help stay some of the fever that still seemed to be affecting him, Dean closed his eyes and whispered one last prayer.

"Thanks, Cas."

-----

The Roadhouse always went to bed late, just the way things were, and Sasha and Dean—and Sol, since he had come down and helped them—had been the last to traipse up to bed. That meant that Dean was not going to get much sleep no matter how much he might want it. He was expecting that, expecting to be so damn tired in the morning it would physically hurt to hear the alarm go off. But when he blinked awake, groggy and disoriented, he definitely knew that something other than the alarm had woken him up, and it was a far more ungodly hour than it should be.

The next thing Dean noticed was the weight all on top of his body, practically suffocating him as it held every last part of him down. That made Dean's eyes spring wide and he blinked at the figure above him, relieved but also worried to see slit-pupil red staring back at him.

"Sasha…?"

"_Dean_," Sasha mewled like he did only when he had been desperately teased and needed to fuck or be fucked right that second, "You're up. You're up," he repeated, pleased and eager as he nuzzled Dean's cheek, which was also a little messed up, "Good. So glad. I…I need you, Dean. I don't…I don't think I can…bear another minute." His voice was one long whine and Dean was suddenly aware of the steel hard erection jabbing into his thigh.

Shit. "Baby," Dean tried to remain calm, having been warned about something like this but never really believing it would happen, "Are you, uhh…are you okay?" He brought his hands up to smooth up and down Sasha's arms, trying to soothe the incubus, or at least stall him until he figured out how bad this actually was.

"M'fine, Dean," Sasha slurred, still nuzzling Dean's face, his neck, where he bit sharply all of sudden with fangs that were a little too sharp tonight. This morning. Whichever.

Dean cringed, wondering if that love bite was enough to draw blood. "Baby," he tried again, "You're not fine. You almost fucking _died_. And…and you told me once that…the closer you are to something like that, the sooner you need to feed again, right? So…how in your right mind are you right now?"

Part of Dean was afraid of the answer, especially since he now realized that Sasha's impressive erection was naked against him, all of Sasha was naked, and the incubus was sort of grinding all over the place, rubbing every bit of him he could against Dean. "I-I know, Dean. I know I'm…not quite right. But I just…I need it, need you so bad. I think…if that angel of yours…hadn't," he chuckled into Dean's neck, "Hadn't taken the edge off…that I'd be in pretty bad shape right now."

Double shit. That meant that if Castiel hadn't done whatever he did, Sasha would have jumped Dean about the time they reached their room, and probably not so nicely. Now that didn't mean that right now had to be bad, but Dean was going to have to be careful. He tried to tell himself that it was not masochistic of him to be a little turned on. After all, Sasha was about as needy as he ever was right now, and being that desired was always frickin' hot. As long as Dean didn't lose any limbs or too much blood or anything.

From what Dean could tell, Sasha's fingers were blackened but not claws. His eyes were red, his fangs visible, his hair long enough to cover his ears—his sexy, pointed ears—but that was all. He wasn't so close to frenzy that he'd hurt Dean. Probably.

"Okay. Okay, baby, I know what you need," Dean said appeasingly, starting to feel now that even in his sleep he had grown at least a little hard just from having a naked incubus all over him, "But, uhh…since you're just a little…you know…not quite right, we're gonna have to take this real slow. You don't wanna bang me up too bad, do you?"

Sasha's hips shifted against Dean, his head still nuzzling as he licked at where his fangs had punctured Dean's neck. "Course not…wouldn't…wouldn't ever hurt you…never hurt you, Dean. Just…just _need_…" He ground down more roughly, his hands suddenly taking Dean's from his shoulders and pinning them to the bed.

Dean fought back a gasp. That so shouldn't be that hot to him, but _god damn_. "S-So," Dean stuttered, not feeling at all shameful of it either, "Why don't we…make this a game. You know, see just how slow we can go to…make sure I don't…pull anything," he winked when Sasha lifted up finally, still holding Dean's wrists to the mattress as his red eyes shimmered.

"Slow," Sasha repeated, as if maybe he wasn't quite sure of the definition. Then he flashed a smile that looked almost like he was still sane. "Like when we first…started. Right? _Slow_," he purred, leaning down to lick Dean's bottom lip, then the top one.

And hell yeah, that was really fucking hot. "Y-yeah, baby. Like when we first started. Stealing kisses behind Sammy's back." Dean grinned at the memory. Okay, so Sam had been a little more wise to what was going on than Dean had wanted to admit, but it still had been thrilling, always afraid they'd get caught. This was different, of course, way different, but as long as Dean and Sasha were on the same page, this could turn out pretty fucking epic.

Gripping Dean's T-shirt at the collar, Sasha pulled, ripping it straight down the center like tissue paper. Okay, so maybe slow wouldn't exactly stop them from getting to the finale fast, but it was fun to speculate.

Dean had never really liked that shirt anyway.

"Need you so bad, Dean," Sasha breathed again, hot on his lips as he bent for a kiss, a real kiss this time, tongue tangling with Dean's, teeth nearly gnashing together as the incubus seemed to want to crawl inside Dean's mouth and claim every last crevice as his own.

Dean wanted to move his hands now, reach around Sasha and touch some of that hot, naked skin, but the incubus kept him pinned. That was pretty hot too, being totally immovable and submissive, but knowing he was also totally safe, even if he should be more wary that he might not be.

Sasha wouldn't hurt him though. Sasha would never hurt him.

Next, Dean's shorts were torn from his body, hopefully not ruined since Dean really liked those ones. That meant Dean's arms were free for all of two seconds, but before he could even twitch, Sasha was back to holding him down.

"Come on, baby. I'm not going anywhere," Dean whined, arching his body up against Sasha since they were both wonderfully naked now. Sasha's hard length slid across Dean's hip, wet and weeping as Dean bucked up, making the redhead growl low and wanting deep in his throat.

"Nope," Sasha said, his voice a growl too, "Not going _anywhere_. Wanna fuck you, Dean," he spoke gruffly against Dean's ear, his lips on the skin, making Dean shiver, "Need to, mmm…so bad. Need to fuck you, Dean. Need to fucking _fuck you_ right now. Want me to? Dean? Want me to fuck you?"

That just about did it right there. Dean was fully hard, rock solid, and with Sasha talking like _that_, goading him almost, taunting him, it was enough to make Dean forget about everything that had happened earlier that night. "Hell yeah," Dean said, gloriously pinned and writhing beneath Sasha, "_Hell_ yeah. Fuck me," Dean looked right up into those red eyes and grinned, "Break the fucking bed with me, baby."

A low chuckle left Sasha, practically another growl and he leaned in closer to Dean, so heavy on top of him as he licked again at Dean's lips and said, "Turn over."

Dean could admit that there was always a shade of fear in the pit of his stomach at the idea of Sasha fucking him facedown into the mattress. He still thought of Indiana every now and then, and that was not a good memory. It also, more recently, brought up a few old memories of Hell and one particular time when…Dean shook his head. Not a good time to think about that.

With that kind of fear holding him back, Dean had to roll over, had no choice really if he was ever going to beat the remains of his fears. Now that his wrists had finally been released, Dean felt just how sore they were from Sasha's strong grip. He settled onto his stomach. Then he heard a drawer open, some fumbling, and looked over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked the incubus.

Sasha's eyes glittered wildly from above Dean, but still with control, with _enough_ control, Dean hoped, as the incubus lifted up a small bottle.

It was warming oil. Great for lube, even though half the time they didn't think to use any. They had had that bottle for months. Dean was entirely put at ease to see Sasha holding it.

"Never hurt you, Dean," Sasha promised, climbing on top of Dean again to kiss the back of his neck, "Gotta give me a bit more…leverage though, huh?" he said, his free hand ghosting down Dean's side to his hips were he pulled up to coax Dean to move.

Dean got the idea. He got up onto his knees, still leaning forward on his elbows so his ass was pretty much right in Sasha's face. It was some ungodly hour, Dean was buzzed from being overtired and so fucking horny right now, and god damn it way too much had happened in too short a time again. He was so ready for this.

He was not, however, ever really ready for when Sasha decided to use his tongue first. Somehow that always got Dean to release a very unmanly yelp.

"Shhh…" Sasha hushed from up over Dean's rounded back, "Sol'll hear us," he giggled.

That was a slightly sobering thought.

Then Sasha's tongue was right fucking there again and Dean had to clamp his jaw closed to keep from yelping again. Even that small intrusion was just so damn erotic, the way Sasha's tongue was all wet heat slipping inside of Dean to tease him right on the edge of where it really felt good. Dean would be begging before long, soon was, begging with each little thrust of Sasha's talented tongue.

And right when he was about to scream for all his tries to stay silent, Sasha pulled away, the sound of the cap on the oil flicking open alerting Dean that they were moving fast even if the details were slow. Dean couldn't resist peering over his shoulder to watch Sasha coat himself with the oil, running his hand languidly over the black designs of his markings.

Sasha looked up, caught Dean watching him, and grinned. He poured a little more oil onto his hands, his fingers glistening, and went to work stretching Dean with those slick fingers. With Dean in this position and Sasha using the oil, _Christ_, it just opened Dean right up, made every push of Sasha's fingers seem deeper than normal. That meant that Sasha would feel deeper too and Dean sort of wanted to get to that already, _right the fuck now_.

"_Baby_," he pleaded, pushing back on those fingers that were working surprisingly gentle within him, especially considering the skin on those fingers was a little rougher, halfway turned into claws.

"Say it, Dean," Sasha growled above him.

This game they had played before. Dean grinned into the mattress, the pillow long ago tossed aside. "_Please_," was all Dean needed to say, all Sasha wanted to hear before the incubus was pressing in, slow, yeah, agonizingly slow, but deep as he could get. He grabbed Dean's hips with both hands, the bottle of oil lost, and pulled Dean back against him with one firm thrust.

Dean immediately bit back a cry, Sasha hitting that marvelous bundle of nerves like nobody's business and pulling back for another go. Then another. Pulling out and pressing in, hands ever firm on Dean's hips to make the connection go deeper every time. Now there was no room for slow, Dean didn't fucking want slow, he wanted _rough_, wanted _hard_, wanted feel it in your gut _deep_.

He may have asked for it, may have begged, he couldn't be sure, but regardless of whether any words left him, Sasha listened, thrust so hard behind him that Dean had to press his hands to the headboard or he was going to push right through the damn wall.

Heat started pooling right away, swirling heat that moved through Dean's whole body all the way down to his feet. The oil had Sasha so slick, he touched Heaven every time he pressed in, and Dean was right there too, pearly gates and all. Dean thought humorously of thanking Cas again but he really didn't want the angel to accidentally show up.

The weird thing was the guy probably already knew what they were doing anyway, seeing as how it was his job to watch over Dean.

Kinky.

"Dean," Sasha gasped, like a god damn benediction, a fucking holy prayer just by saying Dean's name. Sasha wouldn't last much longer but Dean was going out of his mind, unable to give himself any personal reprieve since his hands were braced against the headboard, and Sasha wasn't exactly helping him along either since he had that firm grip on Dean's hips.

So Dean would have to ask for it. "Need you…need you to touch me, baby," he gasped, hips jerking with every motion of Sasha behind him, "Gonna fucking explode if you…don't."

A pleased growl responded; Sasha never could get enough of Dean begging. He pulled Dean up slightly, more flush against him, one hand steady on Dean's hip while the other snaked around Dean's body to take him in hand. Somehow, Sasha's hand was even hotter than Dean's heated skin, like fire in Sasha's touch gripping him tight and stroking fluidly with the rhythm of their thrusting.

Sasha's hand was still wet from the oil, slick and hot and so fucking tight around him. Dean moaned as he pushed back, sheathing Sasha deeper within him and overloading Dean on so many sensations. Then just when Dean thought he couldn't take anymore, Sasha sent the circuit surging through him in waves.

"Sa…_Sasha_…" But it was too much, too much, ten times more powerful than the first time Sasha had fed Dean the circuit and it had nearly overloaded him. Dean started shaking, choking, so charged with sexual energy that it felt like he was…

Oh shit.

"Sasha," he forced out, falling forward and clutching at the headboard for some kind of support, "Gotta…pull back. Taking too—!" Dean cringed, feeling beyond overwhelmed like he might pass out, terrified for a moment that he would and wouldn't ever wake up, leaving Sasha to deal with the aftermath.

Then it was gone, dulled back to bearable and absolutely fucking epic for how hot it all was. Sasha's thrusts and pulls and the circuit were all perfect. It was as if that flash of fear and dread had never even happened. Dean had to wonder if it had or if he had merely imagined it, spending one brief moment back in Hell.

He thought, fleetingly, that he could hear Malak laughing at him.

"Dean?" Sasha said questioningly, sounding more stable, more sane as he fed from Dean and regained his strength, "What's…wrong?"

Nothing, Dean thought, but he didn't say it. Sasha wouldn't hurt him. Sasha would never hurt him. Dean knew that. Had faith in that. And that was all that mattered. "I'm…fucking ready to burst, is what," he gasped, "Don't stop now." Eager to reach an end, Dean pushed back on Sasha harder, reached up to grab the top of the headboard for support and rode out that marvelous friction.

He came first, sudden and hot over Sasha's hand. He collapsed forward and Sasha spilled on his back moments later, the sudden heat making Dean twitch contentedly. He would not be moving again until they got up, no way, which he hoped was a while from now since he couldn't see the clock.

Sasha, refreshed and almost back to normal, grabbed a towel to wipe them both off, letting it drop off the bed to be dealt with later. He snuggled in tight against Dean then, cradling Dean against his side like Dean had done for him earlier. Dean was beyond spent. A little more sleep was all he needed to be back to normal though, and Sasha would be much better off after feeding. Best of all, Dean felt like Sasha had fucked the remains of Malak right out of him, and for that he was grateful.

"You okay?" Sasha whispered after they had lain there a few moments, both trembling and sticky with sweat.

Dean grinned weakly in his pleasant fatigue. "Right as rain, babe. Right as fucking rain." And for now, right at that moment, it was nothing but the truth.

-----

At the end of the day, the mission was what mattered, not Malak's stunts or temptations. Dean made that very clear to Sam and the others after explaining to them what had happened last night.

Dean was up for real way earlier than any of them usually would be—well, Ellen was apparently always up that early to service her customers—but Dean was dead tired and in no mood to be mothered. They had to concentrate on Sol. Dean took it as a good sign that the guy had leant such a willing hand with Sasha and he hoped the encounter would tip things in their favor.

First thing was first. They set themselves up in the middle of the bar with all the things they thought they would need to begin their hunt, and made a point of discussing it very openly when Solrin came down for breakfast later. They just hoped the final hunt they had narrowed their search down to was actually the one Solrin was on.

Dean wished he could force his incubus to rest for the day. Their feverish romp that morning was good for Sasha, brought back the glow to his face and most of his usual energy, but it wasn't yet enough, Dean knew that, even if Sasha kept insisting he was fine. The last thing they needed was for one of them to pass out in the middle of a hunt. Their mission may be more focused on getting to know and understand Sol, but the hunt was still real.

"Frankly, I can't believe another hunter hasn't started working on this yet," Sam was saying just as Solrin first entered the bar, "Ellen," he called to her, "You're sure no one's looking into this? It's right in town."

Ellen was fine with playing along. She shook her head. "Haven't heard anything," she said. Sarah and Jo were still sleeping, which Dean thought was thoroughly unfair.

"Good thing we're here then," Dean shrugged, "Now, baby, I know you say you're feeling fine, but can you maybe stick to digging up the info and let Sammy and I handle the killing part when it comes to it? This thing sounds pretty nasty if it's eating half these kids before leaving 'em." Sasha scowled as Dean said that but Dean went right on before the incubus could say anything. "What's the time frame again, Sammy?"

Just off their periphery they could all see Solrin at a nearby table, waiting to be served. So far he was doing a pretty fine job of pretending he wasn't listening in. "Last one was the fourth in two months, the deaths happening every two weeks like clockwork. That doesn't give us much time before the next one's supposed to happen. A few days only."

"All teenage boys?" Sasha asked with a furrowed brow. As much as they were putting on a show here, their concern and interest in the case was honest.

Sam nodded. "Four boys, all around sixteen, all similar build. It's a small town so this hasn't gone unnoticed. Police report states it's some kind of animal, but not with that specific an M.O. Gotta be something a little more our league rather than Smokey the Bear. No particular creature comes to mind right off the bat, so I figure we should start with the coroner. Usual fed alias?" he looked at Dean.

"Works for me."

"Sure," Sasha huffed, "Good way of keeping _me_ out."

Dean had to smirk a little at the incubus' pout. "Hey, you're the one with the fire engine red hair. Limits your aliases. Not our fault. You can dig around the cemetery or something, ask about the boys already buried. We'll hit the families after that. Together," he said appeasingly, even though his expression obviously said he was patronizing Sasha.

Much as the incubus scowled at that, it was mostly only playful indignancy and he let the matter slide. Sasha shuffled through some of the papers spread out on the table between them. "So what were these kids' names again?"

There was the sudden unsettling sound of wood scrapping along the floor as Solrin pushed his chair back and stood. "Tyson Byrnes. Eric Koenig. Paul Christensen. And Jared Logan," he listed off plainly, "Jared was the first. It seems…we are here for the same thing," he said, perhaps mildly suspicious sounding, which would have made Dean nervous if he didn't deep down believe they could pull this off.

"Well, how do ya like that?" Dean smiled over at the guy, who was slowly walking closer to their table to inspect their work, "I'd say something like 'we got here first' or 'finders keepers' but I s'ppose that would be a little childish of me."

Naturally, Solrin didn't crack a smile at that any more than he had at any of Dean's antics. He looked to each of them, asking silent permission to look over what they had, and when Sam gave the okay on their behalf, Sol immediately hunkered down over the table like he did when they had seen him working alone. He paged through what they had put together quickly. "We appear to be at the same place," he said, standing up tall when he had finished. Today he was without his trench coat, probably because it was day and fairly warm out. He wore well fitting cargo pants, a grey button-down, and a short black jacket. It all looked rather mismatched and ill-fitting. Bandages still stuck out in places and were still wrapped all around his left eye. "I know no more than you do," he said, "Either of us could take the case."

Crap. Dean hadn't expected so easy a compromise. "We wouldn't wanna step on any toes here, but we did do all this work," he tried to sound nonchalant and like this wasn't what they had planned all along, "Since Sasha's a little worse for the wear yet—shut up, yes you _are_," he said the second he saw the redhead about to protest, "Since he's still getting over that _bug_ he had," Dean continued pointedly, "It'd really help us out to have an extra set of hands. Couldn't be too safe taking on something that's been tearing kids apart all by your lonesome anyway, right?"

Solrin's answering expression clearly said what Dean already knew, that this guy preferred being on his 'lonesome' regardless of the dangers.

"Hey, man," Dean held up his hands in response to that look, "Just trying to be hospitable. So you're not a team player, I get it, but it's only one case here that we all happen to be eyeing. Could make things go more smoothly to work together. If you're not up for that, we'll move on and it's all yours. No hard feelings." It was a risk to give up so easily, but Dean knew that if he seemed too pushy this guy would never fall for the con.

The way Solrin stared at Dean after that, and Sam and Sasha with quick movement of his single green eye, had Dean worried he had somehow given them away after all. It wasn't as if they could just come out and say, 'hey, we're trying to save you from the Devil here, pal'. But when Sol's attention settled back on Dean, whatever was making the guy wary of them seemed to fade at least enough for him to say, "I suppose that wouldn't be entirely…abhorrent," and with words like that the guy reminded Dean of Sam on his 'look how smart I am' days, "But you surprise me. I aided you last night, that's true, but…most hunters avoid working with me. Those who have, often…regret it. You seem almost eager." There was suspicion again, obviously apparent.

"Gee, pal, you make it sound like every hunter who's ever worked with you comes out maimed," Dean tried to joke.

Solrin didn't laugh.

Right. "Okay," Dean said a little drawn out, "Well, hey…if you want me to be really honest with ya," and he was prepared to be pretty damn honest right now, for the most part, "The truth is…I just can't freakin' stand seeing another young guy out there doing this job alone. I've never had to hunt alone. Not more than a handful spaced out anyway. Sasha here," he looked to the redhead, "He hunted alone til he met up with us, and you can guess I'm pretty damn happy he stuck around. Not that I'm saying this little teaming up ought to be permanent, and I'm sure as Hell not hitting on ya, pal. I'm just, ya know…saying," he shrugged. He hadn't spoken a single lie in all that so he hoped Solrin heard it for the truth it was.

Like before, Solrin eyed all of them gaugingly, how the three of them were all seated around their little table covered in notes on the hunt. Dean got the impression that it might not be them personally that Sol didn't trust, not really _them_, but more the idea of working with anyone else. The guy looked tempted though. "Maimed is…actually fairly accurate for some," he said, answering Dean's joke from before.

"Others just got a little freaked?" Sasha put in. They didn't have to specify that they knew Solrin had some sort of powers. If all went accordingly, Sol would tell them himself. But he had 'freaky' written all over him with the odd clothing, bandages, and white hair.

Solrin took a breath, his expression betraying that he was close to caving.

"We're pretty used to freaks," Sam said with his beaming, friendly smile and tender puppy dogs, "Sort of goes with the territory."

On that cue, Dean kicked out beneath the table at the empty chair opposite him, which was close enough for Solrin to take it. Amazingly enough, the guy did, pulled the chair out further and sat down. "So," he looked around at each of them again, "Where did you wish to begin?"

They were all business for a good half hour, detailing for Sol how they thought it would be best to start off the hunt given that there were four of them now.

Sam and Dean would use their FBI aliases to get into the morgue and look at the bodies. Two of the boys were still on ice. Sasha and Solrin—Dean could admit that he was a little bothered by the idea of leaving Sasha alone with a guy that apparently smelled like the best meal on Earth—would check out the funeral home and cemetery for some word on the other bodies. Unless they wanted to go grave-digging, that is, which was always an option.

Sasha had assured Dean earlier that being around Sol and knowing he was the cause of that drawn-in feeling made its power lessen. Sam said the same. That made Dean feel at least a little better about it, but he also worried about Sol finding out that Sam and Sasha weren't exactly human and how the guy might react to that. It would really suck for a random incubus or succubus, or any other not actually evil creature, if they stumbled across Solrin unwittingly.

Since Dean hadn't yet decided what he wanted to do about the Trickster's involvement in all this, he hadn't planned to bring the god up at all. Sol, however, was clearly on a different wavelength. He mentioned the Trickster all on his own when Sasha tried to be conversational and asked if the guy had another hunt lined up after this one.

"I've been following a particular creature for some time, but he has consistently alluded me," Sol explained, far chattier than Dean would have guessed of the closed-off guy, but then Ellen had said he was quite the gentleman and now that they were working together, why be standoffish, "He is an ultimate goal, but if I did not stop on occasion to take care of other hunts, I would do nothing but play cat and mouse with him."

"What is the creature?" Sam asked, though they all knew who it had to be.

"A pagan god of sorts," Solrin explained, "Near impossible to summon and difficult to catch. Just when I think I have him, he will somehow get the better of me. Like those…fae creatures," he said with a certain distaste, "He can weave illusions, but these are far more real than mere glamours. I thought I killed him once only to discover it was a decoy," he frowned.

Dean coughed. "Eheh…you're kidding? Fell for something like that, huh?" He eyed Sam across the table, because, hey, you couldn't feel too bad about being swindled if someone else had been swindled too.

Solrin frowned a little deeper. "He is trying my nerves. Always…makes a joke out of everything. He's just another monster like the rest, thinking it's all a big game and that he can do whatever he likes. He doesn't have that right." There was new venom to Solrin's words, more like how Dean had heard him when he told Dean not to touch his things the night before. It made Dean shiver a little, the way Solrin's one pale green eye became distant and glossed over with hatred. "Any creature that can make things other than how they are is an abomination. God may not exist but _evil_ does. That I have never doubted. The world should be one way, but it…_is_ another." He looked up suddenly, focused right on Dean across from him. "I strive to wipe that _other_ from the world."

Dean swallowed, shuddering despite his best efforts to keep still.

"I think perhaps…_Dean_…you might understand that." It didn't go unnoticed that Solrin did not turn to include Sam and Sasha, like maybe he knew, or at least vaguely sensed that they were different from Dean. That wasn't wrong. But it made Dean wonder suddenly if this was a very bad idea.

"Uhh…" he struggled for how to respond.

"I have some things I would like to get before we go," Solrin stood before Dean could say anything, "Shall I meet you back here in a few minutes?" This time he looked to all of them, each in turn.

It was Sasha who managed a smile, saying, "Sure. We can take our car and split in town. Rushville's small enough for us to walk and let Sam and Dean have the Impala once we're there. If that's okay?" Only because Dean knew the incubus so well could he tell that Sasha was actually unnerved to be assigned as Solrin's partner for the afternoon.

Solrin nodded, his face more or less blank but at least devoid of that hatred for now. He turned without fanfare and left the bar.

Dean met eyes with Sam and Sasha, both of them turning to him as if he must know some secret to all this. Dean didn't know anything, so he just shrugged, peering beyond them to stare after Sol. Now it wasn't just that they needed to get Sol to trust them, they might also need to reeducate the guy that not all supernatural things were evil. That could be tricky.

It struck Dean as odd that Malak would want someone like this, if Sol really was so against all things inhuman, but then he had to be something inhuman too if he had these unknown powers. Dean didn't doubt that Malak had a plan, that the demon knew things they didn't. If it was up to Dean to not only sway this guy but greatly change his perspective on…well, what Sam and Sasha really were, among others, then by god, he hoped they were doing the right thing.

tbc...

A/N: I so didn't mean to have another romp of crazy sex so soon, but who am I to say no to those boys. And after all, Sasha couldn't have functioned on this hunt without a little...recuperation. ;-) What do you think of Sol now? Easier to envision? Still pretty freaky? I am putting up the fanart of him at the website right now, so go check that out!

I have finally caught up with Saving Faith's Dean/Cas fic, and hot damn, is it good. There is more to come, but Sasha has already made a small cameo and will be back for more. I await spoilers from the authoress herself.

Happy Supernatural Thursday this week when it comes, because the boys are back in town!

Crim


	80. Part 5: Whatever Happened to Simple

Part 5: Whatever Happened to Simple

-----

"So you guys are with the FBI?" the coroner eyed them with that usual skepticism hunters so often ran into, like people just expected random guys to come waltzing around morgues playing a con. Granted, they would be right in some cases, but still.

Sam and Dean both immediately flipped open their badges. "That's right, I'm Agent Reynolds," Dean said, and then nodded over at Sam, "My partner Agent Washburne. We're looking into the strange deaths that occurred these past couple months in Rushville. This hospital here in St. Joseph is the closest facility, we were told." And it was twenty miles away from where they had left Sasha and Solrin all by themselves to check the local Rushville cemetery.

"That's four young boys dead in just two months, is that right?" Sam asked all serious authority. It always seemed to Dean that Sam thought he was doing a much better job than him when they pulled this con. Putz.

The coroner appeared satisfied with their badges, so he continued down the long hallway he had been headed down, pushing what seemed to be a fairly fresh corpse. "Yeah, four boys. It's weird, town that size. Sure, Rushville's considered part of St. Joseph, but this isn't all that big a town either. All four of those boys lived right in the Rushville limits. _All four_. I guess I might have expected you guys would come eventually with something like that. You thinking serial killer?" he asked over his shoulder. The guy was balding with thick black-framed glasses, but he was young and had a certain sympathy about him that surprised Dean. Most coroners creeped Dean out for how cold and aloof they usually were, but then again this was a smaller area than even they usually poked around in.

"We're not at liberty to discuss any details on an ongoing investigation, of course," Dean said, he and Sam following after the coroner to what either had to be the freezer or the autopsy room. Dean was really hoping it was the freezer because he did not want to see any more of whoever was under that sheet than he needed to. "But, uhh…let's just say we'd rather this was nipped in the bud pretty quick. Don't want any more boys dying."

"I hear that," the coroner nodded.

Sam moved ahead to open the door the coroner turned towards. "We really just need to ask you a few questions about the bodies. I'm sure local police have already gone over things with you, but we prefer to hear it from the source. You understand." That and small town police always seemed to be more reluctant to let Feds take over their cases.

The coroner, J. J. Mavus, Dean caught from the guy's nametag, pushed the body into what Dean was thankful definitely looked like the freezer. "Sure thing," the guy said, "Tell you the truth, I never felt like the local guys were doing all that much. Passing it off like some animal attack? It's like they weren't even listening to my report. No animal around these parts could have done the damage, for one, and there's something not right about all this," he frowned as he backed the gurney the rest of the way into the room, "Guess that's why you're thinking serial killer, huh? _If_ that was what you were thinking, of course," he said loftily, winking like he knew they couldn't actually admit to anything but that they were definitely on the same page.

Dean liked the guy. He was sort of refreshing for someone in this kind of work, and Dean had dealt with a lot of coroners to use as comparison. He almost wished he wasn't in a damn Fed suit so he could chat the guy up normal. This guy seemed like the type who would have spilled for PIs just as much as for FBI. "So you don't think it was an animal attack?" he asked, "All the reports we read seemed to say the same thing."

The coroner huffed, securing his gurney up near one of the morgue lockers, but leaving it and its passenger be for the moment. "Okay, so these boys looked eaten, I'll give ya that," he said, looking seriously at Sam and Dean, "We're talking at least half of them gone by the time they were found. Mostly the midsection though so at least they still had their heads to identify them. Try to imagine bringing mothers in here to ID those bodies," he grimaced.

Dean let out an understanding whistle.

Sam's brow furrowed as he said, "Don't envy you there, Mr. Mavus."

"J. J.," he waved his hand, "Yeah it sucked all right. Couldn't bring myself to tell them what I really thought had happened. But I told the police. See, those teeth marks, no way they were from a wolf or a lynx or something like that. And I can't imagine anything smaller being able to take down these boys, or being that nasty to begin with. Nah, see," he leaned a little closer to Sam and Dean, his voice hushed, "At first I thought maybe it was a serial killer using an animal to do his dirty work. But those teeth marks weren't from any animal. They were human."

As much as Dean had seen and heard in his life, that shit still made him shudder. _Nasty_. "Like…Hannibal Lector human? Or just human-sized?" he asked.

"Like for sure _human_," J. J. nodded, "But the police didn't buy it. Said it was too vicious to have been a person. And I said, you guys sure don't know much about humans if you think they can't be vicious," he chuckled.

Dean tried to crack a smile, Sam too, but they were both feeling a tad too nauseous right now.

"Here, I'll show ya. You wanted to see the bodies, right? Only got two of 'em still," he said, moving past them. He glanced at the different locker doors until he found the two he was looking for and pulled both of them open. They were well covered, frozen, all that, so Sam and Dean weren't quite prepared for when the guy just threw the sheets back to display the bodies.

There was about the same amount left of each of them, and that wasn't much. One of them was only a head, an arm and part of a shoulder, and then from the shins down. The other was hollowed out in the middle but at least had all of its limbs still attached. Both were pretty damn gruesome. They weren't fresh corpses but Dean still had to take a breath to keep his lunch down.

"See, right along here," J. J. leaned over the more whole of the two bodies, pulling at some of the skin around the bite marks with his gloves, "Some of these marks look as obviously human to me as teeth marks on a pencil. Something like this could go unnoticed out here in a small town if not for you guys checking in, so I hope you're listening. This isn't just my speculation, okay? Trust me on this. _Human_."

Dean shuddered again. "Don't have to convince us, pal, I see it alright," he said, looking at the teeth marks and then over at Sam, who nodded. They had seen similar things on a couple cases. Of course that didn't have to mean cannibals or a werewolf, but right now those options were definitely in the lead.

"You worked on the other two bodies as well, the ones already buried?" Sam asked.

J. J. nodded, thankfully covering up the bodies again and pushing them back into their lockers, "Sure did. That was the strange part."

"What do ya mean?" Dean asked, "Weren't the other two bodies just like these ones?"

Leaning back against the now closed locker doors, J. J. went a little contemplative for a moment like he was trying to remember just right and didn't like what his mind conjured up. "The second body was. First one wasn't. Almost didn't think they were related. But all four happening clockwork, same type of kid, and all from Rushville? Has to be the same killer."

Sam and Dean exchanged a sharp look. "The first body wasn't eaten?" Sam clarified.

"Nope. Well," he shrugged, "A little. But I'm talking like small critters got to him before the cops found him, not the same animal or…who knows what that killed the other boys. Cops chalked it up to the same thing anyway though. I tried to tell them that the first kid hadn't died from any bites. No vital points had been punctured. Cause of death looked more like a…heart-attack." He laughed a little bitterly. "They said it must have been fright from seeing the animal that attacked him. Yeah, right."

"What about the other bodies afterwards," Sam pressed, "Could you tell if any of them died from a heart-attack before they were eaten?" That would paint a very different picture than the one they had up until now.

Uneasy as the whole situation was, J. J. smiled at Sam's deduction. "That's what brought me back to the first victim. See, like I said, I thought maybe they were unrelated for awhile there. But then the newest one from a couple weeks back, the one you saw in there that had more of it left? He had me wondering. I couldn't get much for actual cause of death on the one before him or victim number two, coz there just wasn't much to work with. But this last kid, seemed to me like he bled out real slow. Meaning it was more like seeping, you know, or being…lapped up maybe? Anyway, not gushing and flowing out the way it would if he was still alive while being torn apart. You ask me? They all dropped dead before they were even touched by whatever ate them. What that means, why the first one was mostly whole…" he grimaced again, "No idea. Guess that's where you guys come in, huh?"

Lucky them, Dean thought. "Thanks for your time."

As soon as they were out of the hospital, Dean started pulling on his tie to loosen it. He really hated these penguin suits.

Eaten bodies, but not all of them eaten. Dead from heart-attacks, or something like a heart-attack beforehand. And similar victims dying the same amount of time apart. At least they knew their beast, freak, cannibal friend had to be hiding out in Rushville. That would narrow their search but they still had no idea what they were looking for.

"Damn it. You know I really wish we could just focus on the heart-attack part and that all those boys just had a different amount of animals feasting on them after they were dead," Dean said as they got into the car, "Then at least we'd just have to look for something that…well."

"Can stop someone's heart?" Sam turned to Dean wistfully.

Once upon a time there would have been a little darkness to a phrase like that coming from Sam, referencing himself so obviously, but he had moved beyond that. And besides, there weren't any other 'special kids' that could have done it, so it couldn't be a power like Sam's anyway.

"I'm just saying," Dean went on, "That would be nicer than having to deal with human teeth marks. Course it still could just be a serial killer using a chemical or something to stop the boys' hearts. Then he…_Jesus_…chowed down and ran for it if he heard anyone coming? That could be why there was different amounts eaten, that he just ran scared for a couple of 'em. Makes a lot of sense if you think that the first kid wasn't eaten at all. Killer probably freaked if it was his first one."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip as he leaned back in his seat and thought that over. "Coroner report said no foreign substances. Not even recreational narcotics or plain old over the counter meds for any of those kids. Couldn't have been a chemical thing. But I'm with you on whatever eating these kids having been run off at different points of having its meal. _His_ meal. Hers maybe? _God_. I thought werewolf but there would have been some fang marks too, not just human teeth. And that still doesn't explain heart-attack."

"So serial killer or no serial killer?" Dean queried. Even if it meant more work for them at least they wouldn't have to deal with some psycho if it was a no. People were fucking crazy.

"No serial killer," Sam said, "I know it still looks like it could be, but…" he turned to Dean a little nervously, or maybe he was just unsure and didn't quite know how to explain himself, "When we dropped Sasha and Sol off, I thought maybe I…sensed something in the town. It was really faint so I sort of let it go, thought maybe it was just something innocuous because Sol's around and…well, _draws_ things. But now I'm thinking maybe I was sensing what we're looking for. It felt kind of human, but…not. Felt…familiar."

"Familiar?" Dean repeated, since there was no way that could sit right with him, "Like maybe you know this guy or girl personally or it's just a type of thing we've come across before?"

Sam's brow scrunched a little further. "Just a type of thing. But…I want to talk to Sasha and Solrin before I make any guesses. Better let them know we're heading back."

Normally, Dean hated it when Sam kept anything from him, but he understood that Sam didn't want to make any guesses until he was certain. Of course that told Dean that it was probably something bad and Sam just didn't want to worry him. Like Dean wasn't worried already.

He revved up the Impala and pulled her back onto the road heading towards Rushville while Sam started texting a message to Sasha.

"That guy better have taken good care of my baby," Dean grumbled to himself, wanting to like Solrin so it would be easier to make friends and hopefully save him, but not feeling all that happy about the way the guy had singled him out before. Him. _Dean_.

Like maybe he knew more than he was letting on.

-----

Dean was still shimmying into his jeans in the backseat when he spotted Sol and Sasha coming from across the street. They had decided to park and meet up with them by the ball field, one of the few recognizable landmarks in the tiny town. There were less than 300 people that lived there so there wasn't exactly a lot of ground to cover. Dean hoped that meant the others had something else to add to their case.

Sam was sitting in the front and patted his armrest to get Dean's attention.

"Yeah, I see, 'em," Dean said as he did up his fly finally.

"Sasha look a little spooked to you?" Sam asked over his shoulder.

Dean glanced out the window. Sasha and Solrin were coming around the side of the ball field, just a few yards away. They were walking basically side by side but not speaking, and while Solrin had his eyes set on the Impala, Sasha was casting his companion furtive glances, looking every which way but right. Dean knew that look, that scared but not wanting to show it look. "Something happened," he deduced.

"Can't be too bad if Sasha's…you know…" Sam trailed.

"Not _dead_?" Dean put in, dripping sarcasm between the seats. He wanted to get out there and find out what had happened for himself. "Come on," he pushed a little on the back of Sam's seat before climbing out of the car. It was the end of May so he was hot even in his lighter jacket. He decided to leave it off, going out to meet Sasha and Solrin in just his T-shirt and jeans. Sam was much the same.

Solrin was still dressed in those cargo pants, the grey button-down, and his short black jacket, Sasha wearing a navy Henley and jeans. Both of them were sweating from being out in the sun for hours. For the life of him, Dean could not understand why Sol hadn't ditched his jacket yet.

"Don't look so happy to see us or anything!" he called as they got closer, meaning the tease for both of them since both had firmly set scowls. Sasha cracked a slight smile, still looking troubled, but Solrin didn't even flinch. "Right…" Dean huffed to himself, their afternoon must have been _awesome_.

"Sasha relayed that you had found some useful information," Sol started right in when he and Sasha reached them, not even bothering with pleasantries or 'how do you dos'. Dean eyed Sasha a moment and got a fierce look in reply that said 'we need to talk—alone'. Dean knew that meant that whatever had happened wasn't something they could discuss in front of Solrin.

"Yeah, we learned a lot actually," Sam offered, "Just not sure what it all means."

They filled the others in on what the coroner had told them, that the first body hadn't been eaten, only the ones after him, and that the animal attack theory was a little off considering the wounds looked like they had been made by human teeth. "But the real mystery," Dean filled in, "Is that the guy said the first kid just up and died. Looked like a heart-attack. Kid was sixteen, so it's gotta be bad news for him to just croak like that. Coroner couldn't be positive, but he thought the other boys probably went the same way, dead before they were eaten." Dean looked from Sol to Sasha and suddenly saw that the incubus' eyes had gone wide. Now Dean was really itching to get Sasha alone.

"So we're thinking," Sam went on, apparently not having noticed Sasha's eye-flash of doom, "Either we're at a dead end on what could give its victim a heart attack before eating them, or we're dealing with two different creatures. One killing. One eating. That sort of makes our job a little more difficult, but—"

"Now it makes sense," Solrin interrupted, seeming to have sparked at their explanations.

"What makes sense?" Dean pressed, only he kind of wished he hadn't since Sasha was looking about a million times more worried as the conversation kept going.

Solrin nodded, mostly to himself it seemed, his lone green eye darting around unfocused as he worked something out in his head. "Yes, makes perfect sense now. You see," he looked at Dean squarely, "Sasha and I spoke to the man who tends the cemetery that the other boys were buried in. He was fidgety and unwilling to speak at first. We…convinced him otherwise," he said with a glance to the side, not noticing that Sasha gave an eyebrow raise at Sam and Dean to say that _Solrin_ had been the one to do the convincing, "And it turns out that someone, or some _thing_ has been digging up graves and desecrating the corpses. _Eating_ them."

Eating them? Okay, this case was so out to make Dean sick. "You mean eating the dead and _buried_ corpses?" he sneered, "Dude, that is not okay. I mean not that eating the kids alive or freshly dead is any better, but…_dude_." Dean wouldn't have thought it was so gross if they were hunting a creature, but whatever this was had human teeth, and…damn.

"Yes, I'm certain now. It's a nachzehrer," Sol said firmly, pronouncing the German with a perfect accent, "I had begun to dismiss it when you mentioned heart-attacks, but your theory, Sam, that we may be dealing with two different creatures might mean I am at least half right."

"Hang on. It's a what now?" Dean broke in, "A nach…nach…" Dean tried to get his throat to do that guttural thing but it just wasn't working.

"A nachzehrer," Sol said perfectly again, "They are similar to the zombies seen in cinema in that they are undead and need to feed off of human flesh to sustain themselves. But a nachzehrer only feeds on dead flesh, not the living. I thought perhaps it was killing the victims before eating them, but if they all suffered heart-attacks…" he trailed, what they could see of his brow from out of the bandages looking very crinkled. "At any rate," he looked up at Dean again, always focusing eventually on _Dean_, "The first death probably created it. That's why he wasn't eaten. A nachzehrer is created by an accidental death, often suicide."

"So…it could still be just one creature," Sasha put in a little too eagerly, "Maybe these boys were in some sort of suicide cult and took something that stopped their hearts. Could be cult-like being so clockwork. Or whatever caused the heart-attacks was some sort of accident, like with…pesticides or something?"

Much as Dean understood that Sasha was trying to steer things away from a potential second quarry—for whatever reason—he and Sam both stared at him because, really, that sounded pretty dumb. Even Solrin's look was somewhat comical as he turned to Sasha and said in a slow, annoyed voice, "Unlikely."

"I'm just saying," Sasha went on more calmly, "We should focus on the nach right now since it's our best lead instead of splitting the hunt in two before we know everything. Besides, finding it first would probably tell us if anything else was involved," he covered for himself fairly well. Dean decided to go the incubus' route and just call this thing a nach, said pretty much like 'knock' without the guttural, which Dean could totally do.

To Dean's relief, Sol nodded his head at Sasha in agreement. "Very true," he said before turning back to Sam and Dean, "It did not appear that the nachzehrer's lair was in the cemetery, which is odd. Usually, they remain with their graves. Our objective should be to track it down. There isn't much town to cover." He began to move as if to go to the car or begin searching right now on the spot.

"Whoa, hang on there, Speedy, we're just about dead weight over here," Dean said as he grabbed Sol's arm to stop him, "Let's take a break, huh? Town doesn't have much of anything but I saw a small diner we could grab some lunch at. That way we can regroup, get you and Sasha outta the sun a bit, and decide how best to split up looking through the town. Sound alright?"

It took Dean a moment to realize that touching Sol probably wasn't the best idea. He caught on about the time that green eye went slowly to where his hand was gripping Sol's arm and then moved even slower up to catch Dean's gaze fiercely with a warning.

Dean pulled away so fast a passerby would have thought Sol burned him. "Sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just a physical kinda guy. Ask anybody. So, uhh…lunch?" he asked again. He was starved, for one, and he really didn't want to get right back into the thick of things until he found out what was bothering Sasha.

"It would be good to weigh our options before we move on," Sam came to Dean's aid, "We might still want to visit with the families, see what all these boys had in common besides look and age in case we need to watch out for the next victim. At the earliest this thing could strike again some time tomorrow night."

That was true, and probably one of the reasons why Sol wanted to just get on with it. After a moment, though, the guy sighed and gave the others an affirming nod. "I suppose I could…eat," he shrugged.

Dean suddenly got an idea. "Here," he said, fishing out the Impala's keys, "Why don't you put that jacket in the trunk so you don't boil up out here, huh? You can just throw it anywhere." He tried to pass the keys to Sol, who stared at them like he had never used a set of keys in his life, which obviously wasn't true since Dean had seen the guy's motorcycle parked outside the Roadhouse. "Figured you'd prefer doing it yourself so I don't, ya know," Dean grinned, "Touch your things anymore."

The miraculous thing was that Sol's mouth actually twitched like maybe he almost wanted to smirk back. He took the keys.

The second he was at the Impala and safely out of earshot—they didn't have much time to get a quick word in with Sasha—Dean gave his incubus a pleading look for an explanation.

"He was…politely unnerving the whole time," Sasha said in Sol's defense, "With the caretaker of the cemetery too. He didn't do anything."

"Then what crawled up your ass?" Dean hissed out as quietly urgent as he could.

When Sasha looked to Sam as if the other Winchester had to already know, those hazel eyes widened much like Sasha's had earlier. "You sense it too," Sam gasped, "I wondered if that's what it was. _Shit_. Deaths that look like heart-attacks," he shook his head.

Since Dean hadn't quite caught on to the psychic twins' secret conversation, and since he heard the Impala's trunk slam to indicate their time was up, he very intently said, "Sense what? What do you guys sense?"

Sasha just looked back at him gravely, like nothing could be worse than what he was about to say. "An incubus. The second creature is an incubus."

-----

At some point life had to work itself out. Dean was a firm believer in that. He sort of had to be lately what with him trusting for the first time since he was four years old that his mother was right—angels were watching over him. Okay, so it had taken for the winged creatures themselves to show up on his doorstep a couple times before he believed it fully, but seeing in order to believe was not a sin within itself. Dean had had a lot of reason to doubt up until recently. He was sort of glad he now knew he was wrong.

At least he sure hoped he was wrong since this hunt was heading to Hell in a hand basket _really fucking fast_.

Sasha hadn't been able to get across anything else to them after letting them know that there was for sure a second creature and that the creature was for sure an incubus. Sol had come back over to them right then to interrupt.

They were going to walk to the diner—figured they might as well walk since it was a nice day and the town was small enough—but Dean could tell that there was something more Sasha wanted to explain to them other than just that an incubus was draining these boys before the nach ate them. There had to be more to it since it didn't make much sense to Dean, but they would have to hold off for now.

Part of Dean almost thought it would save them time and effort to just come clean with Solrin, but every time he thought that way he would catch the guy giving Sam or Sasha a strange, calculating look and Dean shut down that thought process dead in its tracks.

"Perhaps the nachzehrer is with the other creature," Solrin speculated as they ate, "If we find one of them, we will find the other. I do agree that seeking the nachzehrer directly is the best course since we know what to look for on that account," he nodded towards Sasha. The guy had ordered a BLT without the 'T' and was eating it a little too politely for Dean's liking. It's not like he needed to impress anyone. Dean tried to make that clear by chomping on his burger with extra gusto. It was actually pretty good food for such a sketchy looking place.

"I want to check with the families first though, while it's still daylight," Sam said, picking excess fat off pieces of his roast beef, "If we don't find anything tonight at least then we'll have a better idea of who to watch out for as a potential victim tomorrow. Would it be better to split up again or stay together for that? I don't think using the Fed aliases would work for a small town family if we want real answers. We could be…student teachers at the school or something," Sam shrugged.

Solrin put down his BL-no-T, looking suddenly nauseous. "You spend a lot of time talking with people," he said with some distaste.

Dean blinked at him. "Uh, yeah, man, it's how you learn what's going on, what to watch out for, and who you need to protect. You saying you never talk to people when you're on a case?"

The bandages over Solrin's eye were starting to bother Dean. He hated that half the time he couldn't see all of the guy's face or really read him. He wished he knew what the damn bandages were for. Was the eye missing or just injured? And what about all the other bandages? The dark grey of Sol's button down made his skin and hair look even starker than usual, unnerving Dean all the more. "Not…never," Sol replied slowly, his head bowed a little as he spoke, like he didn't want to risk eye contact unless it was on his terms, "But I usually avoid…people," he grimaced, both at the notion of 'people' it seemed and at having to admit that.

There was something of self-loathing in Solrin that Dean couldn't help feeling some sympathy for. "Hell, half the time I wish we could skip that step too. People are nuts, right?" he winked, "But it's for those same crazy people that we're doing this. Somewhere along that long line of psychos there are some good people needing to be saved. All part of the job."

Sol nodded somewhat reluctantly, like he either didn't entirely agree that there were good people, or maybe he didn't agree that it was a hunter's job to save them.

"Tell ya what," Dean said, swiping a fry from Sam's plate since he and Sasha had both eaten all of theirs already, "You can sit this one out if you want. We'll talk to the families and you can start in with scouring for places a nach might be hiding. But only if you swear you'll call for us if you find something. Deal?"

A tangible sigh of relief seemed to come from all of Dean's companions for variously different reasons. Even so, Sol scrunched his face, eyeing Dean as he said, "I do not have a cell phone."

The guy had a laptop and a Harley but no phone. Figured. "Okay then," Dean said, fishing out his own cell, "Take mine. I'll have Sammy and Sasha with me so we'll use one of theirs to call you if we find out anything, and you can do the same. You at least know how to use one, right?"

It almost got Dean laughing when Solrin shot him a rather incredulous look.

"Gee, man, don't bite my head off. You're tech _savvy_, okay? Here, take it," he handed Sol the cell, "After we're done with the families I'll meet up with you to reclaim my cell and our two groups can finish looking over the town from different ends. Where did you want to start?"

Solrin pocketed Dean's cell phone after briefly checking that he could easily find Sam and Sasha's numbers. "I will start back at the cemetery," he said, "We didn't find any evidence of the nachzehrer residing there, but it had to have crawled out of its grave at some point. Perhaps the caretaker knows more than he admitted. Or I may find some clues as to where the creature went." He spoke more fluidly now, without his head bowed quite so much, like he was very pleased at how things were shaping up.

Dean tried to tell himself that it had nothing to do with how he had promised he would join Solrin later. At any rate, Sam and Sasha looked relieved that they would be getting a chance to be alone and discuss what was going on. Dean couldn't stop thinking about that either since he hated being in the dark, which was probably why he didn't protest when Solrin finished his food quickly and made hasty departure to begin his part of the hunt. Leaving the guy alone could be dangerous, Dean supposed, but the hunt was important too.

Rather than risk Solrin questioning them later about remaining in the diner too long, the boys walked back to the Impala and drove it to the house of the first victim, Jared Logan. Thankfully, it was on the other side of town from the cemetery, though even that distance wasn't all that far. They parked but none of them got out.

"Okay, spill," Dean shot at both Sam next to him and Sasha in the back, "There's an incubus killing these boys, some nach zombie thing eating them afterwards, and we seem to be of the consensus that telling Sol about this would be bad. _What_ is going on?" Dean doubted it was just general species sympathy on Sasha's part. After all, he had been able to help hunt and kill his own aunt when he found out she was killing.

So considering there was sympathy on Sasha's face now, Dean knew there had to be more to this than black or white. "We can't hunt him," Sasha said assuredly, leaning forward towards the front seats, "The incubus…the deaths aren't his fault, they're accidents. I'm sure of it. Sol wouldn't understand. If he found this kid, he'd just try to kill him."

"Wait," Dean held up a hand, "How can you be so certain. Did you run into this guy?"

Sasha glanced to the side. "No, but…I feel him. I couldn't at first. But after awhile…" he shook his head and looked up at Dean with earnest, grieving eyes, "He must be staying in one place, huddled up somewhere barely moving. That's why I picked up on him after awhile even though I don't think he's right here in town. And I know the deaths are accidents because if they weren't then the first one wouldn't have created a nach. Suicide or accidental death, remember?"

_Accidental death_, Dean repeated in his mind, which would mean that this incubus had probably been feeding from that first kid all normal and consensual-like and then something had gone wrong. He had taken too much and left the kid for dead. No animal bites on that first kid and no sign of a struggle either. His body just stopped working.

"He panicked," Sasha went on, knowing Sam and Dean had to understand what had happened, "Afterwards, he must have…shut himself away somewhere until he finally just frenzied and did it all over again. Maybe he would have been able to get over it, would have been okay, but I'm guessing the nach, that first kid Jared, found him and is haunting him like some god damn ghost. He's caught in a loop and he doesn't know how to get out of it. We can't…we can't just hunt him."

"Hang on a sec," Dean stopped Sasha again. Something didn't add up here. "The deaths have been happening two weeks apart, not a month. Isn't a month frenzy territory?"

Again, Sasha looked to the side, and Dean got the feeling that there would always be things about being an incubus that he just wouldn't be able to understand. Ever. "I know. That actually was the other clue for me. He must be a homogenous incubus," Sasha said, to which Sam and Dean both blinked at him, "It means he only feeds from his same sex. And I don't mean like Cam and how he just prefers to sleep with women. Push comes to shove, if a male's the only prospect, Cam would sleep with him. But a homogenous incubus wouldn't, even if they were frenzied."

Yep, Dean was definitely lost here, but he listened intently anyway.

"It's a condition," Sasha tried to explain, "Rare. Sometimes we grow out of it, but if it's still strong during the change it can severely handicap or even kill a young incubus. Imagine that this kid maybe…grew up with three others, one guy and two girls. During the change the other three were interchangeable with each other but he would only sleep with the guy. Well, there would have been times when he wouldn't have been able to be with the guy if the guy was with one of the girls, so…he basically wouldn't have gotten all the energy he needed. If there wasn't another guy at all in this scenario, he would have starved to death."

"I think I get it," Sam said, "So he's weaker than the average incubus because he didn't feed enough during the change?"

Sasha nodded. "And now he has to feed twice as often. Hence…two weeks. Also explains why all the victims are practically identical in appearance. Usually, a frenzied incubus wouldn't hunt, it would just attack the first person it came upon. This kid had to be patient, wait out the one he really wanted, and then attack."

"Kid…" Dean repeated, since they kept throwing that pronoun around, "So we're assuming the incubus is newly out of the change, same age as the victims, like…sixteen, seventeen?"

"Eighteen at the most," Sasha nodded.

Well shit. "Could we maybe get a hunt at some point that doesn't involve teenagers, coz I'm sort of getting sick of this scenario." He tried to pass the comment off as a joke, what with Leven be involved in that list too, but there were also the demon boys they hadn't been able to save in Minnesota. Dean felt lost and hollow every time he thought of them. The look on Sasha's face said he felt the same way now.

Sam too was purely sympathetic even as he said, "Sasha, I agree with you that this kid probably doesn't mean to hurt anyone, but this is four deaths later, not just one, or even two because he freaked for awhile and made another mistake. Maybe it's more than just panic now. Maybe he's…no longer in his right mind." Sam tried to sound appeasing, explaining himself as gently as he could, but it wasn't surprising to Dean at all that Sasha immediately rose up to the defensive.

"You don't know what it's _like_," Sasha hissed, his eyes damp and sparkling unnaturally blue, making him look exceedingly fierce suddenly, "I've been there. I've done what he did. And not frenzied, or possessed," he said pointedly, "But wholly in my right mind. Tell me when you have _ever_ done that to someone who didn't deserve it?" Sasha's voice broke even though he was seething at Sam, trying to stay angry instead of shattered.

"Sasha…" Dean started to interject.

"Don't," Sasha breathed out bitterly, casting Dean a glare, "And please don't tell me how you _do_ understand because of the things you did in—" he trailed, more like bit his tongue since he had obviously been about to say 'Hell', and really even then Dean wouldn't have gotten angry at him over it. The incubus already looked guilty for having reacted so strongly against the brothers. He glanced at each of them remorsefully. "I'm sorry, but…even though you can tell me that what I did was an accident, and that this kid is different because he's moved onto something worse, you don't know. I could have ended up just like him. I was halfway there when Shi found me."

And speaking of not understanding things about the incubus, or at least not _knowing_ things, Dean was right there again, realizing that even though they no longer had secrets, there was still plenty about Sasha he didn't know. Sasha looked stricken for having let that slip, but now that he had said it he took a breath and didn't take it back.

"After that…girl," he said softly, "I did exactly what this kid is doing now. I hid away. Didn't eat, or drink, or _move_ for almost a month. Shi found me two days from frenzy. If she hadn't…" He didn't need to say that he would have fallen to the same cycle as this boy, that was implied, and it made Dean feel suddenly sick. For so long he had been able to forget that somewhere deep down Sasha had just as much self-loathing in him as Dean did.

"Okay," Dean said, looking pointedly at Sam a moment to tell his brother that he damn well better go along with this, "Good thing Sol should be sticking to the cemetery for awhile then. If this kid is outside the city limits somewhere, maybe you two can find him while I keep Sol busy looking for the nach. You find him…maybe you can talk him down, baby, without Sol ever knowing what the second creature was." Dean didn't know if that was a good idea, but it could be the right thing, it could be, and it certainly felt right when Sasha looked up at him with a pained but grateful smile.

Sam didn't protest, just smiled in agreement and offered Sasha a nod to show his support. If they were wrong, they could handle one little incubus. The real hard part would be keeping Sol away while Sam and Sasha looked for it. Dean could handle that.

After they talked to the families.

"Okay then," Dean took a breath, "So…student teachers offering our sympathies?" he grinned as he nodded towards the house.

-----

Talking to the families went smoother than most hunts actually, but even though their cover was bought each time, with each family, they didn't really find out anything new. There weren't many other boys with similar descriptions to the ones that had already died, not in the city limits anyway, so it was possible that the next victim would be taken from St. Joseph or one of the other neighboring towns. That would suck a little more than they wanted to admit if they didn't find the incubus before he frenzied again.

Dean asked Sam if he could just summon the kid, but his signal was too faint or something, probably because he was starving himself, and Sam couldn't get a clear enough lock. They would have to search the old fashioned way and hope that when they got closer, either Sam or Sasha or both would be able to sense him more clearly.

It was some time late afternoon when Dean pulled the Impala up to the cemetery and parked. Sol had said he was still there when Dean texted him from Sasha's phone. Well, Sol had merely texted back 'cemetery' so Dean assumed that's what he meant. Only the place looked a little deserted at first glance.

Sam and Sasha were doubling their efforts to seek out the incubus, starting on the outskirts of town, while Dean got the job of keeping Sol busy. And hey, if they found the nach's lair, all the better. Dean still had no idea how they were supposed to kill the thing once they found it, except that maybe the whole staking it into its own grave trick might work.

He remained in just his T-shirt and jeans since it was damn hot out now and he had been all over this lame-ass town already. There weren't many places he could think of to look for a zombie/sex demon hangout. And therein lay the other problem; if they were right about these things hiding away together then it was going to be hard to keep the incubus from Sol once they found them.

Where the hell was Sol anyway, Dean thought as he walked the outskirts of the cemetery. He couldn't see any sign of the white-haired Asian, or any caretaker. Of course there were about five different mausoleums around, and really, why was it always the small town that had the creepy-ass burial grounds? Dean decided to check the mausoleums though since they were more than likely where Sol would be looking for the nach's lair.

"Yo, Solrin!" Dean called inside one of them, and then thought better about that considering the nach might actually be here somewhere. He found nothing and went to the next one. They reminded him of the ones from New York when they first met up with Sarah, where that freaky little girl's doll-likeness had been in. Dean was a hunter through and through, of course, but even he could admit that being in places like this sent chills up his spine on occasion. Mostly because he was usually expecting an ambush.

He really should have stuck with that thought too when he entered the second mausoleum, seeing as how he took about two steps inside before suddenly being slammed back into the stone wall with a knife to his throat.

"It's me!" Dean cried as the distinctive figure of white and grey focused in front of his eyes, "I come in peace, I swear!" he added since the Asian hunter was staring at him like he almost wasn't sure who Dean was.

Then Solrin stepped back, releasing Dean and slipping his knife back into a rather well-concealed sheath inside one of his cargo pockets. "My apologies. I didn't hear you. I tend to…act first," he said with a jerk of his shoulders that might have been a shrug.

_No really_, Dean wanted to say as he coughed up dust and lack of air from having the wind knocked out of him. But in the end he couldn't begrudge the guy an itchy trigger finger. "Forget about it. No broken ribs," he said, feeling where he would probably have a couple bruises on his back tomorrow, "Just a broken ego. So," he stepped away from the wall and gestured around him, "Please tell me you didn't spend all afternoon in these things."

Moving further into the mausoleum, which didn't look all that different from the first one Dean had entered, Solrin gave a passing glance over the walls, ceiling, and floor. "I don't see a problem with that," he said plainly, "The cemetery is still the most likely place for a nachzehrer to dwell. I was looking for potential hiding places within these crypts, but…nothing so far." He turned back to Dean, his posture very stiff and straight for someone who bowed his head so often when he spoke.

"Well, no offence," Dean eyed the dusty building again, "But I don't think this town is quite the type to have crypts with secret passageways. What you see is what you get. If the nach's not here, maybe he went to an abandoned building or something instead. Did you talk to the caretaker again?"

Solrin frowned. "He was gone. But I remembered he said that he hadn't noticed a missing or disrupted body for some time. The nachzehrer may have moved on, or, since they do not need to eat as often as a normal human, perhaps he merely waits for the other creature to make its next kill."

And therein began Dean's mini-mission. "You know, it…could still be just the nach killing them," he shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, "Lots a things can cause heart-attacks. Glad to hear he's not chowing down on corpses every night though. Course if he was then a good old cemetery sit-in tonight probably would have solved the case." _That_ thought prompted a grimace.

"Yes," Solrin said with equal disappointment, "I suppose we could move on then. Where would you prefer to search next?" He stepped up close to Dean, regarding him with that lone green eye the same way Dean remembered Castiel regarding him—piecing and direct, like he didn't understand that constant eye contact was unnerving.

"Uhh…well," Dean looked away, trying to think how best to get through this case without messing things up for Sam and Sasha, or that incubus, "We should stay on this side of town since Sammy and Sasha have the rest covered. We could grid it out, check every abandoned house and building systematically. Might take awhile but it'd be the most efficient. You think the nach would stay close by the cemetery in case he needed a quick meal?" He looked back at Solrin who had yet to turn his gaze away from staring at Dean's face.

The white-haired hunter retained that gaze as he answered, "Possibly. And your plan is sound. It is…nice…to have the assistance," he nodded his head.

Dean realized that he had just been given the closest thing to a 'thank you' this guy was probably capable of. So he grinned at Solrin, took the chance of patting him on the back a moment, and said, "Hey, man, any time. Always more fun to hunt together. _Efficient_, I mean. Fun's just a bonus," he winked.

It surprised Dean that Solrin reacted more favorably to his antics this time, not exactly smiling in reply or anything, but not dismissing Dean either. He figured Sol was probably more comfortable in smaller groups since he didn't usually deal with other people all that often.

It wasn't hard to plot a course for scouring the surrounding buildings. The only thing Dean worried about was accidentally scouring a house that just looked run-down but actually wasn't. That would be awkward.

As they began their search, Dean pressed Solrin for details on nachs since he hadn't heard of that particular brand of zombie before today. He discovered that if they found it, the nach would most likely be 'sleeping' since it was still day. Daylight wouldn't kill or even hurt it, but nachs preferred darkness overall and needed to spend a little time in the earth each day, just like normal zombies.

They checked through a few old buildings right away. There was a surprising amount of them really, but then it was a tiny little town in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, so there was bound to be places left behind from people moving away.

About the time they were checking out an old barn that they actually had to make a pretty good trek to get to, Dean started feeling antsy that Sol wasn't talking. Dean couldn't think of anything else to ask about nachs so the conversation had lulled some time ago. He knew they would have to get extra supplies before they could kill this thing, and maybe even take some time making extra stakes once they found where the nach nested. So this was more recconaisance, sure, and they should be quiet in case the nach was actually around, but…_damn_, Dean really hated long awkward silences.

"So, uhh…" he started in, surprised when Solrin suddenly turned to him.

"Dean, may I…" he trailed, realizing he had spoken over the top of Dean's words, "Sorry, you were going to say something?"

"No," Dean smiled crookedly, amazed at how often human minds thought alike like that, "I was just gonna small-talk, man. What were you gonna ask?"

Solrin nodded, more to himself, which he seemed to do a lot whenever he was unsure of what to say, which also seemed to be often. "Oh, I…I was just…wondering." He paused there, as if that was a suitable place for his sentence to stop, just staring at Dean again. Then he bit his lip and turned around to continue searching the barn. "Never mind."

"Whoa, wait," Dean walked after him, reaching a hand to grab Solrin's shoulder before thinking better of it, "If you wanna ask something, shoot. Is it case-related or personal?" Frankly, Dean didn't care either way since he just wanted to get Solrin talking more in general. They would never win this guy over if they finished the hunt in silence.

Slowing as he neared an aged ladder leading up to the loft above, Solrin turned back to Dean. His face would have almost been impassive if he wasn't somewhat frowning. When he finally replied, his words were blunt. "You do not come across as homosexual," he said.

Dean choked. "Uhhh…okay," not really sure how to respond to that, "…thanks?"

Solrin's frown deepened. "I only mean…" he trailed again, searching for the right words.

"Nah, I think I get it," Dean held up a hand so Solrin wouldn't sprain something trying to think of a better way to word that, "And you're not all that wrong either. See…Sasha's one of kind for me," he explained, being used to this conversation by now, especially after having to explain it to Leven, "He's…special. Took me by surprise, I guess you could say. I don't even really think about it anymore. Stopped being weird to me a long time ago."

Something sparked in that green eye for a moment and for the first time Dean felt like Solrin was actually looking at him instead of through him. "You have been together a long time?" he asked.

Dean considered that. What was long? It sure seemed long to him, the longest relationship he had ever had, to be honest, even though it hadn't even been a year yet. "I don't know," he said, "Nine months or so? Feels longer. In a good way," he put in quickly. Then he thought about it more and realized he was off a bit on time. "I guess it's more like six months we've been together, nine months I've known him, or something like that. I was a little resistant at first," he smirked, "But thankfully, Sasha's more persistent than I am stubborn, and that's saying something. It all worked out." Well, not completely. Dean was still human, Sasha was still an incubus, and if they couldn't think of something to do about Sasha's deal, it would stay that way. Forever.

"I see," Solrin nodded, as if Dean had just explained a very profound paradox, which Dean supposed his relationship with Sasha sort of was, "And your brother had no problem with this?"

Dean snorted. "Oh, he's getting some of his own," he said, "_Finally_. That pretty barmaid helping Ellen and Jo out, Sarah? And even before she came along, Sam was good about things. Hell, I'd almost bet that if I hadn't wised up when I did, Sammy would have been the one pushing me Sasha's direction," weird as that would have been.

Whatever had sparked in Solrin was still there, but he was troubled now, and what might have been the beginnings of an understanding…well, twitch at his lips if not a smile, had faded into a frown again. "I do not suppose…" he began carefully, head bowing for the first time in awhile as he looked away from Dean, "That…you and your brother are not fully blood related?"

Dean's first thought was, 'huh?', followed by a swift 'oh shit' if that question meant that Sol could in any way sense the demon blood in Sam's veins. "Dude, fully and completely. Why do you ask?" he tried to say as if he didn't suspect the reason.

There was no doubt that Solrin wanted to tell Dean his reasoning too, to be honest and explain why he was more relaxed around Dean but hesitant in the presence of the others. But he pulled back, said, "No reason," and turned to climb up that rickety ladder.

Really, Dean shouldn't have expected that any hunter would be the forthcoming type. He would have to get Sol to come back to that subject eventually, but not right now. "Wouldn't the nach hide out closer to the ground?" he asked instead, mainly because he didn't really want to have to climb up that thing.

"We should look everywhere. The other creature may have left clues as well."

What was it with Dean and these logical guys? "Yeah, yeah, sure. Is that thing even safe?" he looked up the ladder at Solrin, who was halfway to the top by now. Dean tried to tell himself that after all the times he had flown with Sasha, and after facing far worse fears in _Hell_ of all places, heights should not be something that still tripped him up. But this barn was frickin' huge and that was a really high loft.

"I doubt we would hurt ourselves too severely if we fell," Solrin said, which _so_ wasn't comforting. Of course Dean couldn't just let the guy go up there all alone. If he did then it was almost certain that the nach, the incubus, or both would be up there. Fate was always a bitch like that.

Dean steeled himself as he gripped the ladder and began climbing. "So…" he talked to calm his nerves, "Why the sudden interest in my love-life? Disappointed this sexy guy is taken?" he smirked to himself as he said it, even though it was a pretty ballsy thing to joke about when Solrin had the advantage of getting to the top of the ladder first.

It wasn't an angry look that stared down at Dean though, more like that incredulous one that almost looked as if Solrin might smile. He was amused. "Why are you always trying to make me laugh?" Solrin shook his head before finishing his climb up over the top of the ladder onto the loft.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged, "Might be nice to know if you can."

Hearing Dean say that seemed to spurn the very opposite reaction; Solrin immediately frowned again. "I do not have…a lover, or…family to accompany me," he said haltingly, "Less to smile about, I suppose." His gaze caught Dean by surprise again, piecing and right on him. Dean thought maybe part of that look was envy.

He hated being envied.

He had just about reached the top when Solrin offered him a hand to help him climb over onto the landing. Normally, Dean would be all, 'hey, I got this,' but he was sort of thankful for the support since the ladder was wobbling. When Solrin pulled him in, Dean clutched the guy's arms for a minute as that brief fear of falling passed through him.

"Sorry," he pulled away with a grunt, "Height, flying problem. So, uhh…" he tried to speak on quickly to keep Sol's attention since the guy had already started to turn away, "No…family? Like at all?"

If it was possible for a frown to turn in on itself, Solrin managed it.

"Damn it. Sorry. Last question you should ever ask another hunter," Dean scolded himself.

"They are not…dead," Solrin spoke to appease Dean, though it clearly troubled him to speak of it at all, "Actually, I do not know where they are. My parents. No siblings. I imagine they are back at the same home I grew up in, wasting away in their boring lives, happy to be rid of me. The feeling is mutual," he said venomously, maybe even more pronounced than when Solrin had spoke with venom about supernatural beings.

This probably wasn't the best topic to push on then, but Dean couldn't help himself now that he had gotten so far. "So…" he tried.

"I spent most of my childhood in an asylum," Solrin said suddenly, loudly and without shame as if he was daring Dean to make a joke about _that_, "Do you think differently of me to know that?"

Dean figured honesty was the best way to go. "Actually…not really," he said, not even all that surprised about the asylum thing given this guy's temperament and personality, "Already thought you were nuts. S'why you fit in so well," he grinned, smacking Solrin's arm playfully.

Solrin immediately gaped, at an absolute loss for words. Apparently, no one had ever reacted that way before. But then there was only one Dean Winchester. Dean thought he even caught some color rising to Solrin's cheeks, embarrassment flooding him at being so whole-heartedly _included_.

Why not, Dean thought. Freaks should stick together.

"Who'd have thought?" Dean let his grin go a little crooked, "The asexual guy can _blush_." It was sort of Dean's motto to push beyond the point normal people would stop. And for good reason.

Solrin gave him a look, not a glare, a _look_, like he was trying so hard not to smile. "I am _hardly_…asexual," he said, and it was playful, honestly playful.

Score. "Oh really? Getting some on the side, are ya?" Dean winked.

That was definitely the shadow of a smile now. "Occasionally," Sol said, "But I'm afraid you are not my type."

Tension broken; Dean laughed good and loud at that. "Well thank god, coz otherwise this could get awkward," he teased. Then, finally, for at least a couple moments, Dean was sharing a _smile_ with this guy, something he thought would be a lost cause, and if getting the guy to simply act human was a lost cause then making sure he stayed on the human side would have been a lost cause too. But Dean knew it wasn't hopeless. It was never hopeless.

He took a deep breath as his laughter stilled, but instead of it bolstering him, Dean nearly choked. There was something rank in the air.

"You smell that?" he said, turning to look over the loft that they hadn't actually inspected yet. He couldn't see much other than old hay, a couple bushels of it, and cracked boards from where the barn was falling apart.

Solrin moved slowly in the direction of those old bundles, the only thing really obscuring them from seeing the whole loft. His smile vanished. "It's not here," he said with certainty, "But something…" With swift steps Solrin moved over to the hay bales. Dean followed. The closer they got, the more Dean could smell that awful stench. He had smelled similar things in his life to know what they were about to find.

Of course he wasn't exactly prepared to find _pieces_. "Shit," Dean turned his head away, covering his mouth and nose with his arm as they peered behind the bales. There wasn't a dead body, more like several, but all with only a few parts left. It was obvious that some of the parts were from older corpses, but they were all corpses, Dean was certain.

"The nachzehrer was staying here, but has left," said Solrin, "Strange, as you said, Dean, for him to be up here at all and not closer to the earth. He must have been with the other creature. But why did they leave…?"

Something glinted on the ground from the sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the barn. Dean bent down to investigate.

"What is it?" Solrin asked him.

Carefully, Dean picked the item up between his pointer finger and thumb. '"A safety pin," he said with a frown. Not exactly the clue to end all clues. "Doesn't tell us much about where our creature or _creatures_ went. Maybe they just got sick of being in one place. Maybe it wasn't private enough. Hell, maybe some people were poking around like we are now so they just high-tailed it." Dean wouldn't count any of those options out.

Solrin nodded in agreement. Dean decided to pocket the safety pin since you never knew what might be important later on. Then Sol was moving, looking out of the upper doors just off the loft where the hay bales would have been brought up by pulley to be stored. He looked out at the land beyond, the town nearby, the scattering of so many other shacks and run-down buildings. The sun was already setting.

Dean walked up next to him, wondering if Solrin could see something.

"We're heading in the right direction," he said after a while, "I'm sure of it. Somewhere close by our prey is waiting for us." His tone was chilling and dark again like Dean remembered from that morning. That _morning_. Sometimes Dean could hardly believe all that could happen to them in a single day.

He preferred the more relaxed and sane version of Sol though, so he smacked the guy on the back again and tossed him a grin. "Then let's get going. Lots more ground to cover, right?"

To Dean's pleased surprise, Solrin's mouth twitched once more into that shadow of a smile. "Are you going to need help getting down?" he asked as he moved past Dean to the ladder.

Dean might not have picked up on the sarcasm if he didn't know better. "Smartass," he called after Sol. He didn't get a grin in reply, just a glance, a swift look that told him he had broken through at least one barrier. One was a start.

And Hell, maybe for once things would actually turn out right for them.

tbc...

A/N: Did any of that make sense?

Rhys, did you see all those hints?

ATTENTION! For those of you who only watch for 'Incubus' updates and might be interested in wincest AND a challenge, I had this awesome dream the other night that I turned into a fic. It is posted here on FF. But I woke up before I could finish the dream so I've made a contest for people to write the ending. Please enter if you're interested.

Crim


	81. Part 6: So Much Taken for Granted

I thought I was overdue for one of those epically LONG chapters. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

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Part 6: So Much Taken for Granted

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Hunting well into the night, neither side came up with anything substantial—no sign of the incubus or the nachzehrer. There were still many places nearby, many neighboring towns just as small as Rushville that might harbor one or both of them, but the hunters all agreed—even Solrin—that if they didn't get some rest then they would be of no use hunting anything when it mattered.

They returned to the Roadhouse with a plan of attack decided for the next day. Dean and Sol would remain behind in the morning to prepare weapons and supplies while Sam and Sasha continued the search. So far it seemed that Solrin was completely unaware that the other hunters were working half of the case against him.

After their basic plan was set, Dean was more than ready to hit the hay and call it a night, especially since they would be up ungodly early again. Unfortunately, it seemed that Sasha had other plans. And not the type of 'other plans' that Dean was usually so very willing to entertain.

The incubus sat on the end of the bed in just his boxers, Dean already under the covers ready to sleep. Dean might have let himself dose off without even listening to what Sasha started to say if it wasn't for how suddenly sullen the redhead's voice sounded. "So, I…couldn't help noticing Sol seems a lot more comfortable around you, Dean," he said, almost pulling off an uncaring tone, only so very much _not_, "Lately, I mean. And in general."

It was a terribly difficult feat for Dean not to groan. "_Please_ tell me you're not about to unleash some jealous lover speech on me right now. I am so not in the mood," he half buried his face in his pillow, so damn tired, "Besides, it's not a physical thing. I don't know why Sol trusts me, but he is definitely not into me like that."

The weight on the bed shifted as Sasha turned and began climbing slowly towards Dean on top of the covers. "I know. I'm an incubus, remember? I can tell he's not like Leven or Iain with a not-so-secret hard-on for you," he said jokingly, even though Dean could hear that there wasn't the usual smile in Sasha's voice, "This isn't a jealousy speech. It's an 'I'm scared _shitless_ speech' and please tell me you know what you're doing with this guy." Sasha's tone became suddenly panicked as he said that and Dean was definitely listening now.

He sat up to look at Sasha, easily picking up on the tension in the incubus' body and the way his eyes wavered with an undercurrent of fear. "Sasha," Dean frowned, "What are you trying to say? I'm doing my best trying to keep Sol from thinking there's an incubus, okay? For _you_. Because you believe you can talk some sense into this kid before he goes psycho again and feeds his pet zombie." Dean held up both hands placatingly when Sasha scowled at that. "And maybe you can, I'm not saying you can't. But you gotta understand why I need to get Sol on our side. There's a good guy in there somewhere, baby, he's just a little wrecked. I know we can get him to see our side of things. We have to." _He had to._

"You can't save everyone," Sasha muttered, his head turning away from Dean. It was an echo of what Dean used to tell himself everyday to better get through his life as a hunter and all the people that got lost along the way. But Dean couldn't think like that anymore, even if Solrin spooked Sam and Sasha, and yeah, even though he spooked Dean a little too.

Besides, Sasha had to know the irony of what he was saying since he wanted to save that incubus. Dean's plight to save Sol just seemed so much more immediate. If Dean couldn't save the slightly cracked hunter then it wasn't about not being able to save everyone; he might not be able to save _anyone_.

And that was not acceptable.

"I'll be careful," Dean promised, scooting closer to Sasha and hooking the back of his neck to get those blue eyes on him again, "You're such a damn hypocrite," Dean smirked, "I know this is personal for you with this incubus kid out there. I get that. But understand it's personal for me too because of Sol _right here_. Misguided and lonely, I get. Set up for failure at Malak's hands, I _really_ get. We're not gonna lose either of 'em. I promise."

A flicker of a smile fitted onto Sasha's face and he relaxed into Dean's touch. "Guess I just…wanted to hear you say that," he chuckled lightly, "You're about the only person in the world, you know, who could pull shit like this off."

A chuckle rose in Dean's throat, but as much as Dean knew he could leave this conversation right here and all would be well for awhile, he had to push one step further. "And another thing," he said, tugging Sasha just a bit closer, "You ever think that maybe the reason we don't understand certain things about you…is because you never _tell us_ anything?"

A spark of startled light shimmered through Sasha's eyes. Then it was gone and he was echoing Dean's chuckle, pitiable and so false it hurt as a hand came up to clutch Dean's forearm that was stretched between them to hold Sasha's neck. "Ever think this family spends way too much time passing pots and kettles around?" Sasha joked.

"_Oh_ yeah," Dean said just as pitiably back, "Every damn day. But I want to know everything there is to know about you, baby, even the things that sting. Quid pro quo," he grinned, since he had been thinking a lot about Hannibal Lecter lately, "You know everything about me. Except maybe for some of the random shit I haven't thought to tell you. You even know Hell."

"Not details," Sasha reminded him.

"You don't wanna know the details."

Curiosity flashed through Sasha's eyes this time, challenging that assessment, but he nodded anyway. "I don't wanna know the details," he agreed, "But if you ever _want_ to tell me." If you ever _need_ to tell me, he meant.

"Deal."

"Good."

"So are there any other things you haven't told me?" Dean tried to smile wistfully, not wanting Sasha to feel pressured. After all, he knew he would never make good on that 'deal' since Hell wasn't something he wanted to talk about, but even though he was tired and, yeah, a bit of a hypocrite himself, Dean really wanted to hear something from the incubus right now. Anything.

Sasha laughed again, shakily, and squeezed Dean's forearm. "I'm sure there's plenty. But if you want to know something…" his eyes flicked up from looking over Dean's face, landing more directly on Dean's eyes. He scooted closer, leaned closer, _was_ so much closer suddenly that Dean had to tighten the fingers curled around Sasha's neck to steady himself. "The girl I killed," Sasha whispered with difficulty, staring piercingly back at Dean, "What drew me to her, why I wanted it to be her…was her eyes. They were this perfect hazel green, ya see," his mouth twitched, "Jade and gold like something magical out of a storybook, and I just…couldn't stop looking in them. I could have drowned right there the first time she looked back at me. Maybe it was…because she was the first, I don't know, but even after what I had done to her, I knew I could never be happy with anyone but someone who could make me feel the way she did. How it all started…with just those eyes…" he touched Dean's face right beneath his left eye that was so like the ones he had just described.

Dean's breath hitched as Sasha moved his other hand, the one on Dean's arm, slowly up to Dean's shoulder, lightly over his neck and to his face on the other side. Dean knew Sasha had just told him something that he had never shared with anyone else. It didn't make him jealous of that girl to know what she had meant to Sasha. He knew that he was the only person Sasha had ever truly loved, and that would always be enough for him, but now Dean felt special for another reason.

"I was terrified by how much I wanted you," Sasha whispered, holding Dean's face, "I know that if I ever hurt you like that, Dean, like I hurt her, I…couldn't survive it. You're everything I ever wanted, even before I knew what that was. I don't want that poor kid out there to miss out on that. But more than him, Dean, more than anything outside of you and me, I want to believe that nothing could ever take this away, take _you_ away, whether small or big, Apocalypse or simple hunt…" he choked on tears that stubbornly streamed down his cheeks, "But…but if something ever does…I want you to know that no one, past, present, _ever_ could be what you are to me." Sasha leaned forward then, desperate suddenly, but before he could claim a kiss Dean had already moved in to claim one first.

All the things Dean wanted out of life could be summed up in how Sasha made him feel just by kissing him. Each simple kiss encompassed every bit of peace and love and a sense of belonging, _mattering_ that Dean always seemed to be seeking and so seldom found. Sasha's fingers tight on Dean's jaw line, the incubus' palms pressing on Dean's cheeks, it was so warm, so grounding.

Dean pressed further forward, electrified from the heat and wetness in Sasha's mouth as a shock jolted gloriously down his body—kissing, just kissing.

When he pulled away, he felt sort of silly that all he could say in reply to the beautiful words Sasha had said to him was, "Ditto," all breathy and soft with a lopsided smile on his face.

It seemed more than enough for Sasha though since the incubus laughed, honest and real this time instead of pitiable.

"Just got one amendment, baby," Dean whispered hot on Sasha's lips, wanting another kiss because Sasha was so warm, and so close, and it just made Dean want to pull the incubus all the way into him, "You can leave out the part about _anything_ taking this, or me, away. I'm gonna save everyone I can, Sol if I can, that incubus too. But you and Sammy always come first. Always. You got me?" Dean lifted his hands to mold over the top of Sasha's that were still on his face. They were warm too, Sasha's hands, everything about the incubus always so damn _warm_.

Sasha laughed again, beautifully, pressing his forehead to Dean's and holding Dean's face just as firmly as ever. "I got you, Dean," he said, only it felt more like a promise than an agreement. And really, Dean was pretty okay with that.

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Dean shuffled down the stairs the next morning feeling drained. Literally to some extent too since he and Sasha's heartfelt conversation had inevitably turned into deep, shuddery love making. Inevitable because let's face it, Sasha was still recovering from the other night and they were both so horny for each other on a regular basis that sex not happening was much less likely. Of course three nights in a row with an incubus had Dean feeling sluggish. He needed a really big breakfast to get his strength back.

Sol was already downstairs waiting for him, whittling extra stakes. He was wearing a navy button-down this time and another pair of cargos. Dean figured the wardrobe had to be because of all those bandages underneath. Dean really needed to figure out what those were for.

"Hardy Boys already leave?" he asked Sol as he nodded pleadingly at Ellen for a plate of food. No one else was around quite yet this early.

"Yes, not long ago," Solrin replied, only briefly glancing up as he continued whittling. That shadow of a smile played at his face, though he didn't make any remark concerning Dean's pop culture reference of Sam and Sasha. "It doesn't look as though the weather will be favorable for us today," he added.

Dean looked towards the nearest window and could see how dark it was outside even though the sun should be almost risen by now. Overcast and gloomy. Wonderful. At least Dean was used to that sort of weather on hunts.

He took a seat next to Sol, waiting for Ellen to return with some food from the kitchen. He felt weird playing the part of 'customer' when Ellen felt more like, well, a _mom_. He'd be damned if he would ever admit that to her though.

"You eat?" Dean asked, picking up a dull piece of wood from the table and slipping out his ankle blade for whittling.

Solrin shrugged.

"Hey, man, I hate to sound like an afterschool special here, but…breakfast really is the most important meal of the day," Dean smirked, "Especially if we're hunting first thing. Don't want you passing out on me. Personally, I need it to wake myself up. You at least get yourself some coffee?"

To appease Dean, Solrin reached down by his chair and lifted up a mug. The table was a little full after all with supplies and pieces of wood scattered about it. There was even a covered ice cream pail in the center. Dean patted the top of it and raised an eyebrow Sol's direction. "Consecrated soil," Solrin explained, "We'll need to coat the stakes with it. More effective overall. It also eliminates the need to stake the nachzehrer back into its grave the way we would if this were a…normal zombie." He said 'zombie' a little reluctantly, Dean thought, like maybe it was an inappropriate word.

Never before had Dean considered 'zombie' to be the exact perfect word for what they were hunting. "Holy water too?" he asked, gesturing to a smattering of vials.

"It may have some effect if we run into trouble. I have never dealt with a nachzehrer personally but the lore seems to agree that they would react to holy water much like a demon. We'll see, I suppose," Solrin shrugged, looking a little heavy and dark around the eyes, despite having beaten Dean downstairs this morning.

When Ellen showed up with some toast and eggs for Dean along with a pot of coffee, Dean pointed over at Solrin too. "Better top him off, Ellen, or he's bound to fall asleep on me. You sure you don't want anything to eat?"

Solrin accepted the extra coffee—black, Dean noted, since the guy didn't add anything before taking a sip—but politely shook his head in regards to food. "I'm fine. Thank you, Ellen," he nodded at her. Dean couldn't help noticing the look Ellen gave him as she walked away, something like surprise and maybe a little pride that Dean was actually pulling this off so far and getting Sol to be more relaxed in a group setting. Well, in a _Dean_ setting since Sam and Sasha were out hunting the incubus.

"We really gonna make all this wood into stakes?" Dean scrunched his brow at the pile in front of him. It probably wasn't all that much, a safe number really, but it would take them longer than Dean had expected.

"The extras are for entrances," Sol said, "When we find the nachzehrer, placing a stake at each entrance will keep it from escaping. Like a salt line. I thought a few extras would be helpful. I would feel more pressed for time since there may be another attack tonight, but then…" he trailed a little, his green eye looking up to stare at Dean directly, "Sasha and Sam are out there. Perhaps they will find our quarry without us."

There went one of those chills down Dean's spine again. He wondered for a moment if those words were a challenge. He no longer doubted that Solrin suspected _something_, but he couldn't be sure what. Whether it was something directly about Sam and Sasha, something about the young incubus they were looking for, or something else, Dean didn't know. Solrin had to only 'suspect' though, he couldn't know anything for certain, otherwise he would have acted by now if he was really so intolerant of all things supernatural.

Regardless of what the truth was, Dean wasn't about to give anything away. Not until he knew for sure it was safe.

So he grinned, "Hell yeah, man, I sure hope they do. Save us the effort. Let's get these done then, huh?" he said, working a little more quickly on his current stake after a bite of toast, "But you're gonna have to keep me entertained or I'll be the one falling asleep on _you_."

Solrin looked a little startled by that but at least his gaze wasn't so scrutinizing anymore. "Keep you entertained?" he repeated skeptically.

"Sure," Dean smiled. He was a genius, pure and simple. "You gotta have some good stories, right? How about…ugliest broad you ever hunted. And don't leave out the details," he leaned over the table and winked. Know your enemy, Dean figured, much as he hoped on Dave and Cas and everything else holy in his life that Solrin never became that.

After a few moments of gaping, then another handful of quiet contemplation, Solrin's mouth twitched. "Well…have you ever encountered a harpy before?" he asked with that rare, playful tone, "Now _those_ are ugly."

Dean was practically busting a gut at Solrin's tale of the fugly-ass harpy and how he had finally managed to nail her—in the killing sense, not the screwing sense coz _gross_—and was about to insist the guy show him how it was even possible to behead something with a pickaxe when another early riser joined them in the bar.

Of course Dean was all smiles as he spotted the rumpled and sleep-deprived looking librarian.

"So I take it the books are winning?" he chuckled as the lanky brunette slumped in barely awake enough to focus, "No offense, man, but you look like hell." Dean pulled out an open chair in offering as he said that. Iain took it gratefully, rubbing at his eyes and not seeming to notice that Solrin was there or that the guy was a bit put-out about being joined.

"Won't hear any regrets from me," Iain grinned, slumping in the chair exhaustedly, "I'm just not going to be very useful for the first few _months _I'm here. Sorting through all that shit is a _chore_. But it'll be worth it," he announced with a firm finger pointed at Dean before then very quickly deflating again, "At least it damn well better be."

Dean shook his head, still smiling wide as he looked over at Sol and—scowl or no scowl—brightly introduced the hunter to their resident research librarian. "You met Iain yet, Sol? He got caught up in a hunt with us not long ago and ended up getting recruited. Not a hunter, but he's working to get a good library for us so research goes a bit smoother for the average Roadhouse passerby. Iain Wilde," he looked at Iain with a gesture across the table, "Sonji Lorin. Solrin or Sol he goes by mainly. Unless he doesn't like you," he grinned.

As generally nervous and even a little shy as Iain could be he never failed to beam out a smile. "Hi," he said brightly to Solrin, leaning over the table and extending a hand, "Sure, yeah, the hunter Dean and the others are working with in town. Shit, you're younger than I thought you'd be. Guess I've just seen a lot more older hunters passing through." Iain's hand remained hovering over the table a while and Dean feared that Solrin would just let it stay there.

"I promise he doesn't bite," Dean supplied jokingly.

"Shows how much you know," Iain snarked back. He left his hand suspended, patiently certain that Solrin would take it.

Thankfully, Solrin did, rising from his seat finally and shaking Iain's hand good and firm before letting it go. "Yes," Solrin said slowly, "There are more older hunters, I suppose. I started young. You are also…fairly young." His green eye swept over Iain gaugingly, sizing him up, Dean figured.

Much as Iain looked like he could handle himself, he was far from being a threat. Dean wanted to make sure Solrin picked up on that and maybe even learned that being friendly rather than just polite could go a long way. "Don't suppose you wanna help us out here?" he asked Iain, hoping to keep the guy around a bit longer, "I'm sure one of us has an extra knife."

"Sure," Iain nodded enthusiastically, "I was a boy scout, if you can believe it. Talk about some fucked up shit, like a god damn cult, I swear. Couldn't get out fast enough. I'll just grab some coffee." He rose to head into the kitchen where Ellen had disappeared to, probably making more food and whatnot for any other hunters that might wake up early. Dean hadn't gotten all that good of a look the night before at how many others were staying in the Roadhouse now.

He couldn't help noticing that Iain tossed an extra smile Solrin's way before he left, shyly but all genuine like always. Either Solrin was caught off guard by the gesture or Iain's grin was just that infectious, because Solrin's mouth twitched again in response.

Maybe all the guy really needed was the chance to make some friends. Iain was a good start. Dean noticed how tense Solrin was at first having the extra company, but eventually he relaxed and almost would have seemed perfectly normal if not for his formal language and odd appearance.

"So a nachzehrer, huh?" Iain asked curiously, helping Dean and Solrin pack up the gear once they had finished whittling, "That sounds way messed up. _Cool_. Don't suppose you remember where you read up on it?" he asked Solrin with that same shy smile, "I started backwards in the alphabet for shelving. Makes it seem like less work even though it's the same. Anyway, I have a section for zombies started already and it would be good to get something about this nach thing in there too if you can tell me anything."

"Yes, I…I believe it was in an anthology about vampire myths, since nachzehrer's are often more associated with them," Solrin replied, "Falsely though, you are right to shelve them with zombies. I may have the book with me. I could…grab it for you?" he offered a little awkwardly, unused to carrying on friendly conversations, no doubt, "I was going to get a jacket anyway since it is still raining."

A bit of thunder rolled overhead as if to say, no, actually, it's _storming_, but thanks anyway. Dean had seen a few flashes of lightning too. Perfect. The one day it had to storm in the morning he was actually hunting _in the morning_. "Yeah, great idea," he patted Solrin's back in approval, "Iain could use any extra help he can get, right, man?" he winked at the brunette. Dean wasn't trying to play matchmaker or anything; he had no reason to assume Sol was interested in dudes. But two solitary type guys would make pretty good friends, he figured, and certainly couldn't hurt.

Iain smiled blindingly again, nodding, "Fuck yeah, that'd be awesome. I can check and see if I have the book already. Then I'll know what to cross-reference. Oh, and, uhh…" he called after Dean and Solrin as they had left the supplies on the table and were both heading upstairs to grab their jackets before leaving, "You guys be careful when you head out, okay? Nasty day and all."

That was putting it mildly. They didn't have too many ideas on where to start their half of the search, and it wasn't as if Sam and Sasha were being productive along the hunt front since they weren't really looking for the nach. It was important to find the incubus too, and probably important to find him first, but it meant that Dean and Solrin would be doing all the real legwork for their flesh-eating zombie.

Dean made it back downstairs before Solrin, now with his leather jacket and some extra weapons on hand just in case. The bar was always a little eerie with no one around, the girls still sleeping more than likely, Ellen in the kitchen, and everyone else tucked away somewhere. He decided he might as well check in on the other duo while Solrin gave Iain a hand with that book.

And just to make things more eerie—as if the general sense of psychic mojo that surrounded them wasn't bad enough—Dean's cell phone started to ring just as he was about to dial, signaling 'Sasha's cell'.

"If Sam's inside my head right now, I_ swear_," Dean warned as he picked up the call.

"Huh? No, Dean, listen," Sasha spoke quickly, "We need you and Sol to get down here now. We think we've found the incubus."

"You—" Dean cut off mid-thought, frowning, "But then don't you want me to stall him or something?"

Sasha sighed helplessly. "I wish we could afford to. Problem is, we're pretty sure Sol was right about the two creatures being together. Sam senses the nach here too."

Fan-_fucking_-tastic.

As soon as Sol was halfway down the stairs, Dean had a bag full of stakes over his shoulder and an ice cream pail full of dirt in his hands. "They got a lead," he called up the steps, "Time to motor."

Of course Dean had forgotten _how_ they would be 'motoring' until he and Solrin were dashing outside in the pouring rain, thunder and lightning littering the sky above them, to reach Solrin's _motorcycle_. A good piece of machinery, sure—a '95 black Low Rider, Dean was fairly certain—but it was not generally built for two and it was a frickin' _motorcycle_ in the middle of a thunderstorm! Dean really regretted saying Sam and Sasha could take the Impala. Especially since he was the one who had to climb onto the back of the damn thing and hang onto Solrin's waist like a friggin' _girl_. The drive was not fun.

Thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the building Sasha had told him about over the phone, which of course was well outside the Rushville town limits on the opposite side of the Roadhouse, Dean was at least slightly appeased to discover that Sam and Sasha were getting drenched too. The Impala was parked nearby, but the two other hunters were outside just off the rusty gates of what was literally the proverbial haunted house.

Every town had one, the old rundown place you just never went near, unless of course you were a bunch of teenagers and thought it would be smart to dare each other to spend the night. Yeah coz that always ended so well.

Still, Dean couldn't help groaning as Solrin parked the bike and they dashed over to join Sam and Sasha by the gate. "Please tell me you're kidding," he called over the sound of rain and thunder, "Can you say cliché in big, bold flashing letters?" The place was even up on a hill past the gate, looking huge and black and menacing. "If it looks obvious, it probably is. It's even storming out!" Dean held out his arms to indicate the very hard to miss downpour around them that was way to Stephen King for his liking.

"It's barely 10AM, Dean, not midnight, if that helps you," Sam said with a stern glare. His collar was turned up on his jacket, though it was doing nothing to stop the rain from dripping down his neck off the long plastered pieces of his hair. "Besides, the most obvious choice is often the _right one_," he said pointedly, meaning they were sure, and considering he and Sasha could both probably sense the incubus being this close, and Sam could apparently sense the nach as well, it had to be right.

"I think we've scoured every last inch of the area other than that house anyway," Sasha added. Dean looked to the incubus and allowed a small shiver he could totally blame on the rain. He always kind of liked the way Sasha looked all soaked like that. Red hair dark as it clung to his cheeks, T-shirt suctioned to his skin, leather jacket quickly becoming more and more worn instead of new. "And the kicker?" Sasha tried to grin, much as Dean could pretty much feel his friend's inner turmoil over being so close to the incubus, "We chatted up some of the boys' friends before heading here. It's how we found the place. All of them have been in that house at some point. Usual teenage bullshit. Might have left a scent or trail or something for the, uhh…creature to follow." There was a good amount of emphasis on the singular of 'creature' instead of 'creatures'.

Regardless of the obvious and not so obvious of the big scary-ass house in the middle of nowhere, Solrin—unlike Dean—did not look at all distrusting or worried. Something in his pale green eye, staring ahead at the house, was intensely confident. Dean thought maybe Sol could sense something too. "This is the place," the white-haired hunter said certainly, "Let's go."

With no reason to argue, the four hunters began a sprint through the torrents of rain to reach the house. Of course Dean didn't feel panicked or anxious _at all_ as they drudged up the hill. He just couldn't help being bothered that once again there was no way for him to talk with Sam and Sasha about how they were going to pull this off. Chatting up mentally with Sam would just be distracting.

They had to kill one creature while potentially saving another, _and_ while making sure Solrin never caught wise of the double dealing. That wouldn't have been quite as bad a scenario if it wasn't also really fucking dangerous. This was going to be dangerous regardless; the last thing they needed was for Sol to figure out their ruse and turn on them.

Dean was thankful the old house had a porch, giving them an opportunity to get out some of the stakes and coat them in consecrated soil without the rain washing it away. Sasha ran around to the back quick to plant a stake in the ground outside the back door. With the porch they would just have to leave a stake lying there and hope it would be enough should the nach slip past them.

Once they were set, Dean took point and pushed on the doors, not surprised to find that they easily opened despite the 'Condemned Building' sign.

The house was in better shape on the inside than the outside gave away, but it was still dark and dank, boards cracked, a lot like that barn Dean and Solrin had explored before. It was also huge, high ceilings, staircase off the main entrance that reminded Dean a little too much of the large familiar house Malak had conjured up the other day. There was water dripping from several places in the ceiling but at least it was warmer and dryer than outside. All of the hunters had flashlights, thankfully; they definitely needed them in here.

"We should split up," Sam said hushed right away, no sign of any creatures immediately visible, "It'll make it easier to surround this thing instead of giving it an opening out of the building. Sol," he nodded for the Asian hunter to go with him, looking over at Dean and Sasha pointedly then to say as best he could that the way he wanted to go with Solrin would lead to the nach, while the other way was closer to the incubus. Thank god they weren't together, Dean thought.

"Works for me," he whispered back.

Even in the dim lighting he could tell that Solrin was not happy about being paired with someone other than him, Solrin's hair glowing eerily in the dark from its light color as he cast Dean a frustrated glance. Dean would have laughed at how it made him think of stupid projects in school and how kids got so riled up over who they partnered with.

He smiled, tossed Solrin a wink, "You boys play nice now," and then grabbed Sasha's arm to pull him the opposite direction in search of their incubus.

Before they were even out of the room, Sasha ran ahead of Dean and began to lead, obviously hot on the trail of the incubus since he could sense him more clearly now. Dean had to struggle to keep up and it worried him that Sasha was so adamant. This could go wrong so many different ways, and all of those wrong ways would just destroy Sasha, Dean knew it.

Rounding a corner too quickly, Sasha nearly collided with a dead end, frantically righting himself then to head the other way. Dean pulled the incubus back against him at that, knowing Sasha was bound to do something stupid if he kept on like this. "Breathe, baby, this isn't a race. We'll get to the kid," he whispered assuredly.

Frantic as he was, Sasha took a moment to do as Dean said and took a few deep breaths. "Sorry. I know. But it _will_ be a race if Sam and Sol get rid of the nach before we've found him. He's close, Dean, I can _feel_ him. He's so scared, and…and panicked. I think he's being drawn to Solrin like Sam and I were. We can't let him go to him, Dean."

It bothered Dean a little how wary Sasha and Sam were of the other hunter. Dean wanted to trust Solrin, wanted to believe that he was more talk than action on the supernatural bigot front, or that he could at least be persuaded to see reason. They hadn't actually given the guy much benefit of the doubt.

But still, Dean understood why in this case Sasha couldn't take the chance.

"Then let's go," Dean said, holding Sasha tight a moment more, squeezing the incubus' arms supportively, and finally releasing.

Sasha glanced back at Dean before moving on, his damn puppy eyes and grateful smile clearly visible in the dark, so easy for Dean to see since he knew the expression well. Sasha didn't say anything, didn't have to. Dean was a frickin' saint for being so understanding.

The incubus moved on quickly then but not quite so haphazard, leading Dean through the lower level of the house around winding turns and through several rooms that made the place feel like a god damn labyrinth. What made it all even more eerie—and the house wasn't haunted if the lack of activity on the EMF meter in Dean's pocket was any indication—was how quiet it was. They couldn't hear anything but the rain hitting the roof and occasional thunder.

When Dean and Sasha at last reached a cellar door, Sasha looked at Dean gravely, nodding his head to say that this was it, the kid was down there, he was certain of it. Sasha wasted no time after that.

There was an instant growl that shot out past them, a blur of teal and brown that was there and then suddenly gone like something had been right on the other side of the door when Sasha opened it. If Dean was right then the kid had just been about to go out in search of Solrin.

"Wait!" Sasha called, "It's okay!" He started to bound down the stairs into the cellar but Dean grabbed his arm to hold him back. The extra stakes for the nach were in a bag over Dean's shoulder, but he also had his iron knife. He let Sasha know that as he squeezed his friend's arm, slipping the blade out of his jacket with a hollow look that silently promised 'only if we have to'.

Grief flashed across Sasha's face but he nodded, understanding even though it pained him, pained Dean too. Then Sasha turned and began a slower tread down the steps.

"Please," he called more gently, carefully turning the light of his flashlight down the steps and scanning the large cellar as he descended into it, "I know where you were going, why you were being drawn up there even though you didn't want to go. What you sense isn't what you think, I promise you. But I am. I know you can feel that I'm like you."

Another growl rumbled from one of the corners below and Sasha flashed his light that direction, almost fully down into the cellar now. Dean, following closely behind, saw another brief glimpse of teal and brown before the figure vanished again.

"It's okay," Sasha said more pleadingly, trying to find the kid amongst the shadows, "I know you're scared but we're not going to hurt you."

"Hrrnngg," came an unintelligible sound, half between a growl and a word. This time Dean saw Sasha glance the direction it was coming from but he didn't point his light. "Hrrr….hrrruh…hrrrunnn...hunnnters…" the strained voice finally managed, close enough to the real word for Dean to understand.

Sasha stepped slowly towards the voice, keeping his light on the floor in front of him. "We are," he admitted, "We're hunters. But we're not here for you. If _I'm_ still alive then the hunters with me obviously have different standards, right? I won't hurt you. Neither will he." Sasha glanced back imploringly even though he knew Dean still had the knife out.

"…w-w-won't…hurt me…" the voice said more clearly, much more like words, "But I-I'll…hurt _him_." He growled again, not moving away from Sasha's approach but obviously hunched low and curled in on himself for how his voice was muted. The growl sounded lower too, like a warning or…or _desire_, Dean thought, because the kid had to be starving by now, and if Solrin's presence could lure him out despite how scared he was, then Dean being so close and so temptingly _human_ had to be torture.

Closer now, right upon the corner the boy was hiding, Sasha crouched low and let his light slowly drift up the shivering figure. Dean held back a gasp. He had seen partially and fully transformed incubi before, but this was different. The caking of dirt and dried blood thick enough to mostly hide the kid's clothing was almost enough to trump the fierce incubus aspects pushing through.

He was wearing jeans, what had once been jeans, and an oversized sweatshirt that might have been brown but maybe that was just the dirt. The zipper on the sweatshirt was busted, maybe on purpose, so the kid had used safety pins to keep it closed. _Safety pins._ Dean thought of the one in his pocket and even though his mind went to pity for a moment since several pins were missing, he had a feeling that it hadn't been some recent try for modesty after the zipper broke but a teenage fashion statement now lost.

The worst was the kid's face, his red eyes flashing wildly, his skin so pale, almost its natural white but smudged and covered in filth. His hair was brown, hopefully brown and not just coated, and it curled slightly just past his ears.

He was a _kid_ all right too, eighteen at the most, like Sasha had guessed. The teal Dean had seen was the color of the kids marking starting to show through, coloring his hands that were almost full claws now. He was dangerously close to frenzy, closer than they had anticipated.

Dean suddenly felt very vulnerable as the resident incubus happy meal. He couldn't possibly miss the hungry stare that looked past Sasha right at him.

"It's okay," Sasha once more, not trying yet to get any closer but remaining crouched a few feet in front of the kid, "You won't hurt him. I won't let you. I won't let you hurt anyone. Do you understand what's been happening?"

The kid's face was half hidden as he clung to his knees, curled up tight in the corner of the cellar. Dean could really only see his eyes, his teal claws clutched around his legs. He couldn't help noticing how the kid flinched at Sasha's question, his eyes squeezing tight for a moment as a tear left a clean wet streak down his dirtied face.

"Hey…" Sasha tried to reach for him, very subtly with his hand inching closer along the ground like approaching a wounded animal, which Dean realized this kid sort of was.

The young incubus flinched away. "I…I-I know…what I…did," he said, his voice more than just a growl but hoarse from disuse, "He won't…leave me alone now, I…_tried_…to tell him how…s-sorry I am, but…" he couldn't get the words out, his head shaking back and forth as more tears streaked down his face, "I tried to…get away, but he…followed me…from the barn. He won't…let me go. I…I didn't…_mean_…" he dissolved into piteous sobs then, clinging more tightly to his legs and pressing his whole face into his knees.

"He's keeping you here," Sasha said in realization, "So you'll keep feeding him."

"I…" muffled words rose up that Dean almost couldn't understand, "I never…wanted to…h-hurt…anyone…I-I…just…wanna go...home. _Please_, I…" he looked up, stared a moment down at Sasha's hand that hadn't tried to move again, and then his eyes slid slow and ravenous up to Dean, "I'm so…_hungry_."

_Shit_.

Dean could see the beginning of horns curling out from the kid's temples now, dark teal pushing past his hair, the shape so much like Sasha's. The hunters had thought the next kill might happen tonight. Either they miscalculated or the kid was getting worse, because Dean knew frenzy pretty well by now and this kid was just about there.

The worst of lead weights dropped down into the pit of Dean's stomach as he realized they couldn't save this kid. It wasn't his fault. An accident created a monster and the monster made it worse. But if this kid frenzied again there was no saving him without killing him.

"Sasha…"

"What's your name?" Sasha asked the boy, pulling his hand back so as not to spook him.

Those shimmering red eyes didn't leave Dean's face. "Adrian…" he choked out past drying tears. _Drying_ tears.

"It's going to be okay, Adrian. We'll get you out of here."

"_Sasha_." Dean clamped his free hand down on Sasha's shoulder, the other still holding the knife, though somewhat hidden so the kid wouldn't see it. He didn't know what to say when Sasha turned concerned eyes on him, not getting it, or at least not _wanting_ to get it. Dean shook his head. "It's too late," he hated to say, even though it was so obvious now, how little of a boy was left as the incubus aspects took firmer hold, transforming the kid—Adrian—into something that would no longer feel remorse.

Sasha's expression melted first into accusation, into blame and anger. But then there was grief again, that horrible all-encompassing grief that tore into Dean seeing it on Sasha's face. Of course Sasha knew it was true. He looked back at the kid and had to see how much the incubus was shaking, his horns fully formed and wings sprouting out the back of his already wrecked sweatshirt, his claws deadly. There wasn't any time.

Dean was ready with the knife, he'd do it, he'd never make Sasha do it even if the damn martyr begged him like Sam had done so long ago with Madison. Dean could take this burden, would gladly. It was his knife after all.

He was ready to offer that, ready to make it quick and easy, as painless as he could for the kid. He couldn't possibly have been prepared for Sasha to suddenly stand and begin pushing him forcibly back towards the stairs.

"_Go_," the redhead growled at him, _growled_, his own eyes red and shimmering.

"What!" Dean tried to push back against Sasha; he must be out of his freakin' mind. "Sasha—!"

"How do we feed during the change, Dean?" Sasha asked without really needing an answer, those red eyes looking sorrowful and so damn…apologetic.

Oh _fuck_ no. "No!"

"I can give him what he needs and no one has to die."

"Sasha!" Dean wasn't hearing this. It was crazy. Dangerous. Fucking insane. "You think I'm that stupid? This isn't two frenzied incubi helping each other, or two fine and dandy ones either. He's gonna be taking a helluva lot more from you than you'll get back from him. After the other night with Malak…that could _kill_ you. _You_. That sounds like _someone_ dying to me!" No way. No way would Dean allow this. He could see over Sasha's shoulder that the kid was getting up, tearing at his clothes, growling and almost totally gone now.

"I'll be okay," Sasha insisted, even though he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes as he said that, just kept pushing Dean up the steps with his damn superior strength that Dean's hardest struggling did nothing to overcome.

"He's a kid!" Dean cried frantically, grasping at anything now to dissent with if Sasha was just going to deny him anyway. Dean nearly tipped several times, trying so damn hard to keep his feet down the steps instead of being forced further and further up them.

Sasha just smiled, _fucking smiled_ back at Dean like he wasn't about to throw himself to the wolves. "I know. He's just a kid, Dean. And I can save him."

Dean was almost up the stairs, the knife gripped too tightly in his hand, growls emanating up from below, and there was nothing he could do, no amount of pushing back at Sasha that could possibly be enough. "He'll kill you," he said desperately, desperate to make sure that didn't happen.

"He won't."

"You don't know that for—"

"He _won't_," Sasha said firmly, "Because, Dean," and suddenly he was kissing him, fierce and claiming and so much like goodbye that Dean would be crying if he didn't feel so god damn numb, "Because," Sasha whispered against Dean's lips, "Angels are watching over us. And I _have_ to do this. I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry_.

It was the last thing Dean heard before the wind was brutally knocked from him, Sasha sending him flying out of the cellar to land several yards away back inside the house.

By the time Dean could breathe again and focus enough to get up, the cellar door was closed. He didn't have to try the door to know it wouldn't do him any good. But he had to. He had to try anyway. He couldn't let Sasha _do this_. To hell with jealousy, this had nothing to do with that. Sasha could fucking die down there!

So Dean was up, still winded, huffing painfully as he made towards the door and thinking he had to have some bruised ribs from those acrobatics if not a couple broken ones.

He was seconds from pounding on the door when he heard the first scream.

Panic twisted in Dean's gut as he thought the sound had come from the cellar. Then he realized it was coming from somewhere else in the house. It wasn't Sam or Solrin, which could only mean one thing: it was the nach, and if it was screaming then that meant the others had found it. Considering the creature sounded a hell of a lot more angry than injured it also meant that the others might be in some serious trouble.

Dean knew Sam wouldn't use his powers unless there was no other choice, the risk of Solrin seeing him and overreacting being too great. Dean had to help them. He knew he had to help them. At least with them he could do something. With Sasha…

Damn it. Dean pounded on the door once anyway, just to be sure Sasha heard him and knew that this was not something he would ever forgive the bastard for, not if he never came back. Dean would never forgive Sasha if he left, no matter how hypocritical.

Teeth gritted, one fist clenched and the other still tight on the knife he had never lost, Dean cast the cellar one last angry glare, silently praying, _'don't you dare let him die on me, Cas'_, and then he was off, sprinting towards the other side of the house.

The screams of the nachzehrer made it painfully easy to follow them towards the fight. Dean soon began to pick up on the sounds of Sam and Solrin too. One thing he could be sure of was that the fight was not going well.

He turned corner after corner, trying to find the best way towards those sounds. It reminded him way too much of when he had been able to hear Sasha fighting Gordon in that factory but hadn't been able to reach them in time to do anything.

"Sam!" Dean cried as he finally spotted the door they had to be behind, kicking at it viciously. The door flew open, revealing a large empty lounge with several other doors leading into it and the clear, sobering sight of Sam, Solrin, and one ugly-ass zombie kid facing off against them.

"Dean!" Sam looked over at him, startled, and obviously fearful once he realized Dean was alone. It looked as though Sam and Solrin had lost their stakes and were in desperate need of the extras around Dean's shoulder. That really should have been something they thought of before splitting up.

"He's strong!" Solrin cried as the nachzehrer turned its milky eyes on Dean. Zombies were always frickin' _strong_.

The kid actually looked a lot like the pictures Dean had seen of Jared Logan, only not nicely preserved the way that zombie chick he and Sam hunted had been. This was movie zombie—_cinema_ zombie, Sol had said—and damn was it ugly. The kid's skin was sickly, hollowing on his bones. He was as torn up, bloody and dirty as the incubus in the cellar. The incubus…

Sasha.

_Fuck_.

Dean couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when the damn zombie had turned it sights onto him.

Readying a stake of his own, the knife still in his other hand, Dean tossed the bag of extra stakes over the zombie's head towards Sam, who caught it easily. One clear shot was all Dean needed. The zombie rushed him, seeing the chance for a new and possibly easier target. _Yeah right._

Dean rolled as the zombie lunged for him, kicking out with his legs to unbalance the creature and knock it to the floor. It worked, the nach landing on its back with a solid thud. Dean immediately scrambled up to position himself to stake the damn thing…only to discover there wasn't anything there!

"Dean!"

A sharp pain exploded in Dean's back as something struck him, and he went down face-first into the old wooden floorboards. This zombie wasn't just strong; it was frickin' _fast_.

Pained as he was, Dean immediately rolled again, knowing how dangerous it could be to stay in one position. And right he was, because the nach was practically on top of him in seconds. Dean did the only thing he could without enough leverage to stake the thing—he lashed out with his knife.

Almost immediately, a hand from forearm to fingertip fell onto Dean's chest in a decaying lump of dead flesh. "Fuck!" Dean tried to scramble out from under the nach, and to escape that nasty severed hand, as the zombie began screaming loud and piercing again, looking furiously at his missing limb.

Dean jumped to his feet, shaking off until the offending thing fell back to the floor.

"Grab his legs!" Solrin called as he and Sam rushed it, trying to get the better of the nach while it was finally distracted long enough to catch. If Dean had to guess what had been tripping them up before he would definitely say the thing's speed.

Sam descended on the nach's legs, Solrin grabbing for its arms and getting a little too close to where the hand had been chopped off as far as Dean was concerned. He grimaced coz…that was just gross.

"_Dean_," Solrin looked up at him sharply. This was the reason there were more than two of them after all. While Dean rushed back over to them, Solrin was trying to get at one of the vials of holy water, successful only in that it fell out of his pocket onto the nach's chest. The vial's cap must not have been secured because it began to leak, sizzling through the remains of a T-shirt to the dead skin beneath and making the nach scream even louder.

With his stake at the ready, Dean dropped down beside the others. One thing about rotting flesh compared to the living was that pounding in a stake took a lot less effort—smooth like gross, gooey butter.

"Mine!" keened the nach, struggling up against Sam and Solrin's hold, his voice doubled and echoing like a banshee, so damn shrill it stung Dean's ears, "Mine!" he looked at Dean in challenge, like he knew, like he knew that Dean had been to see the incubus, "He's—!"

One good stab with the stake silenced the creature instantly. Dean had no remorse for it either, not for something that was already dead. "No more meals for you, pal," he grit out, thinking of the incubus, of _Sasha_, of all those other boys that died because some damn zombie wouldn't stay fucking _dead_. None of it had been the incubus' fault, but Dean doubted he would still be able to think that way if Sasha ended up the next victim.

The nachzehrer keened once more, deafening for one moment and then gone as its strength and struggling died away. It was already rotting, so it didn't fall to further decay when it died, just lied there still, a slab of dead meat left in the center of the room with three hunters hovering over it. It took Dean a few moments to realize he was shaking.

Solrin looked at him curiously, noticing the trembles.

"Fucking hate zombies," Dean said as explanation. He looked down the nach's body at Sam then, eyes pleading and distraught in ways he couldn't risk Sol seeing.

'_Sammy…'_ Dean thought, unable to explain what had happened with mental words, so he just thought the scenario out at Sam in a wave of memory and images, begging Sam to somehow seek out Sasha's mind and make sure he was still okay.

"Where is Sasha?" Sol just had to ask right then, making Dean's chest tighten.

"We…split up. I heard the nach screaming, but…Sasha must still be looking over the house." It was easy for Dean to lie when he was still looking at Sam.

"Good," Solrin seemed satisfied with that, "There could still be another creature. We should catch up with him." He stood and soon Dean and Sam were standing too, Dean looking to Sam and waiting for some sort of answer. All he received was a subtle shake of Sam's head though, like he couldn't hear anything, like there was nothing of Sasha for Sam to pick up on.

'_Sammy…'_

'_There's too much interference, Dean. Too much energy. I can't pinpoint him.'_

'_But he's still alive then? You can feel them…feeding?'_ Dean had to grimace as he thought that. He wasn't jealous or angry about what was happening, not in the way he probably had a right to be, but damn he was scared. So fucking scared.

"Is something wrong?" Solrin asked, unable to dismiss that Sam and Dean had just been standing there for a moment, expressions distant.

"No," Sam spoke up quickly, "I'm sure Sasha's fine, but we better find him. Whether there's another creature or not, this place isn't exactly safe with so much structural decay. Let's go." He passed a brief look of comfort at Dean, a positive response to Dean's question is if to say that as far as Sam knew Sasha was still okay. They just had to give the incubus a little more time.

"Let's head upstairs," Dean suggested, "Bet that's where he went if he didn't hear the screaming. About the only place we haven't looked yet anyway." It was hard to play easygoing, to act like himself when he was panicking.

They left the nach's body to rot and headed back to the main entrance, taking the central stairs to the next level. Dean knew that every room they looked in would be found empty, knew there was nothing else here or Sam would have warned him somehow, been able to sense it. That was good because Dean was so not in his own head right now. He was back in that cellar. He was with Sasha, every last part of him focused entirely on _Sasha_.

When they finished the upstairs, even the small attic, there was still nothing, no sign of the incubus or any mental word of relief from Sam. They had no choice but to head down again. Dean tried to lead them the long way through the other side of the house, saving the cellar for last, but if it came down to it and they reached the cellar door, Dean would risk Sol finding out the truth, risk anything if only to check and make sure Sasha was still breathing.

"Perhaps we should call him?" Solrin suggested, "Aren't you worried something has happened?"

Dean keenly picked up on the sound of suspicion in Solrin's tone again. They were running out of options. "Sure, and then if he's trying to make a sneak attack on this 'other creature' you're so sure about, we'd totally blow it for him," he mustered up an incredulous smirk, "We're almost through the house. Gotta be around here somewhere."

The kitchen was the last main room before the hallway with the cellar door. They reached it and Dean's fists clenched as he made his way across the ruined linoleum.

'_Dean,'_ Sam's voice echoed in his head suddenly. But before Dean could process what that warning tone might mean, he heard shuffling, movement from beyond the kitchen. Dean froze, waiting, so damn hopeful that he just about stopped breathing when a dark brown leather sleeve was suddenly reaching for the doorframe in front of him to steady a very weary, _redheaded_ incubus.

"Sasha!" Dean rushed to him, forgetting that he was supposed to be calm and unruffled, "You're okay! Fucking _Christ_, how the _Hell_ are you okay!?" He checked Sasha over feverishly, running his hands along Sasha's perfect, unmarred face and further down his equally perfect body. 'Perfect' because his clothes weren't shredded or even all that dirty, which was impossible because it not only meant that he had survived the ordeal but that he had been able to hold his glamours, coming out the other end as if nothing had happened.

There was no way it should have been that easy.

Of course with how Sasha slumped forward exhaustedly into Dean, it obviously hadn't been _easy_.

"Don't be…so dramatic, Dean," Sasha slurred into Dean's shoulder, forcing Dean to hold up most of his weight. Sam and Solrin rushed over then to help as well. "Bet you were…trying to act all cool too, like you weren't worried," Sasha rolled his head so he could smile up at Dean wearily, playing along with the ruse they still had to keep going.

"What happened to you?" Solrin asked seriously, helping to hold Sasha up like he had the other night. Sam stepped backed then, Solrin having beaten him to the punch and knowing that there was no way Dean would give up _his_ half of the incubus.

"I guess…that bug I had…isn't totally out of my system," Sasha explained, and maybe because he was halfway to passing out, his lie was thoroughly convincing, "Such an idiot," he shook his head, "Hit me like a…god damn…punch to the gut. Stumbled down into the…cellar and…knocked myself out." Sasha reached up to the back of his head and pulled back a slightly bloodied hand. Dean looked at the wound as best he could through Sasha's too red hair. It was just a cut, a bad bump too, but at least it helped Sasha's story sound more plausible.

Of course Dean couldn't help envisioning what might have actually caused that wound as a flash of incubus Sasha being fucked hard against the cellar wall ripped through his brain, Sasha's back arching, claws clinging to the younger incubus that was frenzied and rutting into him, and then with a growl Sasha's head flew back, cracking hard against the cement and…

_Fuck_. Dean really didn't need to think about that.

"You didn't find another creature?" Solrin asked, his brow tightly knitted as he realized that despite his intuition there didn't seem to be anything else to hunt in this house.

Sasha shook his head. "Nothing here," he said, casting Dean a quick, pointed glance that Dean hoped meant the incubus kid had high-tailed it, "Does that mean you got the nach?" Sasha asked then, looking at all of them hopefully, "Damn it. Lotta help…I was," he grinned.

Dean couldn't help thinking that sometimes Sasha was _too_ good at the acting game. He shifted the incubus against him. "You know…I really wish you would have told me if you still weren't feeling well," he said, meaning of course,_ you bastard, how dare you make that decision without me!_

"I know," Sasha looked at him, all forlorn honest remorse for what he had put Dean through, "I'm sorry, Dean. I just hate to worry you." _I had to do it, you know I had to do it._

"Yeah…" Dean sighed, he did know, he understood, and he smiled despite himself because Sasha was okay, and really, no matter how angry he might want to be, that was what mattered, "Bang up job if you didn't wanna worry me," he chuckled helplessly, pressing his forehead to Sasha's, which really didn't help much with keeping him upright.

"We should get out of here," Sam announced, "This place is falling apart and we're all soaked and dirty. Guess there really was just one creature all along. The coroner must have gotten some details mixed up," he shrugged as believably as he could.

Solrin, helping Dean get Sasha into a more mobile position, looked distant for a moment, contemplative. Eventually, he shook his head. "It seems you are right. There is nothing else here." He said that like he knew it was true, but on a deeper level than the obviously visible. Once again Dean got the feeling that Solrin's abilities, whatever they were, had to include a little supernatural sensing.

Dean also really wanted to know where the young incubus had gone if he wasn't in the house anymore, but he figured they would get to that. It was still before lunchtime after all on this fine stormy morning. _Christ_.

"I may have misjudged you," Solrin said as they began to lead Sasha out of the house. He eyed them all guiltily. "I was…expecting a different outcome. My mistake. Hunting together was…" his lips gave a small twitch as he looked at Dean, "Fun."

Helpless laughter poured from Dean's lips again, helpless because _damn_, that was anything but fun. Still, he tossed Solrin the most genuinely pleased expression he could muster. "That's us, pal," he said, looking to Sasha so close to him and then over his shoulder at Sam following behind, "Us? We're just a barrel of laughs."

-----

If ever there was a hunt Dean wanted to put behind him _right the fuck now_, it was this one. The jealousy he hadn't felt while worrying whether or not Sasha would even survive letting the young incubus feed from him was stirring bitterly in his stomach now. He knew it was stupid. They had both slept with plenty of other people before they got together, and it wasn't as if Sasha was going to walk away from the ordeal with any feelings for the kid. But even so.

It bugged him.

Dean was pleased to discover, however, that Sasha hadn't been stupid enough to send the kid to the Roadhouse for sanctuary. A quick whisper from the redhead told Dean that Shi was in Nebraska somewhere and he had sent the kid to find her. So that was good. Dean was also pleased that Solrin had agreed to leave his bike behind for now so they could all ride back in the Impala—dry.

The Roadhouse was practically deserted when they returned, no other hunters, Iain probably tucked away in his little library upstairs, and a note saying that Ellen and the girls had gone for supplies. To be honest, Dean was sort of grateful for the solitude right now.

They brought Sasha into the Med room, even though there wasn't much they could do for him other than clean up that nasty cut on his head. The real healing would have to come later. Alone. _With Dean_. The rest of them only had minor cuts and bruises, more so just needing—and wanting—showers. Sam actually had to give Sasha's head a couple stitches though since his healing factor was drained along with the rest of him.

"You sure you don't got any hidden wounds?" Dean asked Solrin while Sam finished up on Sasha. Dean would have to deal with his jealousy fallout later. It wasn't often that sex saved lives after all.

Solrin shrugged like even if he did have a wound it wasn't a priority. "I'm fine," he said.

Dean could see some of the bandages that covered Solrin's body sticking out beneath his shirt, disrupted during the fight, no doubt. He couldn't help asking, "What about the mummy routine then? You got some pussing sours I don't wanna know about?" The bandages had been bothering Dean since he met the guy.

And not surprisingly, having attention brought to them made Solrin's expression drop to that horribly defensive scowl. "They're…they're not for…fresh wounds. Not anymore," he said, hunched a little while speaking like he hadn't done with Dean in a while.

"If there aren't any healing wounds to cover then why have the bandages at all?" Sam asked, glancing up from his work on Sasha. He was already tying off the stitches, the incubus' teeth gritted slightly against the pain as Sam worked.

Again, Solrin hunched a little further, his scowl deepening. "I-I," he stammered, actually _stammered_ and for that alone Dean paid closer attention, "I have them…to…hide the scars," he finally admitted, ashamed it seemed of that being the real reason.

That couldn't have been a sillier thing to be bashful about, Dean thought. "Dude," he said, lifting up his own T-shirt for a moment, "We all have scars." Hell, Dean had plenty.

Solrin relaxed somewhat but only enough to look up at Dean and shake his head, the barest twitch at his lips visible in gratitude. "I have more," he said simply.

Well if that wasn't a challenge then Dean didn't know what was. He hopped off of the stool he had been on and walked over to where Sol was propped against the wall. "Those bandages aren't covering anything but old scars?" Dean scoffed, "We are so getting rid of them then." He went right for the buttons on Solrin's shirt and was a little shocked that the guy didn't even try to brush him off, though he did flinch and look a little worried. "I'm undressing our new friend, baby," Dean called back to Sasha, "Just so you know."

A weak chuckle sounded from Sasha. "I'll kick your ass when I'm feeling better," he said. Sam had finished with Sasha's head finally and was gently smoothing the redhead's hair down over the cut.

Dean proceeded to undo Solrin's button-down. The amount of bandages beneath was impressive, all over his chest and on his arms too if Dean remembered right. He pushed the shirt from Solrin's shoulders and yep, bandage city. "This is ridiculous, man. No scars are worth the time it takes to wrap all these. Can't be too bad." Dean reached over to where there were various supplies for different wounds, including a pair of scissors. He grabbed it. "Besides, these things could get in the way if they came loose."

Finally, just as Dean was about to start cutting the bandages away, Solrin reacted, grabbing Dean's wrist too tightly as he stopped him. The grip loosened somewhat when Dean looked up, startled. "I…" Solrin tried to say something, but when he found there weren't any words he just let Dean's wrist go and nodded.

Feeling like he was really making some headway with this guy, Dean started cutting up from the bottom, easily enough since the bandages were loose and several ends were always flying free. It took only seconds before they fell away.

Dean boldly held back a gasp. Oh it was just scars, but Solrin hadn't been lying; it was _a lot _of scars. So much scar tissue actually that Dean couldn't see all that much normal skin. He felt Solrin's lone green eye watching him and wasn't about to show any sign that he was bothered by this. He wasn't bothered, just curious and maybe filled with a little more pity than he had been before.

Carefully, Dean cut away the bandages on Solrin's arms too. He found the same stretch of scar tissue. He wondered if it was burns for a moment but he could tell the longer he looked at them that it was just several scars all wound together. This guy had been through a hell of a lot. It was amazing his neck and face remained so scar free.

"If there are more on your legs, you'll have to get those yourself, man. Bit too intimate," Dean winked. That brought his gaze up to Solrin's face again and he couldn't help focusing on the bandages over the guy's left eye. "What about those?" he asked, "Just another bad scar or you really missing that eye?"

On the other side of the room, Sam and Sasha were just watching now, as curious as Dean was. But Solrin was only looking at Dean. "It is not…missing," he said softly, "Only…dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Dean tried not laugh, "How can your eye be dangerous? If it's not hurt then you shouldn't—" He tried to reach up towards those bandages but again Solrin grabbed Dean's wrist tightly. He did not lessen his hold this time when Dean grimaced.

"I only uncover it when I have to," Solrin said angrily, or…fearfully? Dean couldn't tell which. "Even the smallest light getting in can…_worsen_…what happens."

"What…happens?" Dean asked hesitantly. His wrist was starting to sting.

Solrin didn't reply, just kept staring at him.

"Look," Dean tried, "If you want it covered then at least use a real eyepatch. They're black so…better for keeping out light anyway. I bet there's a medical one around here somewhere." Dean looked back at Sam and Sasha severely, asking for their aid but also hinting that they were also obviously getting closer to figuring out something important about Solrin.

"Sure," Sam got up, walking over to a bunch of drawers along the wall. He fussed around in them for a minute until finally producing a plain old black eyepatch like the ones you could get in any pharmacy.

Dean turned back to Solrin. "How about it? The bandages would only be off for a moment." He was struggling to remain calm while the guy was practically cutting off the circulation to his fingers. He knew it was a gamble to push for this but Dean got the feeling that it was important, _very_ important that he see that eye.

There was fire and fear and so much fierce challenge in Solrin's stare, in the one green eye Dean could see so well, so close. But again, amazingly, Solrin released Dean's wrist, swallowing deep before he nodded, "Only for a moment."

One step at a time, Dean thought. They had to be onto step four or five by now, so valiantly he decided to consider this a win.

He wouldn't use the scissors for this. Turning back a moment, he accepted the eyepatch from Sam and set it next to them. Then carefully, he reached around Solrin's head, found where the bandages were tied, and little by little he started to unwrap them. There were so many layers it was almost silly. Solrin had to honestly believe his eye was dangerous, but for the life of him Dean couldn't guess why. Even after he saw it.

Dean had expected another green eye, but then he probably shouldn't have expected anything normal. Solrin's left eye was not green, but grey, like the skin that had been on that dead corpse they killed earlier. It looked almost like how a blind person's eye sometimes did, only not milky and not at all unfocused.

Solrin was looking at Dean, right at Dean, and as his left eye—newly uncovered—took in the sight of Dean along with his right, something in Solrin's face shifted. His mouth dropped open and he gaped, totally in awe. "It _is_ you…" he breathed.

"What?" Dean didn't understand. Why was Solrin looking at him so reverently suddenly?

"I didn't believe at first, that it was you," Solrin went on, leaning closer into Dean suddenly and grabbing up both his wrists this time with gentle fervor, "But the more I have been around you I have begun to feel the command in your presence, to believe in it."

Okay. Now Dean was getting disturbed. "Uhh…dude, I'm not all that commanding. Really."

"But you are," Solrin insisted, his mouth twisting into the strangest version of a smile, delirious maybe, like he thought Dean was the only worthwhile thing in the universe, "You are _glorious_," he said, "I can see it."

"See…what?"

Looking _through_, _into_, and _at_ Dean all at once, that dead-looking eye flicked over his entire form and shimmered. "The light that shines from within you," he said. Then his hands released Dean's wrists and it was as if he wanted to reach up and touch Dean's face, like he almost didn't believe Dean was real. But just as he was about to, that odd grey eye darted a moment beyond Dean to focus on the two men behind them.

Solrin went instantly rigid, the smile slipping from his face to be replaced with the most vicious snarl. Suddenly, Dean was being swung around, tucked back behind Solrin like the guy thought he was protecting him—_protecting_ him from Sam and Sasha.

"I knew it! I knew you were corrupted!" he cried at them, practically shrieking the words as he held Dean behind him, "Lies! Your false faces are lies! I see what you are!" The accusation was a yell, total condemnation, and Sam standing beside Sasha, the incubus just lying there on the old dentist chair, could only stare in incomprehension.

"Sol!" Dean tried to get the guy's attention, fighting past the arm holding him back. Solrin let Dean come around in front of him again but his posture did not lose any of its tension. Dean could clearly see the furious anger and hatred in Solrin's look now. And suddenly, Dean thought he understood it.

Solrin could sense monsters after all, maybe not as well as Sam, but he could. More so though, Solrin could _see_ monsters where they were otherwise hidden. Somehow Dean just knew, he knew that what Solrin saw and feared in Sam and Sasha was what they really were—a boy with demon blood and an incubus.

"You see monsters…don't you?" Dean asked him gently, treating Sol like a frightened animal the way they had with the incubus before.

Panicked and guarded, Solrin's grey eye darted back and forth between Dean in front of him and Sam and Sasha beyond. "I see them, they see me," he said, a hand unconsciously going to his scarred, bare chest, "I knew I sensed something in them, but you were so sure, Dean, so trusting. You must not believe their lies!" he grabbed onto Dean's hands suddenly, "I know monsters when I see them. Because my left eye can pierce the veil, they flock to me, even when it is covered but more so when it _sees_. Monster like _them_ gave me these scars," he growled out at Sam and Sasha, gesturing angrily, "Always so furious when I wasn't what they sought. They ruined…everything," he looked back at Dean for a moment with the deepest despair Dean had ever seen on a single human face.

Then the hatred was back, the viciousness, and Solrin was forcing Dean behind him again. He pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and pointed it unflinchingly at Sam.

"Monsters…" he growled without compromise, "They all deserve to _die_."

tbc...

A/N: Damn, do I need feed back on this one, because it was a BITCH to write. I know you're a little confused yet about Sol, and you should be, because the full extent of what's going on with him will be revealed in the next and last chapter of this arc. I was also thinking of doing a little bonus chapter of what happened with Sasha and Adrian, the young incubus. Would people like that? I know you would, Rhys. ;-) There will be further fallout from all that, but the boys are a little busy right now.

Please review my wonderful, faithful, loving readers!

Crim


	82. Part 7: Devil’s Advocate

Part 7: Devil's Advocate

-----

Among all the things Dean Winchester hated most in the world, seeing someone point a gun at his baby brother was definitely in the top five. Especially when he had sort of been hoping he could trust said guy pointing a _gun_ at his _baby brother_, but then again maybe that had all been wishful thinking. Dean had certainly been good at that lately.

Before he could stutter out any words of warning or reprimand, before he could think to move or try and knock Sol down to get that damn gun out of his hands, everything was somehow miraculously okay as the gun suddenly went flying across the room. Where it landed safe and sound and _harmless_ in Sam's waiting hand.

Praise the TK, Dean thought with relief.

"Okay, I've had about enough of this," Sam grit out, and Dean had to think that maybe he shouldn't be praising anything quite yet considering how truly pissed Sam looked and how Solrin's shoulders were about five times tenser than they had been a moment ago, "You don't know anything about us _or Dean_. And you certainly don't get to point a gun at us after _we've_ been accommodating _you_. Now listen up," Sam went on, sounding eerily like Dean actually as he shoved Solrin's gun into a nearby drawer, "You think what you see is monsters? Fine, _we're monsters_. There's demon blood in both our veins, I won't deny it. That's why we are what we are and can do what we do. But if you think you're any different than us with that _eye_ of yours then you really are one delusional _son of a bitch_," he spat.

"_Sam_," Dean countered, thinking the kid was _so_ not helping the situation right now by being a dick. He tried to move around Solrin again and was rightly frustrated when the guy held out his arm to hold Dean back. "Sol, listen," he tried, choosing a softer, more understanding tone than Sam had.

But Solrin shook his head, not even looking at Dean. Dean couldn't see the guy's face all too well being mostly behind him, but he imagined Sol was scowling with that same awful hatred. "An _incubus_," he sneered in disgust, "And some…abomination. I could practically smell you, but I wanted to believe Dean hadn't been so easily taken in. Clever of you to take on the guise of loved ones. Clever and cruel. Just as _monsters_ would be."

Tension crackled through the air between them. Sasha was still just lying there on the Med room's dentist chair, looking startled and weak and caught in the middle, but Sam's fists clenched at Solrin's words. Dean watched in growing trepidation as Sam's eyes flashed yellow—not white, which meant he was fueled with anger instead of power, and really, Dean hated that the yellow was a part of Sam at all anymore. Hating them didn't mean he didn't trust Sam though.

Dean stared beyond Solrin to appeal to Sam, trying to emote, think, _something_ that Sam needed to calm down; they needed to find a calmer solution to this or things were going to go from bad to worse real fucking fast.

Fists still clenched and eyes still mottled yellow, Sam hesitated to do or say anything more, for Dean's sake and only for him. Dean tried to get around Solrin then, he could easily force his way past that blocking arm but he didn't want to make things any worse than they already were.

"You think I am like you?" Solrin scoffed at Sam, being more forceful about stopping Dean from moving this time and still not looking at him, which was starting to seriously piss Dean off because he was no one's damsel in distress, damn it, especially against his own god damn brother, "I am not like you. I can turn the darkness in on itself. I can prove to Dean that it is in you." The threat was low and venomously promising. Dean expected Sol to act physically then or maybe suddenly reveal some other power, but the guy wasn't moving. Sam's brow became knitted but he didn't seem as though anything were affecting him either.

A small gasp left Solrin after a moment, something being not what he thought, but it wasn't a relieved or apologetic gasp, it was further horror. Dean could tell when Solrin switched his attention over to Sasha and then he really wished he could get inside the super hero/villain brains of his companions because whatever hadn't happened to Sam was definitely happening to the redhead.

Sasha looked sick at first, nauseous, shaking his head, sweat forming at his temples. His eyes flashed red in moments, spurned forth easily though Dean couldn't see what caused it. His lips curling back to show fangs as a growl built in his throat, and then the incubus was leaning forward like he meant to get up, not in pain thank goodness, but intent. Only he wasn't intent on Solrin. He turned his revealed red eyes onto Sam and tensed like he meant to attack.

With a growl of his own that was nearly just as menacing, Sam waved a hand at Sasha and all those incubus attributes vanished. Sasha was left blinking, more confused and lost looking now, his breaths coming heavy and sharp. Whatever Solrin had been doing to him, Sam had banished it.

"He can't just sense and see demonic things," Sam snapped towards Dean, placing a steady hand on Sasha's shoulder possessively, "He can control them. But you couldn't control me, could you?" he turned to Solrin with something of a pleased sneer that reminded Dean a little too much of the parts of Sammy he didn't so much like, "Turn the darkness in on itself? You think you're special and different and above us? We're _no different_. I have plenty of abilities and one of them, ironically enough, is the same as you. I can sense demonic things, I can see them most of the time too, and I can control them. The difference is? I _don't_. Not without good reason. Sasha isn't something for you to just _use_." Sam's eyes flicked up at Dean, angry and challenging like Sam was trying to hint, hey, shouldn't you be the one defending your lover here? And Dean tried to say right back, well I've been trying to but no one's letting me get a damn word in edgewise!

But once again, Solrin spoke before Dean could intervene. "No," Sol said firmly, shaking his head again, fists clenched tight like Sam's, even the one on the arm outstretched to hold Dean back, "I see the truth. I know your lies. Perhaps you can challenge my abilities. But the _difference_ between us…is that I draw evil because I know to destroy it!"

Swifter than Dean could have predicted or been ready for, the arm that had been keeping him back was suddenly reaching down to pull out another gun that had been tucked into Solrin's cargos. "Sam!" he warned his brother as he prepared to tackle Solrin to the ground.

"That's it!" Sam snarled, ridding Dean of the need to do anything as he motioned from Solrin to the far wall and the white-haired hunter went flying that directed, pressed up tight above the ground against the wall and held in place firmly, his gun left clattering near Dean on the floor. "The reason we kept the truth from you," Sam said viciously, "Was because we knew you were a fucking psycho!"

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, this time in anger, because really, what was wrong with Sam right now to explode like this? Sure, Solrin had tried to shoot him twice now in the span of only a couple minutes, but still. It wasn't like Sam to just blow up. Was it? Of course Sam never used to take pride in what he was, had only started to recently when a tried and true _angel_ told him he was doing the right thing, that he wasn't inherently evil but able to do something good with power originally meant to do harm.

So yeah, Dean understood, but he didn't need any of his companions freaking out further.

"Sammy, come on," Dean walked towards his brother, holding up his hands and trying to be calmer so that Sam would follow suit. Sasha just looked so damn spooked and pitiful on that dentist chair, unable to do anything, and Dean really wished there was time to offer the incubus some soothing words too.

Sam lessened his hold on Solrin so that the fierce looking man, snarling now, was lowered back to the ground but still held in place against the wall. "I'm not letting him go just so he can try and pull another god damn gun," Sam grumbled, holding onto some sense of defiance. If Dean didn't know any better he would swear Sam had _finally_ picked up on some of what Sasha had been trying to impart on him since they first met the incubus, that evil was something you had to choose, and Sam would never knowingly choose evil.

Dean understood that too, what Sam's thought process had to be right now, and since Dean was feeling thoroughly spun, much more caught up in the midst of it all than even poor weakened Sasha, he took a few deep breaths for his own sake before stepping cautiously towards Solrin. "Now just…just focus on me for two seconds and listen," he beseeched the enraged young man, knowing well that the look Solrin was giving Sasha and Sam right now was hatred at its purest.

Thankfully, Solrin at least turned his gaze to Dean and his eyes softened if only for that, if only because he was looking at _Dean_.

"Okay, just…hear me out here. Notice how I'm not freaking over what Sam can do, or over what they obviously both are. I know what they are. I've always known. Yeah, Sasha's an incubus, and Sammy…when he was a baby some asshole demon decided to make an experiment out of him, so he's got some demon blood in him too. But neither of them are the bad guy. They haven't tricked me or lied to me. I promise. I know its hard for you to believe, and if all those scars came from evil things doing a number on you then…then I get it, I get why you hate all that goes bump in the night, I do. But trust me," he took another slow step forward, eyes locked onto that pale green eye clashing against the shimmering dead grey one beside it, "Not everything that seems evil is. Sam and Sasha aren't monsters, not how you think. They're still the same nice guys you met. Well," Dean couldn't help smirking a little to break the tension, "Sammy's just a little extra sensitive as you can see, it being his time of the month and all."

There was a huff from Sam, but naturally no smirk or smile of any sort, not even a twitch of Solrin's lips came as a reply to Dean's words. Dean was surprised, however, that the anger on Sol's face quickly became replaced with something more like…grief. Then Dean realized it wasn't grief.

It was pity.

"Dean," Solrin said slow and direct, almost patronizing as he strained against Sam's hold keeping him to the wall, "They have clouded your mind so well you do not even know what you are saying. You know what they are. But not really. Look what your 'brother' can do," he said with a sneer tossed back at Sam as he tugged forward, making no movement really other than a jerk of his head, "I admit we seem to share something in our…abilities, but I know better my purpose and I know what I see. I see their true faces," he looked back at Dean, "And that is more than simply seeing an incubus for what it really is, monstrous and terrible. Or the darkness spilling from Sam just as light spills from you, Dean. I never thought something like you could exist," he said with that same strange reverence taking shape on his face, "Something to counter all the evil I have seen in my life. You are the proof, Dean, the proof that what I see in them is real because I can see the very opposite in you."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. Light? In him? Sure he was some potential savior against the apocalypse but he was just as likely the possible Anti-Christ. Shouldn't there be just as much darkness in him as light? Hell, shouldn't there be _more_ darkness? Dean hadn't been feeling too filled with light lately and he sure as hell wasn't any saint to begin with.

Deep down he knew that there had to be something wrong with what Solrin could see, something misplaced. He knew that if there was any light in his life it was from the men that fought beside him, it wasn't light from him. Never just from him.

"Sol, you gotta listen to me," Dean tried again, knowing it was safe, at least for him, to walk right up to Solrin, and hoping that the guy would listen to some sense, "I don't know what you think you see, but you know you can trust me. And I trust them. They haven't tricked me into anything. They're family. My lover and my brother, remember, the things that make me smile so easy. Being what they are isn't enough to mark them as evil."

"Perhaps not," Solrin admitted more readily than Dean would have expected, "But being what I see in them _is_. I keep my eye covered because it draws such creatures, but I use it when I have to, and it is never wrong. I would have checked them myself sooner if I hadn't wanted to believe for your sake, Dean, that they weren't what I thought."

"Dean, this is pointless, he's not going to listen," Sam interjected bitterly.

Dean didn't respond at first, sort of annoyed that Sasha, unlike Sam, still hadn't said anything for either side's sake.

"_Dean_."

"Hang on," Dean turned back at Sam with a glare, angrier yet when he found the same hatred on Sam's face that he could see on Solrin. They wouldn't get anywhere like this. Sam was still keeping an arm outstretched at Solrin to better keep his focus on pinning the guy, but his other hand was behind his back, holding readily to the gun he had tucked there, Dean knew. "What are you gonna do if he won't listen to reason, Sammy?" Dean asked, suddenly on the defensive, "Shoot him in cold blood?"

Sam actually scoffed at that. "You say that like I haven't done it before," he said grimly. Dean knew just who Sam meant of course—Gordon, Kubrick—and Dean would be damned if he could think of a better end for either of them. "It's not cold blood if it's self-defense, Dean," Sam said at least a little more Sammy-like, whiney and insistent, "If we just let him go, he'll come after us and keep on coming. To _kill us_."

"Gladly," Solrin confirmed with another attempt to jerk forward that made his shoulders bounce and pound back against the wall.

Sam gestured pointedly with the hand holding Solrin in place as if to say, _see_?

But what Sam didn't seem to get was that Dean wasn't aiming for conversion just because he liked Solrin. He did like Sol, but he was more concerned for Sol's…_soul_, and making sure that Malak didn't get his dirty clutches on it. Dean had this awful sinking feeling that death would not be enough to save Sol from that, and then they would eventually be faced with the guy again anyway. And wasn't _that_ just way too disturbing to contemplate.

Dean looked to Sasha, hoping to see some sympathy there, something to prove that someone was backing him, and maybe in the process that would show Sol that Dean's companions were not cold heartless bastards like Sam was pulling off so well right now.

But to Dean's distress there wasn't sympathy, only another damn bundle of pity. Pity for Dean. Why was everyone looking at Dean with pity like he _just. Didn't_. _Get it._

"Do not believe them, Dean," Solrin insisted, and that was more than Dean could take right now with everyone seemingly against him more so even than they were against each other.

"Sol, please," he really didn't know how to solve this one, but he had to try, "You're wrong, okay?" he said as he turned back to the pinned hunter, "You gotta trust me on that. I know you're wrong, I know it with certainty because one thing you can't fake is love. You can't fake it and an evil thing couldn't feel it, and I know that Sam and Sasha love me. Sammy's my little brother. _Annoying_, sure," he tried not to look back at Sam as he said that even though he was sorely tempted, "But he loves me. And Sasha does too. I've never doubted that." Considering how heartfelt and honest Dean thought he was being as he said that he really couldn't have prepared himself for Solrin's response.

"There was another creature in that house, wasn't there?"

Dean blinked at the sudden change in subject. "What?"

"I felt it from the beginning," Sol went on, eyes darting the way they did when he was working through something furiously in his head, mind completely focused on it like Dean hadn't even said anything about love, "Again, I dismissed it for you, Dean, wanting to believe I had been mistaken when after the nachzehrer was gone the sense that there had been a second creature disappeared as well. It would make perfect sense why the _incubus_ is so drained," he said bitingly, his eyes focusing sharply onto Sasha, "Perfect sense…if the other creature was one of his own."

_Shit_. Dean really didn't know how they got into these messes. "Yeah, about that," he tried to think of how to defend their ruse, "Just, ummm…let me explain—"

"You fed it so it would be strong enough to escape us," Solrin accused Sasha, "You let the real killer get away because it was like you. Truly an act of _love_ for Dean, I'm sure," he said mockingly, which Dean didn't think was a very nice addition of emotion to Solrin's otherwise monotone voice.

He jumped in quickly, knowing Sasha would be hard pressed not to respond to that. "It's not what you think," he moved into Solrin's line of sight again, "I knew what Sasha was doing. We were working behind your back, okay, I admit it, because we wanted to save that other incubus. He was just a kid," Dean spoke up when Solrin's eyes widened in dismay, "He didn't mean for all that to happen. The deaths were accidents. How else would the first one have created a nach, right? We just needed to find the kid and try and help him. It was too late when we did, too close to frenzy for him, so…so Sasha took one for the team," he shrugged, cringing at that word choice but it was the first one that came to him, "It wasn't _evil_." It was just reckless and stupid and still pissed Dean off like nobody's business, but—

"I may be a stranger to the kind of love you think you have with him," Solrin interrupted Dean's thoughts with a stern, steady voice, his green and grey eye both quivering as they looked at him, "But I have never heard it said in any loving relationship that _fucking_ someone else is a worthy sacrifice."

The clatter and clang of the dentist chair was more than enough for Dean to realize that things slipping from bad to worse had happened a really long time ago.

He whipped around to see Sam holding Sasha back by the arms, the dentist chair totally toppled. Sam was holding Sasha back from mauling Solrin it seemed, considering how much Sasha was struggling to break free and get forward, his eyes red again and his fangs barred despite the fatigue still so present in his body.

"You don't know anything!" Sasha growled, adding to the conversation finally but in the last way Dean could have wanted, pain and hatred coloring the incubus' face like it was too many of them in this damn room, "Do you think I wanted that!? To hurt Dean like that!? I had to save that boy! I had to! You don't know a _fucking_ thing about me!"

"_Sasha_," Sam tried. It was easy for him to hold the redhead back what with Sasha being so weak right now, and Dean knew just by the changed expression on Sam's face that he was only holding Sasha for the incubus' sake, not to protect Solrin.

Dean tried not to let his own feelings on the matter cloud his thoughts right now. He couldn't let himself focus on how the more time passed the angrier and more aching he became even thinking about that young incubus. He understood why Sasha had done what he did, it just didn't make him feel any better.

He looked at Sasha pleadingly, heart-brokenly before looking back to Solrin.

"Sometimes…doing the right thing isn't nice for everyone," he said, much as right now he wasn't sure he fully believed that, "But it can still be right. He was just a kid, not a monster. We were just trying to help." Help. Protect. Save. It was Dean's hunter mantra. And he had to believe that was what they had done for that incubus boy; it wasn't wrong even if it left a sour taste in Dean's mouth.

This already felt like a lost cause even though Dean didn't want to admit it. Sasha and Sam were both so angry and Solrin's expression hadn't changed. "They twist everything so you believe it. That is how they will lead you astray," Solrin said assuredly, not considering for even a moment that Dean's words and beliefs might be the truth, "I will prove it to you, Dean."

Panic twisted in Dean's gut when Solrin's eyes flashed past him, at which of his companions he couldn't be sure, but when Dean whipped around yet again it was painfully obvious who Solrin was targeting.

Sasha's eyes were still red and dangerous but they began to shimmer differently, his struggling against Sam stilling as he growled low and animalistic, a warning that there was not enough time to heed. He turned suddenly in Sam's hold and plowed forward before Sam could react, ramming Sam into the other wall and snapping his head back against it with a crack.

"Sol, stop! Don't!" Dean cried, at a loss between the two sides. Solrin had already fallen from his own pinned position, Sam being slightly distracted and all, and was moving towards Dean without an ounce of hesitation in what he was doing. "Sol, please," Dean tried again, taking a step back as Solrin came towards him, and keeping one eye on Sam and Sasha to be sure the incubus wasn't doing anything but holding Sam stationary. Why hadn't Sam dispelled the control again yet?

"You don't understand, Dean, but you must," Solrin said calmly, totally in control, each step steadier as they brought him closer to Dean.

"No," the panic in Dean was worsening because the chance that there might be a way out of this wasn't anywhere in sight, "_You_ don't understand. I know them. I'd know if they were something else, something evil. I've been with them too long. If you trust me then trust that. They are not what you think."

The pity Dean always resented was back again, marring Solrin's face. He didn't stop advancing on Dean, so Dean took another step back. "I cannot control you, Dean. Only the darkness. Can't that alone tell you that they are fooling you?"

"Dean!" cried Sam suddenly, held more painfully to the wall, a half-formed clawed hand squeezing on his neck now, "I can't—" he cringed, lifted and helpless against strength Sasha shouldn't even have right now, only maybe that was partially Solrin's doing too. But Dean understood what Sam was saying; he couldn't banish Solrin's power this time. He couldn't counteract it.

"Sol," Dean took another step back, hating the whole god damn world right now because he had no choice but to pull his own gun and point it at Solrin's chest. The white-haired hunter did not look startled, but he stopped his advancing, the pity on his face deepening, "Don't make me do this," Dean pleaded, "Between you and them, you are not going to win." And even though that was more than true, Dean hated to say it, hated that it had to come to this at all.

Solrin stood tall, not even having to pay any mind to Sam and Sasha to ensure his power over the incubus remained in place, Sasha choking Sam with brutal strength that Sam would only be able to break free of if he hurt Sasha in the process.

In the incubus' current state that could very well kill him.

"You will not shoot me," Solrin said, believing that as surely as he believed his lies about Dean's friends.

"I don't want to," Dean admitted, eyes darting between Solrin and his boys—_his_ boys, damn it, _his_, "But I can't let you hurt them. You're wrong about them, Sol. Damn it, can't you just believe me long enough to listen for two seconds! I _will_ shoot."

Face benign and resolve steadfast, Solrin took a new step towards Dean, only his mismatched eyes betraying that same reverence for Dean like he was something holy and miraculous. "I have waited for you," Solrin said, unafraid of the gun pointed at him, "I will not let them corrupt you any further."

A horrible choking sound came from Sam then, Sasha's strength increasing as Sol's did, and Dean thought that maybe this was part of what Solrin meant by how it got worse the longer his eye was uncovered. He was stronger already, strong enough that Sam couldn't beat him back with like abilities anymore. Maybe Sam couldn't use other powers to push Sasha away either.

Dean saw hazel beseeching him, both of Sam's hands clutching at Sasha's clawed one as Sam was lifted even higher up the wall. If Dean thought Cas could do anything here, he'd be praying, but this wasn't a demon; Sol was just a man. Dean had to do this on his own.

So he cursed that the only thing he could do was cock the gun.

"Sol," he said again, torn even though he knew there was only one choice to make if it was between the men he loved most in the world and one he had only started to understand, "It doesn't have to be like this." His finger was on the trigger, those damn eyes watching him, Sam's hazel ones rolling back into his head, being choked to death—_again_—by hands that should never be used against friends and _fuck it_.

How the hell was choice a miracle when the only one was this?

"Sol, _please_…"

"Guys! Anyone! Is the whole fucking Roadhouse gone or what!?"

Dean froze, eyes wide in horror as he sickeningly thought, _Iain_. _No_. He had been up in his library after all. Why the _fuck_ did he have to come down now?

The hesitation as Dean heard Iain calling for people out in the bar was all the opportunity Solrin needed to rush forward, slamming Dean back against the same wall as where Sasha was choking Sam, only too far away for that to matter. Dean's wrist stung as Solrin gripped it too hard and the gun fell from his hand.

"And what will I see in him, I wonder?" Solrin whispered hot on Dean's face, that pity still there and something else, something like disappointment, "Another monster hiding behind kindness and normalcy?" They were too close to the door, close enough that Solrin was out of the room the second he let Dean go, too fast for Dean to grab him.

As soon as Solrin was gone Dean heard an agonized gasp from Sam, and turned to see that Sasha had released him, the incubus shaking his head again in confusion and fatigue. Sasha looked even weaker than before, his eyes still red like he couldn't change them back, and he suddenly dropped straight to the floor.

Sam, still coughing and sucking in air, dropped immediately down beside him, gathering Sasha up in his arms to check and make sure he was alright. Sasha was still conscious at least. Dean felt so stupid just leaning back on the wall.

"Dean!" Sam looked up at him, "_Iain_!"

Right. _Shit_.

Dean didn't bother grabbing his gun off the floor. He would rather take that option out of the equation anyway, dangerous as that may be. There had to be some way to make Solrin understand without anyone ending up dead today.

The first thing Dean spotted in the bar was Solrin, looking about madly for where Iain's voice had come from. The white-haired hunter was still shirtless, only in his cargos, his scars revealed for anyone to see. It was understandably the first thing Iain focused on when he finally came in from one of the bar entrances and stopped cold.

"Jesus! You guys scared the shit out of me. Didn't you hear me—?" That's when his eyes fell upon the scar tissue covering so much of Solrin and Dean heard an almost imperceptible gasp. "Are…are you okay? What happened to you?" like he couldn't tell that all the wounds were old.

Dean was terrified that Solrin would see something awful in Iain too, even though as far as Dean knew, Iain was nothing but human. At least Solrin didn't appear to be armed anymore. And thankfully, he didn't make any advances on Iain after looking at him with that dangerous eye. "You are…entirely neutral," he said, relieved maybe but also surprised. Did the guy think Dean purposely surrounded himself with monsters? It just sort of…happened sometimes, is all.

"Solrin," Dean called, since the other hunter hadn't really given him much notice, "You need to stop this. This isn't a witch hunt. Yeah, Iain's just a normal guy wanting to help out some hunters. But what does it matter if Sam and Sasha are something else? Why can't you just trust that I know what I'm doing? Do you really think you know that much better than me just because you think you see something dark in them and…something else in me?"

Iain was obviously completely confused about what was going on, and Dean was sort of thankful the guy stayed silent about it.

Solrin, at least, turned to face Dean, but even though there was a brief passing of regret on his face, it seemed to only be for having thought ill of Iain, and it didn't remain long. He looked at Dean and shook his head.

"I do not think I know better than you, Dean, even with my abilities. One source should never be enough to pass judgment. But I was also warned, warned that should I ever find you it was likely you would be in the company of monsters trying to sway you away from your true purpose. I cannot allow that when you are so important."

"What…what do you mean you were warned?" Dean narrowed his eyes, sensing a much darker plot brewing here, "By _who_?"

It was then that Sam and Sasha came stumbling into the bar after Dean, Sam helping Sasha along but more like being pulled, the incubus not wanting to be left out of what was happening apparently, even if it would be better if he just stayed in the Med room. Sam looked at Dean apologetically for allowing it. Dean was more concerned with the fact that Sam still had a gun on him and wouldn't hesitate to use it.

Meanwhile, Iain was busy breathing heavily and gaping at Sasha's red eyes. They had managed to avoid telling him about Sam and Sasha's true natures while they were dealing with the cave, and it hadn't seemed important to mention since Iain joined them. In hindsight Dean was starting to see the folly in that.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Iain asked more frantically, no longer able to stay out of it, "What's wrong with him?" he stared wildly at Sasha, "And what the fuck are you talking about? I mean, I know I should expect weird and I _do_, but—"

"Dean's companions are monsters trying to lure him into darkness," Solrin said quickly.

Oh _hell_ no. "No," Dean held up his hands to mediate, angry but determined to fix this. He looked to Iain. "No, it's not like that. Sam and Sasha have always been something other than human, that's why the cave mess even happened, but they're _not evil_," he glowered at Solrin, "Don't try and turn Iain against us. He doesn't need to get dragged into this."

"Dean," Solrin was clearly frustrated, stalking unafraid back towards Dean, "You want so badly to convince me. That's all I want in return. We both _know_ the truth, but only one of us is right. Let me prove it to you. Your light is all the final evidence I need to know when I see darkness." Again so reverent, so in awe of whatever he saw when he looked at Dean, Solrin reached out towards Dean and touched a hand to his chest just as Malak had the other night.

Dean immediately cringed and shrunk away, not because Solrin's touch had done anything otherworldly, but because Sasha's blow earlier had bruised Dean's ribs after all and even that slight pressure _right there_ was enough to sting.

Solrin pulled his hand back, startled that he had caused Dean pain. "You are hurt."

"It's…nothing," Dean clenched his teeth, trying not to look over at Sasha and see the wounded look on the redhead's face, Sasha no doubt knowing that Dean's pain was because of him. More so Dean didn't want Solrin to put two and two together, but it seemed the guy's damn eye was even more powerful.

"Shadow, like a taint…" Solrin mumbled to himself, staring at the place on Dean's chest he had just touched, "The incubus," he growled then, glaring fire Sasha's direction, "He hurt you. He hurt you and you still defend him?" he whirled back on Dean.

They had definitely moved on into fubar territory again. "He didn't hurt me on purpose," Dean rose to Sasha's defense, "He was trying to protect me when the other incubus started to frenzy. He pushed me out of the cellar so he could…" Dean cringed as he remembered, "Take care of it," he finished softly.

He had to try even harder to keep his eyes from going to Sasha this time, because he could feel those red eyes just on him, and he knew Sasha was starting to realize there was more fallout from what had happened than he expected. Dean wished there wasn't. Dean wished Sasha hadn't made it this way. But he knew better than to chalk it all up to evil is as evil does. This wasn't about that. This was between him and Sasha.

"It's a bad situation and there's nothing we can do about it now," Dean went on, catching Solrin's dual-colored eyes and holding them as steadily as he could, "Things look worse than they are. We made it worse by not telling you. Maybe being upfront would have made a difference, maybe not, but I know evil when I see it too and it is _not them_."

A stiff silence blanketed the bar, Dean and Solrin barely a foot apart, Sam and Sasha near one entrance, Iain far on the other end of the room by another, and no one quite knowing what to do. Then Solrin stepped up to Dean, right in his space and placed his hand back on Dean's chest, only gentler this time. "Let me show you," he said earnestly.

"Sol…"

"Please."

Dean hated playing Devil's advocate, especially considering the connotation these days, but maybe if he could beat Solrin's little test it would make all the difference. And hell, maybe it would tell Dean more about what Solrin was, what he knew, and how these powers fit into it all. So Dean sighed, "Okay," hoping he wasn't being too much of a fool for agreeing to whatever Solrin meant to do to 'show him'.

"Dean!" Sam shouted in dissention, but Dean ignored him.

Then out of the corner of his eyes he saw Iain starting to move across the bar to join Sam and Sasha, even if the guy still looked spooked about whatever was going on and the fact that Sam and Sasha weren't exactly human. But before he could get too far, Solrin said without turning around, "Don't go to them."

Iain paused mid-step. "I…"

"It's okay," Dean said to Iain, nodding that he could just hold still for now, he really didn't have to get caught up in all this. Dean knew Sam and Sasha were both against him going along with Solrin's little show and tell here, whatever it was, but Dean figured, hey, if they could go so far for an incubus that had killed four innocent boys, accident or not, than Dean could let Solrin have his moment. If it saved the guy somehow it would be worth it.

"The evil uses your brother because it knows you will listen to him," Solrin began, pressing his hand to Dean's chest only slightly harder, but not enough that Dean felt the same sting, "And Sasha as well. Dean, you said yourself that you were resistant but fell to his influence and seduction anyway when normally you never would have. What you feel for him is a lie they have fabricated, don't you see. It isn't love. It is _corruption_." Solrin looked over at Sam and Sasha then, his expression cold, his grey eye shimmering again, and somehow Dean knew that he was supposed to do the same, Solrin's hand still firm on his chest.

Naturally, the first thing Dean saw was how much Sasha was seething over what Solrin had just said, Sam looking just as justifiably angry. Dean wondered if Solrin touching him really had any necessity or if Solrin just wanted the contact while he said his piece. But then something seemed to flicker over Sam and Sasha's forms. Dean shook his head, thinking he must have imagined it. Then it happened again.

"Think Dean, could you have ever fallen for a man if he wasn't an incubus?" Solrin spoke on, sounding somewhat farther away even though he hadn't moved, "He lured you and seduced you with the power of his kind, twisting your reality until you thought you were falling in love when you were merely falling pray to a trick."

"No," Dean didn't even hesitate to counter, even though those damn flickers and shimmers over Sam and Sasha were becoming more frequent, "Pheromones can't do that. They're not mind control, they're just suggestion."

Solrin huffed, the sound derisive enough that it almost sounded like a short laugh. "And who told you that?" he said.

Well…okay, so Sasha had told Dean that, but…

Dean shook his head harder. The flickers across Sam and Sasha weren't just some nondescript ripples anymore. As it continued to happen, Dean saw something else in the cracks, in between the lines, something he didn't want to see.

"And Sam did not question it, how you fell for him? Not once? Gave his complete blessing, didn't he? Strange. But not if his blood corrupts him too. He may have been your brother once Dean, but the darkness has him and he will take you into it too if you let him."

"Dean, stop listening to this," Sam growled angrily, "It's not getting us anywhere." The snarl on his face was different now, the flickers and shimmers pulling out a different face, one that reminded Dean too much of Hell, those yellow eyes ever-present, no remorse for anything, only perverse, horrible love.

_No_. That wasn't right. Something was wrong. Dean tried to move back from Solrin's hand but the other man followed him, keeping their connection. "Stop it. That's enough," Dean looked back at Solrin, grabbing his wrist and pulling at it if he couldn't just back away. But the hand didn't move. Solrin couldn't be that much stronger than Dean could he? "I said that's _enough_," he said more warningly.

"You see it, don't you? You see what they are. I know you see it," Solrin pressed, his eyes wild, looking back at Sam and Sasha then which somehow pulled Dean's head to look back at them too.

And damn it, it wasn't just Sam anymore but Sasha as well, a flickering image making the incubus look large and monstrous the way he had been in Hell, so cruel, so much the very evil thing Solrin wanted Dean to see.

But it wasn't right. That wasn't reality. It was _Hell_. How could Solrin see and project into Dean the very images of Sam and Sasha from his own personal Hell?

"You see them for what they truly are. Evil. Corrupt. _Monsters_."

"Stop!" Dean threw Solrin's hand from his chest finally, stumbling back away from him and shivering as bad as he had when he first returned from Hell for real. Worst of all, when he dared glance at Sam and Sasha again, he saw them plain as day, no longer flickering but whole and real the very awful versions of themselves that Dean had known for seven long years in another life.

For a moment, he thought he was back there again and he trembled.

The sight of them marred, changed like that, lingered. And Dean knew why. He finally got it. Solrin saw things just as Dean once had—garishly clear and terrible because it was through _Malak's eyes_. Dean saw Hell when Solrin touched him because that cursed grey eye was connected to _Malak_.

He looked back at Solrin horrified. What did that mean? He knew Solrin himself wasn't a trick, he knew Solrin was a real person, damaged and broken but real, not some spy for the Devil. He couldn't be…

"Dean?" Solrin cocked his head, staying back but obviously concerned, regretful even that he might have caused Dean further pain, "Forgive me, but I know you saw the truth. You see it now. You see the darkness in them."

Dean clenched his eyes closed. Opened them. _Damn it._ "I see it," he said.

"Dean," Sam called, offended and angry.

"Dean…?" Sasha echoed more sorrowfully.

Iain remained silent, still, and terrified on the other side of the bar.

"I see it," Dean said again, looking only at Solrin, "But the difference between you and me, Sol…is that I know that _that_," he pointed at Sam and Sasha, unable to look and see that awful vision of them again, "That is the lie. Not them. Not me loving them or them loving me. Whatever you think you know, it's not true. Whoever set you on this path, it's _wrong_. Who warned you, Sol?" Dean walked back towards the other hunter, "Who told you I needed to be protected? Was it _Malak_?"

It probably would have shaken Dean straight down into his soul if he wasn't already prepared for the answer. "You know of Malak?" Solrin asked, pleased and practically smiling like it was the most wonderful surprise that Dean knew the bastard too.

There were no comments from the peanut gallery this time. Dean felt utterly defeated, just how Malak had been hoping for, no doubt. "He's already come to you," Dean said, not really asking, not needing to. And really, he should have known that Malak wouldn't wait in the wings. The angels probably didn't know since the opposing sides weren't too good at keeping tabs on each other for things like this. All Cas had known was to tell Dean to watch out for Solrin, only it was already too late.

"Yes, many times," Solrin said excitedly, grabbing up Dean's hands like he had before in the Med room, as if they had some marvelous connection now, "He told me of you. The power you could have if you became one. With him, Dean, you will bring order to the world."

_God_, Dean felt like he might break down and cry. He clung to Solrin's hands in return. "Sol…no. Damn it, _no_. He's the one who's lying. Whatever he told you, that's the lie. He's the evil, the enemy, the _damn darkness_. He's the fucking Devil, the honest to God, Big Bad, I swear. You have…to…" but Dean trailed, because Solrin was smiling wide as Dean had ever seen him smile, and then Solrin was actually _laughing_.

"Dean," he shook his head, "The name he gives us is Malak. Of course I know he is the Devil."

The floor was definitely falling out from under Dean and he suddenly really wanted his hands back. "What…?"

Solrin held onto Dean tighter. "He is the only being in existence that has ever truly understood the way the world is. I will follow the Morning Star gladly, and he will make this world as it was meant to be, as it _should_ be. The corrupted beings must be wiped from this earth. Dean, that is why you must lead. When you become one with him," he said almost giddy, god damn giddy, "Together we can make the world right again. You will have the power to take the darkness from them," he gestured at Sam and Sasha, "And make them truly the way they have made you believe they are. Then if you still love them you can be sure it is real. He would never ask you to give up what you love."

And Dean thinks that the only reason Solrin believes that is because he didn't have any loved ones for Malak to take away. Or maybe he did, maybe the hard life Solrin has had to live was all orchestrated by Malak too, for this end, for this damnable future.

Dean wished he could make all this untrue somehow, go back and find Solrin before Malak got to him, but he can't. Malak set him up for this. He set him up perfectly. _Again_.

An echoed click warned Dean that Sam was no longer willing to play bystander. He turned his head, thankful that whatever Solrin's touch had done to him, it was waning now, and Sam looked mostly like himself. Only he was snarling and that was a little too close to the Sam from Hell too. Sasha was harder to read, so weak now, hanging on Sam's side, but his red eyes were narrowed

"It's over, Dean," Sam said, and even though that snarl was awful Dean could still hear remorse like only Sam could express, "We're too late. He's not going to listen. Malak won this round. If we let Solrin go…" Sam trailed this time. His brow was knit, he was still angry, but now that they truly understood why Solrin was so misguided, it was their turn to feel pity.

The poor guy had no idea. No. The real pity came in that he knew everything and still made the wrong choices. The folly of men, Dean thought. It happened every damn day.

"_Dean_," Sam said insistently again, the gun from his jeans finally drawn and aimed at Solrin. It still felt wrong to Dean though. How could they just shoot and kill Solrin like some god damn executioners? It wasn't the guy's fault. It wasn't his fault any more than it was that young incubus' fault for the deaths he caused.

But before Dean could think of how to say that or anything else in dissent, Solrin was pulling away from him and regarding Sam with an amused huff. "You are a very slow learner, Sam Winchester."

Dean really should have seen it coming. Then again so should have Sam.

The growl from Sasha this time as he turned to attack Sam was much more like a roar, all his remaining energy channeled into what Solrin was making him do. The gun clattered to the floor, another weapon lost, and Sasha descended upon Sam viciously, toppling them both over in a heap. Sasha was not merely holding Sam this time, not even just choking him slowly; he was fighting, clawing, trying to kill with a vengeance. Sam's usually equal super-strength was barely enough to fend Sasha off.

"Sol, stop!" Dean ran towards them but knew better than to get too close. He saw Iain still standing frozen and yelled, "Get out of here! Run!" but Iain didn't move, shook his head even, looking over at Solrin as if he didn't want to leave for his sake, "Iain!"

"Dean!" yelled Sam from beneath Sasha, his hands trying to stay Sasha's claws that were very much fully formed right now, "Get Iain out of here! Something's coming! Sol's eye's been uncovered too long!" Sam's eyes flashed, white now as he summoned as much power as he dared, "The other hunts!"

Oh _shit_.

Dean whipped back around to look at Solrin behind him. He was the closest to the door now, and while he had been too preoccupied to sense anything himself, he seemed to feel it now, whatever Sam was feeling, the multitude headed their way. After a moment Dean could even hear it, a horde of monstrous noises that reminded him horribly of the cave and when Sam had summoned more things than he could control.

Even Solrin looked startled when the first of the creatures stormed through the front doors and windows of the Roadhouse. There was a half dozen, maybe more, various things—spirits, beasts, even a damn vampire—all that had before been pulled nearby simply because Solrin was here, but with his eye free they had been drawn with far more power.

The first thought Dean had was of Iain and protecting him because at least everyone else knew how to defend themselves to some extent, but he had barely crossed the room to the gasping, wide-eyed librarian before it became painfully clear that the creatures were after one thing.

They fell upon Solrin like locusts, covering him completely until Dean couldn't see him at all.

He reached Iain anyway, glanced quickly to see that Sasha had once again come back to himself with Solrin unable to control him, looking sick and shivering on top of Sam. "Iain, get upstairs and lock yourself in the library!" Dean yelled at the tall brunette, "Call Ellen! Tell the girls what's happening! Go!" Dean tried to push Iain towards the nearest exit, but his attention was nowhere on Dean. With as much as Dean had seen in his life, he doubted he had ever seen quite so horrified a look as the one on Iain's face.

Especially when he suddenly screamed, "Dean!" and pointed wildly behind Dean towards the creatures.

Dean spun, his hands on Iain's shoulders still as he was trying to push the guy to freedom. He didn't want to see that the creatures had devoured or destroyed Solrin in some gruesome way, meaning they would be ready to come after them next, but that wasn't what he saw at all. What he did see plummeted his stomach clear down to his toes.

Solrin was fine, not a scratch or mark on him. He was standing at the center of the creatures that were all still snarling and crazed looking, but now they had a purpose and surrounded Solrin like waiting soldiers.

"Old scars, Dean," Solrin called across the bar, a little breathless but stern and steadfast, "They haven't been able to touch me for nearly ten years now. Not since my last day in the asylum."

That had an oddly foreboding subtext to it. Dean swallowed hard, pleased at least that for now Solrin wasn't making another play to control Sasha, the incubus being helped to his feet by Sam, both of them slightly cut up from previously wild claws.

With the creatures flanking and following him, Solrin took a few steps forward, looking straight at Dean. "It wasn't always this strong, you know," he said, numbed, Dean thought, which didn't make him feel all that optimistic, "When I was a boy they only came for me at night. My parents didn't believe me. They thought I was hurting myself, so they sent me to that…place. Perhaps they only wanted to help me, but the people at the asylum did not. It became stronger, the monsters would come for me all the time, and the doctors, the people there, they didn't try to stop it, they wanted to _study_ it. Typical," he huffed, "But eventually it was too strong, there were too many of them. If I hadn't learned that I could control them they would have killed me then. I walked out the front doors of that place the day I learned my true power, and they have never hurt me again."

Dean shuddered, afraid to ask but unable not to, "And the innocent people left in that place?" He had a vision of bloody walls and too many bodies, Solrin at the center of it all, spotless.

"There were no _innocents_ to worry about," Solrin replied.

Suddenly, Dean remembered that the shaking form beneath his hands was Iain, since he had still been holding Iain's shoulders. He looked back at the man, tried to push him towards the door again, but Iain just shook his head. "I don't understand," he said, trembling, softly so that only Dean heard him, "I thought…he was just a nice, quiet guy."

If Dean had any of his heart left right now, he would have let a little more break off to give to Iain if only for that naivety. "Iain, listen to me—"

"If you won't see reason, Dean," Solrin said from behind him, "Then I will take temptation away from you."

Dean instantly snapped back around, having to forget Iain, because he knew damn well what Solrin meant by that. The white-haired hunter's attention, and the attention of his god damned minions, was focused right on Sam and Sasha. Solrin had fewer abilities than Sam, but the ones he did have were stronger, too strong right now for Sam to counteract and take control of the creatures instead. If Sam couldn't do it with Sasha then he sure as Hell wouldn't be able to overtake so many more.

There was no more time for Dean to hesitate. Much as he hated to leave Iain, Dean did, sprinting over to his lover and brother and skidding to a halt in front of them to block whatever Solrin might try. He saw the gun Sam had lost and snatched it up, pointing it immediately at Solrin's chest like he had before, only this time his hand was steady.

"You aren't taking anything away from me," Dean said warningly, "No one is taking what I love away from me _ever again_! You want to be a fool and think Malak's promises are real, go ahead. But you're wrong. He is not some great angel sent to save the world from itself. How can you know he's the Devil and believe he would make the world better?! If I gave myself to him like he wants it would be a brave new world alright, overrun with the very things you hate. Only those monsters would be _real_. I don't know what promises he's been feeding you, but it's all a _fucking_ lie. Either you stand down or I shoot." Dean meant every word this time. He had to, even if he hated that nothing ever worked out right for them.

The rest of the bar fell away as he cocked the hammer on the gun, only the sound of Sasha and Sam's heavy breathing behind him keeping him grounded. Solrin's face was impassive, the creatures around him stationary but still menacing. It was all the answer Dean needed when Solrin's response was merely, "You will not shoot me, Dean."

_Wrong_. "You should have listened, god damn it," Dean said with a snarl, "Between you and them? _You. Don't. Win_."

Dean fired. BANG. Trigger squeezed. The end.

Only a split-second later the bullet was caught—_caught_—between the fingers of a well-manicured hand.

"Now, now. You can't go doing something like that, Dean. This boy is under my protection."

The gun nearly dropped from Dean's hand. _Malak_. Suddenly, there was Malak standing between Dean and Solrin, the bullet flattened like a penny between his fingers. The first thought that rang through Dean's head was, _'Cas!'_

Only there was no sudden 'hark the herald angels sing' this time and Malak was laughing. He tossed the bullet into the air and caught it again. "Dean, Dean. Not this time. I'm not here for you, so your little…_friend_…can't come down to play. I am here on behalf of Solrin. And a good thing too or you might have unjustly killed a good and righteous man." Malak's smirk was so damn devious and mocking Dean wanted to scream, and the worst was that he knew Solrin couldn't even see it.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" Dean howled, moving forward swiftly towards Malak, previous fears be damned. He took some small solace in noticing that Malak's arrival seemed to have banished any sign of the other creatures, meaning only Solrin was left to stand behind the Big Bad. "You can't have him. You're a _fucking_ liar and eventually he's going to realize that."

"Dean," Malak tucked the flattened bullet into his suit coat pocket, his _fucking perfect suit_, and stepped right up to meet Dean, "Why won't you realize how much easier all of this would be if you just chose me. Sam and Sasha would be fine, protected, as I've promised you. But really, you can't blame Solrin for wanting to take them out of the picture tonight. He was only thinking of your best interest," he grinned.

"_Fuck you_," Dean snarled right in the god damned Devil's face.

Malak's mouth twitched, pleased at that. "Always missing the bigger picture. You should listen to him, Dean. He is not wrong that there is something very different inside of you. Tell him, Solrin, why you know your beliefs to be truth." Malak turned, looking back at Solrin with a wider smile, and now that Dean could see the hunter it sickened him how much of that same reverence Solrin had shown Dean was now being bestowed upon the king of demons.

"Because," Solrin said, gazing at Malak like looking upon something truly beautiful, "The light I see in Dean is an echo of you. The most glorious of God's angels, wrongly punished."

That sinking feeling, ground falling out from under you feeling was back. Dean didn't want any light in him if it echoed Malak. But he thought he understood now why Solrin didn't see evil in the Devil. Whether it was just how his eye worked, or that Malak was powerful enough to project what he wanted, Solrin could only see the 'glorious' side, the side that had once been an angel. Dean knew how Malak could seem that way. He had seen it himself. But he had also seen the other side, the shimmering fangs and engulfing darkness of a true demon in the backseat of his car.

Maybe Dean was tainted. Maybe the black and white of the world was so messed up it wasn't even grey anymore, it was _fucking flipped_. Dean didn't know. But he did know where to place his faith and it would never be in the bastard before him.

"I wish you didn't see it that way, Sol," Dean said, truly heartbroken for him.

Solrin didn't even know how lost he was. "If there is such darkness," he said with a look at Sam and Sasha, "Then there must also be light. I see it in you, Dean."

This had to be some awful cosmic joke. "There _is_ a good side," Dean nodded, "There is. But it's not him."

Solrin just looked at Dean with pity again.

_Fuck_.

"Can't you accept where you belong, Dean?" Malak said almost tenderly, maybe playing off kind as a show for Solrin, maybe playing it up just for Dean. He reached out and stroked Dean's face with his cool hand. "You are mine," he said with certainty.

Dean shook that damn hand off. "Not anymore."

Malak merely smiled wider. "You will be. You will. Do you want to know a secret, Dean?" he whispered suddenly, coming up close to Dean, cheek to fucking cheek, and whispering hot enough into Dean's ear to make him shiver, "Fail safes, Dean. Insurance. Waiting Generals. Why do you think Solrin's power is so like Sam's? Concentrated and limited, but very like his."

Dean swallowed. "Why?"

Pressed against his skin, Dean felt when Malak grinned. "Why of course he would have to be one of those…special kids, wouldn't he?"

"The special kids are all dead," Dean kept his voice hushed too.

"Azazel's are, true. Their purpose is done. Solrin doesn't have Azazel's blood in him like your brother does. No, no," Malak pressed his lips right to Dean's ear, "He has _mine_."

The truly epic failure of this washed over Dean like a god damn tidal wave. They were never going to win. Not this time. Maybe not any time. Malak was too many fucking steps ahead of them.

"You understand why Solrin is such a perfect General for us," Malak said, his voice loud enough for the others to hear again as he stepped back, "Even better than Sam for certain things. Of course Sam is still important, and would be very useful with all those other _demonic_ abilities. But they keep leading you astray, Dean," Malak echoed Solrin's delusions, "Keeping you from your destiny. You will be mine again."

Dean truly hated Malak with every fiber in him. "Good luck with that," he said, even though he was filled with doubts, so fucking _filled_ with _doubts_.

Malak had won and it showed on the bastard's face as he moved back to Solrin, the poor guy totally enamored with something he didn't even know half the truth of. "You have done so well," Malak said to him, "I have much work for you now. Dean will join us in the end."

"Yes," Solrin nodded, wholly devoted. He looked at Dean and smiled as if it didn't matter that Dean had tried to shoot him, or that everything was so fucked up, "You will join us, Dean. It is what you were destined for. I know it."

Wasn't that just fucking wonderful?

One last flash of Malak's too white smile, his hand coming down to rest on Solrin's shoulder, and they vanished right there on the spot. Dean half expected the banished creatures to suddenly return, a fitting gift for Malak to leave behind, but the bar was still and silent.

Dean didn't move for a whole minute. When he did, he saw that Iain had walked over to help Sam move Sasha to one of the chairs so he could rest a little more properly. Props to the guy for being able to shake off something like suddenly finding out your new friends are mostly monsters, and having just met the Devil and all. Dean wanted to go over to them too, say something uplifting, maybe even freaking apologize for taking so long to see the truth, for not believing in them sooner, but he felt sort of sick having seen them so recently as those terrible versions of themselves.

They had to have known that was what was bothering him, because neither Sam nor Sasha looked at him with any anger or resentment, just sorrow. He was grateful for that.

Eventually, Dean did join them, a gentle hand carding through Sasha's hair, a pained but caring look at Sam and a thankful one for Iain, for Iain being so amazing right now and just letting everything settle. Dean would have liked to be able to just forget all this ever happened, but it was going to haunt them for a long time, so much of it.

"Uhh…did we miss something?" came the sudden intrusion of Jo's voice.

Dean looked towards the main doors, doors that were still pretty ripped up with broken glass from the windows, even though the creatures that caused it had vanished. Ellen, Jo, and Sarah had returned, each carrying several bags and staring at the remains of the entrance.

Once again Dean had to think if ever there had been a hunt he wanted to put behind him quickly, it was this one.

-----

The fact that Iain actually survived the goings on that morning was a miracle. Him being able to accept it all, however, was a blessing and a true example that he could handle his job, even if he had been scared shitless through the whole thing. He recovered fairly quickly, much as he mourned the loss of Solrin with the rest of them. Sam, Dean, and Sasha's recovery would take longer.

After the inevitable explaining—God, Dean fucking hated explaining—the day had been slow and awful, no one knowing quite what to do, so they didn't do much of anything. Sasha needed to rest, needed to feed more so, but Dean just didn't want to think about that right now.

It was around sunset and he had found himself out on the roof outside Sam and Sarah's room. He had hoped he could remain there alone a little longer, not yet ready for the conversation he knew was coming, but before long a familiar voice was calling to him.

"Dean…?" Sasha said weakly, climbing slow and careful out the window onto the roof.

He really shouldn't be out there. He should be sleeping. He looked awful, darkness around his eyes and sickly paleness to his skin very unlike his healthy incubus white. At least he had managed to reel back in his red eyes. "Hey. Are…you doing okay?" Dean turned to him, sitting with his knees pulled up.

Sasha sat the same, close beside him. "It's not as bad as…before," he said, meaning before when Dean stabbed him and he nearly died. It was also different circumstances, but Sasha still needed to feed. Soon.

"Yeah…" Dean kept his gaze on the horizon. Even the sunset looked a little sick tonight.

"Dean, about…about everything that happened," Sasha began, jumping right into the heart of the matter like always, "I understand, you know, how you're feeling. I really do. We wanted the same things this hunt, they just…didn't turn out the same. I'm sorry."

That should have been a small comfort to Dean, but it wasn't. He found himself feeling angry, bitter. "That's all you have to say about it?" Dean turned to the incubus, "We wanted the same things? You don't think you're forgetting a pretty important other _difference_?" Dean rolled onto his feet, wanting to stand now, wanting to be less close to Sasha.

"Dean, I…" Sasha got up slowly after him, his face anguished as he fumbled for words, "You know I…I never would have done what I did if there had been another option. I don't want anyone else. I was just trying to—"

"This isn't about that," Dean practically snapped, only looking at Sasha out of the corner of his eye, his body still facing forward, "It's not about the sex. Yeah, that stings, because the thought of anyone else touching you drives me fucking batshit crazy, but if it was just that, you doing that to save some poor kid's life, I could get over it. This isn't about that," he said again.

"Then what is it?"

That Sasha really didn't get it hurt Dean the most. He turned to Sasha fully finally, staring up into those dimmed blue eyes. "What is it? It's that I fucking shot a good guy that's just on the wrong side of the war because _you're_ more important to me than saving anyone else. And you? You fucking pushed me up the _stairs_."

Sasha gaped. "Would…would you have rather I let that kid die?"

"No!" Dean tossed his head back in frustration, "You still don't fucking get it. I understand why you needed to save that kid. And I'm glad you could, it was a sacrifice I would have been willing to let you give. _Willing_. But I panicked, I screamed and said no because you didn't even give me a fucking choice. You just pushed me out of the cellar like…like you were choosing him over me and you didn't even fucking care if you died and _left me_ in the process. And I know you didn't mean it that way," Dean spat before Sasha could say whatever words were bubbling up in his mouth, "But it's that you didn't even…you didn't even trust me enough to believe I would understand if you just asked. What the hell were all those things you said to me about last night if you don't _trust me_?" Dean shook his head, getting god damn choked up over this and he just couldn't right now, he couldn't. He dropped down to the window and crawled back into the room.

"Dean, wait!" Sasha called after him, "What are you saying? Are we…are we okay?"

More than anything, Dean didn't want to look back. He knew how Sasha's looks could bring him to his knees and right now he needed to be angry. Maybe he was swayed because of how everything had gone so horribly wrong with Solrin. But no, this wasn't about that, this was about _them_.

What did Sasha pushing Dean out that door, and Dean, so oppositely, being willing to pull the trigger on that damn gun, say about _them_?

"I'm saying I love you," Dean said without turning, "I'm saying I want you and only you and that will always be the truth. I will tell you everything. I will be whatever you need me to be. I will always choose you first and I will never hesitate. But I don't know if I believe anymore that you can say the same. So what am I saying?" he took a breath, _deep_, and headed for the door, "I'm saying no. We are not okay."

tbc...

A/N: This was going to be the last chapter of the arc, but considering that what happens next is directly related, I think I'll have that chapter be the real end. The Trickster has not been forgotten, Cas needs to make an appearance, of course, and even though things are tense, Sasha still needs to feed. More soon!

It's that time of year again, folks. Your Friendly Neighborhood Crimson will be at Anime Detour in St. Paul, MN. Now I'm fairly certain none of you are going to a small Minnesota anime convention, but if by any chance you are, let me know and maybe we can meet up. I will post pictures at the website after the weekend. Don't worry, this shouldn't interfere with writing. Why do you think I pumped this chapter out.

Oh! And I keep forgetting to tell people about the HOT new Sasha and Dean pic at the website. So hot! And if you haven't checked out my little wincest fic, you want to at least for the Incubus entry of the last chapter that negates all wincest, courtesy of Blueeyesgreen. The other entries are totally wonderful and hot, but no incubus, and...yeah, wincest. ;-) Love you all!

Crim


	83. Part 8: Beware of Strangers Bearing Gift

Part 8: Beware of Strangers Bearing Gifts

-----

Dean didn't know where he was going when he first walked out of Sam and Sarah's room, leaving Sasha behind on the small overhang of roof to deal with the harsh words he had said.

_We are not okay._

Yeah, they were harsh, but Dean meant them. He was done not be honest when it mattered, and it mattered now, it mattered more than ever, because if they couldn't trust each other with the things that should come easy than they had no hope of beating anything, of winning anything when the end finally came. Dean doubted they had much of a chance anyway. Malak was more than just stronger and smarter and more prepared, he literally had his hand in everything. Even in Dean.

Sometimes when Dean was feeling…well, like he was feeling right that moment, he could feel Malak inside of him like a damn sickness crawling under his skin. It scared him. It fucking terrified him. He had never thought of himself as the hero, but for a moment there he had sort of liked the idea of managing to be one anyway.

So he didn't know where he was going, just let his feet carry him, hoping Sasha wouldn't immediately follow, relieved when the incubus didn't, until he found himself stepping into the library at the end of the hall. It was empty. Dean hadn't seen Iain in some time and the tall brunette wasn't here now. Taking a seat on the sofa, Dean started fiddling through a pile of books on the coffee table.

There was one pile he noticed that wasn't occult at all, just regular fiction, probably personal things of Iain's that he was filtering out of the other books to be put away in his room. Dean noticed a collection of short stories and started to page through it. It was a textbook for English, he realized, but it wasn't college or even high school age. It seemed to be more like middle school or even elementary. Dean would have snickered but he didn't really have it in him to laugh right now, and Iain probably had his reasons for keeping it.

Some of the short stories and snippets from larger novels were things Dean recognized, even some he vaguely remembered from school himself. He was a bit surprised when he paged to a tiny section of science fiction and stumbled upon some Vonnegut. His _favorite_ Vonnegut short story to be exact, "Harrison Bergeron".

Sam would probably shit a brick if he ever found out that Dean had pretty much read everything Kurt Vonnegut had ever written. There weren't many authors Dean could say that about. Hell, there wasn't much of any writing Dean had ever given as much of his attention to, but Vonnegut, well, that guy just…_got it._

Dean read through "Harrison Bergeron" from the textbook, smirking at the deceptively simple language, the jokes, the epic moment when the Handicapper General came in with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun and took Harrison and his ballerina chick out in two seconds flat. Kind of deep for fourth graders, morbid too, but then Dean supposed that was probably the point.

When he was done, he tossed the book onto the table and sat back. He had never wanted to be anything special, anything more than anybody else, but he'd be damned if he'd ever let someone tell him to be something he wasn't. The thing was he wasn't so sure anymore who or what he was supposed to be. If he was supposed to be the savior then why the Hell couldn't he save Solrin? If he was supposed to live happily ever after then why was everything with Sasha so messed up?

Dean sat there on the couch, alone, for what must have been an hour. Sasha never once called for him or came looking for him, and neither did anybody else. He needed the time, he supposed, and the others probably knew that, but it bothered him too. Even when he wanted to be alone he never _really_ did. That's why it hurt so much when people walked away.

Shit. He had walked away. From Sasha. _Twice_.

He wasn't wrong. The things he said to Sasha, they needed to be said, but he didn't want to make things worse, he wanted to fix it. Maybe he had been hoping the incubus would come to him, but now wasn't exactly the time to be sitting around waiting for anything good to just cross his path.

Slowly, Dean got up, feeling stiff and sore from sitting for so long, and from the whole damn day beforehand. His ribs were still sore too from when Sasha had slammed a hand into his chest to knock him out of that damn cellar.

_Fuck_.

Dean closed his eyes and clutched the back of the couch as he came around it. There was a prayer on his lips, a plea, like he wanted to just collapse and maybe have Castiel catch him, maybe ask the angel to make things better somehow, but even Dean knew that prayers weren't supposed to be about that. He was the one who was needed. He couldn't ask for help every time things went sour.

Besides, Cas was probably busy with…angel stuff. He couldn't be expected to watch over Dean every second. Of course Dean wouldn't have exactly minded if Cas had somehow been able to be there when Malak whisked Solrin away. God damn loopholes.

'_Not mad at you, Cas. Just mad at everything else.'_

Out in the hallway, Dean turned to walk down to his room where he could only assume Sasha had hidden himself away, but he was face to face with Iain's room first across the hall from the library. He couldn't help wanting to go to that door and knock. The poor guy, he wanted this life, or so he said once, but he had sort of been suffocated by the worst of hunter experiences in only a few minutes time. Dean had to check on him.

"Hey, Iain, you in there!" he knocked gently, not realizing just how hoarse his voice was until it left him. There was no answer. Dean knocked again. "Iain?" When there was still nothing, Dean figured he might as well go at least one step further before giving up, so he tried the knob, and upon finding the door unlocked, went inside.

There wasn't any sign of the lanky librarian just as the silence had indicated, but Dean had to smirk to himself at the sight of a snuggled up grey tabby cat asleep on the bed.

Wally peeked her eyes open and yawned, stretching a bit but clearly not wanting to get up quite yet. She blinked at Dean tiredly, made a slight 'prrp' in greeting and happily bucked up into Dean's hand when the hunter couldn't help going over and sitting beside her. Wally was the softest thing, cat form or otherwise. Seeing her like this in Iain's room reminded Dean that Iain hadn't been told yet that she was a chimera.

"Hey, you don't happen to know where Iain's at, do ya?" he asked Wally as he scratched her head and dug his thumb and forefinger into the space just behind her ears, "Kinda worried that I haven't seen him around."

"Prrp," Wally responded, a clear 'no', though Dean was never really sure how he could just get what Wally was trying to tell him. Then she was stretching some more, painstakingly getting up, and padding onto his lap. She didn't snuggle up again or even sit, but she turned her large blue-grey eyes up at him, concerned. "Prrp?"

"It's all a mess. A big fucking mess," Dean wiped a hand down his face, the other petting Wally absently, "You know the guy that's the reason Jo told you to stay out of sight for awhile? Well we thought we could…I don't know, knock some sense into him, get him to join us or something. Didn't work out so well. And now Iain's probably freaked, and Sasha's a mess, and I'm being a fucking idiot again…" Dean didn't even know how to finish all that. It was just all so fucked up right now. But then what else was new.

If Dean ever doubted that Wally was more human than animal, he was reminded as soon as she was off his lap, nudging his side with her head like she was trying to push him right off the end of the bed. Dean got the message.

"Yeah, yeah…I should go talk to him," he sighed, still feeling so damn sore pretty much everywhere. He stood, looked down at Wally when she hopped off the bed after him and mulled about his feet. "Don't suppose you'd do me the favor of searching out Iain then and making sure he's okay too? Don't know where he's hiding but he…probably needs a kind ear about now. Just, uhh…maybe wait to show him your other form. He's had a lot hit him today."

It was almost strange talking to an animal as if she were a normal human being, but not really since it was Wally. She looked up at Dean, almost seemed to smile or nod or…something, even in that cat form, and took off out the open door down the hallway. She could probably smell Iain and would find him in no time at all. Dean trusted her to look after the guy until he had fixed everything else enough to talk to Iain himself.

Dean's task was harder. He knew what Sasha needed right now and it hurt that a part of him didn't want to give it. That was his juvenile side, because withholding the sex Sasha needed to survive would either kill the incubus or send him into someone else's arms again, and Dean just couldn't stomach that.

With slow, patient steps he finally made it down the hallway towards his and Sasha's room, Wally already out of sight down the stairs. There was no one around, but Dean could hear low rumbling like voices below. Maybe Sam and the others were all down there, maybe more hunters had shown up, who knew. But Dean was certain that Sasha was in their room.

He didn't see the redhead when he first went inside, closing the door behind him, but he could feel him, feel his presence like a beacon, something he often took for granted but that was so very present because of the connection they shared. Dean was marked, still marked because his body had never really died. He walked to the bathroom, pleased to find the door at least slightly ajar, and pushed it open.

Sasha immediately righted himself in the bathtub, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes that looked like he had been crying. There was still steam rising from the water in the tub, but the water was clear and Dean could make out easily the lean well-defined body of his love beneath the surface. His heart jumped at the sight, but then plummeted that much further into his stomach.

"I got…kinda cold," Sasha said, his voice betraying just how weak he was as he pulled his knees to his chest. He didn't look at Dean but the redness around his blue eyes was obvious.

Dean honestly didn't have enough of his heart left to break anymore. He sat down on the toilet, hands clasped, unable to look at Sasha either. "You need to feed. You don't need a bath," he said plainly.

Of course Sasha knew that, but what was the guy supposed to do about it all by himself? "You know…I almost thought of going to…Jo," Sasha admitted, head bowed on top of his knees, "Or even Iain. But then I just wanted to cry so hard I couldn't even move so I just…" he waved his hand like it explained everything. It sort of did.

He had just gotten into the tub, immersed himself in the hot water, and wept, waiting for…something. Dean hoped it wasn't so maudlin as the incubus having been waiting to die and that maybe instead he had been waiting for Dean to come to him. It wasn't as if Sasha could just pass away peacefully in his sleep, starved. He would have frenzied, made it so they had to take him out or risk Sasha ripping someone apart and...

The very thought made Dean shiver. And not in a good way.

"You know better than that," Dean said, "Nobody gets to touch you but me." He turned to look at Sasha, reached out to take that smooth pale face in his hand.

Sasha flinched away. "Don't," he barely choked out, "Don't you dare…pity me…and do this out of obligation. You know I hate that. God, I couldn't stand it if you…" he trailed, biting his lip, maybe his tongue too, his mouth clamped shut. He shook his head and stood suddenly on shaky legs to get out of the tub. Dean tried to help but Sasha pushed him away. "I said _don't_."

"Sasha," Dean tried to help Sasha out of the tub anyway, ready to catch the incubus should he stumble, and just as Dean expected, as soon as Sasha had stepped out of the tub and started to walk towards the door, he pitched to the side. Dean caught him easily, already up off the toilet, and held Sasha tight against him even if the damn stubborn bastard tried to push him off again. "This isn't obligation," Dean insisted, "I get to help you because I love you. It's my job to look out for you because I belong to you and you belong to me. That's what we promised each other, remember? All that damn _sap,_ and I wouldn't change a word of it."

The feeling of Sasha in Dean's arms, taller but thinner and so damn light, impossibly light because of his weakness, had Dean honestly feeling like he could scoop Sasha up into his arms and it wouldn't be a strain at all.

Blue eyes, far too dim, blinked up at Dean, Sasha slouching so far forward into Dean's chest and shaking like a leaf.

"Bit of…déjà vu. Only…other way around," Sasha smiled without any humor, tears ripe in his eyes again. Dean would never forget the night he came back from Hell, how hard it was to even breathe let alone live, and how Sasha had held him, helping him out of the tub and later too, just held him and made everything feel at least a little lighter.

Dean tried to smile back, knowing the expression could only come out marred. Just looking at Sasha, their eyes meeting, was enough for Dean to be certain that he loved the incubus so much it stung, fucking _stung_. It was also enough for Sasha's tears to build and finally overflow.

"_Dean_…" Sasha said like a god damn keen, his face twisting as the tears streamed fast and hot down his cheeks, "I know I…I fucked up. I know I hurt you. And I…am so sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean, _god_, I'm sorry," he let his head fall forward against Dean's, his breath hitching, "But sorry…sorry's not good enough…for what I did. You deserve more than sorry. I ruined…_everything_," he choked, sobbed, clutched at Dean's shirts, still shivering naked and wet in Dean's arms.

When Dean walked away earlier it had nothing to do with wanting to punish Sasha, he just needed to know that Sasha really understood why he was hurt, why he was angry, and then maybe understanding would be enough to ensure that nothing like this ever happened again. Dean knew Sasha loved him, knew Sasha needed him, but if the incubus was still having difficulty trusting anyone outside of himself then they had a problem.

And they needed to fix it.

"Come on," Dean spoke gently beside Sasha's ear, shifting the incubus in his arms to better help him from the bathroom, "Gotta get you into bed." And with Sasha near dead-weight but still so strangely, unnervingly light, Dean began to lead them back into the bedroom.

Sasha tried to struggle but didn't have the strength to do much more than paw at Dean's chest. "Dean," he whimpered, "Please…don't."

Dean's heart sunk so low it was rolling around somewhere near his feet. "Will you shut up," he pleaded, "And maybe try and do what I keep asking you. _Trust me._ I'll take care of you, baby. I'll always take care of you." Because no amount of being 'not okay' meant Dean didn't want to try and make things better again. Sasha needed him, and as much as a part of Dean still felt sour and scorned, that always meant more to him than anything else.

"Dean…" Sasha tried to dissent again, stumbling along beside Dean as Dean led them to the bed.

"It'll be okay," Dean said. He hoped it would be.

It was far too easy to lift Sasha and lay him out on the bed, that lithe body shivering and damp still, unable to push Dean away. Dean noticed then that Sasha was still wearing the silver saint medallion, the one Dave had given him and that Dean had in turn given to Sasha. The incubus could never lose Dean as long as he wore that chain, Dean honestly believed that.

Sasha curled onto his side, looking so weak and pale and sick that Dean felt tears in his eyes too. He couldn't help blaming himself for letting Sasha get this bad.

"I don't know…how to make this..._us_…okay again," Sasha dug the side of his face into the pillow beneath his head, his body turned away from Dean and his eyes on the far wall.

Dean crawled onto the bed after him, full clothed, shoes and all, and spooned in around Sasha, pulling the incubus back against him. If Sasha wanted to fight Dean off, he didn't try, or at least couldn't manage it. "There isn't something you can do right this second to just, poof, make it all alright," he whispered, "Did you notice that the words 'I don't want to be with you' were in no way part of what I said? I'm still here. And I'll always be here. I'm never walking away from you again. I'm sorry I did at all. I just need to know that you trust me enough to know that _I trust you_. I'm fairly certain you don't wanna go and run away with that incubus kid and leave me," he tried to chuckle.

An equally false and short chuckle left Sasha. "Never," he said, clutching at Dean's arms that had wormed around his waist, "I just…I didn't know what to do and I panicked. I just kept seeing that…that girl. Like Adrian was me and it was happening all over again," he took a short breath, more tears streaming down his face as he looked over his shoulder at Dean, so pitiably that Dean couldn't stand it.

"But it wasn't you. And that kid, Adrian, he's gonna be okay because you helped him. I just wish…I wish it could have happened differently." Like them having found the kid before Sasha had to sacrifice himself at all and they could have passed him off to some other incubus or at least gotten the kid home. "Have you…heard from Shi?"

Sasha turned to look forward again, settling back against Dean and holding Dean's arms tight to his chest. The sheets were getting wet, and pretty much the entire front and side of Dean's clothing since Sasha hadn't toweled off. "She called. I didn't tell her about how…how I am. Didn't want her to worry. It's almost…poetic," he said wistfully, "She brought him to the same man…who helped me."

"An incubus?" Dean questioned. It was so intimate just holding Sasha, their voices hushed, Sasha's pulse beating too fast. Dean could feel it in Sasha's very skin.

"Well…it would have been way too sick and wrong if Shi had me feed off _her_ that time…doncha think?" Humor. There was humor in the words and it made it easy for Dean to laugh a little more real this time along with Sasha.

"Guess so. A little rehab sex for the kid then?"

"He was still…pretty wrecked."

"Now you are too," Dean said, lips brushing Sasha's ear and making the incubus tremble for a different reason finally, "Gotta fix that."

But like before, Sasha resisted, tensed and pulled just slightly away. "Dean, I told you, I…I couldn't bear it if—"

"And I told _you_ that this isn't about obligation. I take care of you, end of story."

Sasha's breath hitched again; his damn tears wouldn't stop falling. "You don't want me," he said through a sob, "I know you…_want_ me, but not right now, not after everything. You're still angry. You're only doing this because there isn't any other choice unless I really do go to Jo or—"

"Or _nothing_," Dean cut Sasha off sharply, pulling the incubus back tight against him and holding almost too firmly on that shivering body, "There is no other choice, _period_. The whole fucking world's messed up and we're in the middle of it. The only reason I can still stand and even try to fight is because I have you. Yeah, I'm still angry, and it still hurts, but I know you don't wanna give up on us anymore than I do. It's you and me, baby, you and me. And that's the only way I want it. I can be angry and hurt and messed up beyond repair, but I will always want you. I love you. I look after you. It's my job."

Only because Sasha was merely trying to turn did Dean allow the incubus movement, Sasha wriggling his way onto his other side so he was facing Dean. His red-rimmed blue eyes were so damn dim they looked human. They were also narrowed. "I'm not Sam," he said.

And all Dean could think was _damn it_. "You think I don't know that? This would be pretty fucked up right now if I got you two confused." It was almost a joke, but the way Dean pressed his body forward, aligning himself with Sasha's naked form and making the incubus gasp, wasn't funny at all. Sasha was hardly in control enough right now to resist even the mildest advance from Dean, much as he wanted to try.

"Dean, please," he mewled, his expression panicked suddenly, like he wanted to maintain control more than anything but knew he couldn't, "Don't. I'm asking you, _please don't._"

If this had been any other time, any other situation, Dean wouldn't have even dreamed of going against Sasha's wishes. But this was now, _this_ situation, and Sasha needed this, damn it, he needed Dean.

So Dean grabbed the incubus' face with both hands and slid his body all the way forward. The already half hardness between Sasha's legs hit Dean right at the line of his T-shirt, making the incubus gasp pitifully.

"You don't get to ask me that," Dean said, already leaning in, "Not today."

The kiss was wholly one-sided for all of five seconds. Sasha's incubus nature was too much in control right now; his body needed sexual energy so badly that he probably couldn't have stopped himself no matter how strong his will was. When the incubus began to kiss Dean back, it was hurried and ravenous, long strokes of Sasha's tongue and pulls at Dean's bottom lip with sharp teeth. They weren't fangs yet but by the end of this they might be.

Being careful with the incubus's fatigued body, Dean rolled Sasha onto his back and climbed on top of him with a knee on either side of his hips. Dean still had his damn shoes on, his jeans and layers, while Sasha was already naked. But damn it, Dean could catch up. He could so easily catch up. He lifted up onto his knees and pulled his T-shirt and flannel over his head in a single bundle of unwanted clothing.

"Dean…" Sasha looked up at him, so pained and filled with remorse that was trying to beat out the passion stirring in his eyes. Dean couldn't allow that.

He settled back on top of Sasha and kissed his incubus hard. Licking languidly at Sasha's lips, Dean felt that marvelous heat building in his gut, even if his chest ached and there were tears stinging his eyes just like Sasha with his face red and raw.

The St. Anthony medallion glittered up at Dean. He knew he had to stay right where he was no matter how much Sasha kept trying to protest, because only with Sasha was he ever truly _found_. He brushed Sasha's cheek with his own, licked around the rim of Sasha's ear, and breathed hotly before speaking.

"_Shut_ _up_. And let me fuck you already," he said, wishing he could grin at that but grimacing instead, "Let me help you," he finished more softly, pulling back to stare down at Sasha who even so sick and worn and desperate was nothing short of gorgeous. Even with tears steadily flowing—well, maybe a little slower now, thick and sticky as they gathered around his eyes to make the skin tight—Sasha was so beautiful Dean ached just being near him.

It tore Dean up to see Sasha's sad expression, proving that even though the incubus might not be able to stop himself if Dean kept pushing, he still wanted to dissent. "I want to trust you, Dean…but how can I?" Sasha whimpered, "How can I trust anything…when I know you're going to leave me?"

And right then Dean really had no control, none whatsoever, just had to collapse down on top of Sasha, fragile or not, and envelope that larger body with his own. "How can you…even say that," Dean said through clenched teeth, wanting so badly to not be this close to crying, "Didn't you hear me and the part about me never walking away again? I mean that, I promise—"

"Maybe you won't leave…because you want to," Sasha broke in, breath hot on Dean's neck, "But you will. I'm not going to change, Dean. I'm going to stay just like this. Forever. And you're going to keep growing further away from me, until…until you're gone, and I'm alone, and there's nothing I can do about _any of it_." Fresh tears started up again, and really, Dean had to wonder how the incubus had any moisture left in him at all.

"Sasha…" Dean pressed their cheeks together again, slid a hand down Sasha's arm and squeezed his bicep.

"I made that deal, and I'd make it again," Sasha ground out, "But Malak still wins, Dean. Just like today, he wins. Even if we win the _fucking_ war, he still _fucking wins_! I just…" and just like that Sasha's anger broke, his voice breaking with it, "I know…I don't deserve you. And sometimes…sometimes I wish you didn't love me…so this would be easier, so I wouldn't hurt you anymore. _God_…I wish…I wish I was _human_…"

There it was again, the self-loathing Dean so often missed because Sasha was so good at hiding it. It made Dean so angry for a moment because it was so much like him, like Dean, and how he had acted when his clock was ticking down to the end of the deal. He thought Sasha would be better off without him. But he couldn't believe that now, not when he knew better.

They were going to get a fucking happily ever after, damn it, even if it killed them.

"We'll figure it out," Dean said assuredly, molding his body along Sasha's, on top of him, Dean's face still dug into the crook of Sasha's neck, "Somehow we'll find a way to break your deal, baby, we will. We'll figure it out."

Sasha's voice was soft and anguished as he replied, "No we won't."

Fire surged through Dean's veins, always fire, _fire_ making up so much of Dean's life and who he was. Even how he felt for Sasha, it was all fiery passion, fiery anger, just flames all the time, everywhere. It made his grip harsh as he clung to both of Sasha's biceps and lifted up again so he could meet those tear-stained eyes. "No one gets to take you away from me. That's just the way it is, you hear me?" he practically snarled, shaking Sasha, "Not Sol. Not Malak_. No one_. My amendment, remember? And it stays. Nothing is taking this away from us. Not even us. We have a problem, we deal with it. We can deal with this. Now do you trust me? _Do you trust me?"_ he said immediately again, shaking Sasha harder.

There was no response at first, just Sasha's wide-eyed stare, startled, maybe even scared and so weak that he looked small beneath Dean, so small.

"If you don't trust me then we've already lost. You say you do, so say it like you mean it!"

"I…I trust you, Dean, I just..." Sasha trailed, trying to turn his head to the side but Dean grabbed Sasha's face and held it so he couldn't look away, "I-I'm…afraid…that Malak is stronger. I'm _scared_. I'm scared, but I…I do trust you. I trust you, Dean. Please forgive me…" forgive me for doubting you, for being like this, for being scared and weak, for _everything_. Dean heard all those words even though Sasha only said a few of them.

Dean was scared too, of course he was scared, but he couldn't let that change what he knew. And what he knew was that everything about him and Sasha being together was right, maybe one of the few good things in his life, and he couldn't lose it. Dave wouldn't let him lose it.

Situating himself again so he wasn't putting so much weight on Sasha's body, Dean lifted up and sat back on Sasha's hips, just above where the incubus' half-hard erection was still waiting. Dean touched Sasha's cheek and drew a line down the incubus' neck and chest with his fingers. Sasha shuddered. Dean trailed his fingers up again and caught the saint medallion. He fingered it. Looked at it. Somehow he knew it was more than just a symbol. It was a promise.

"You wanna know…how I know…we'll get through this," Dean said, struggling for the words. He looked from the medallion to Sasha, those blue eyes still so sad. "Because Dave told me," Dean leaned down, kissed Sasha's lips once, "He told me…that Malak can't have power over me…if I choose you. Not him. Not if I choose _him_. If I choose _you_. You and Sammy, yeah, but…but that don't mean nothing without you." He kissed Sasha again, gentle lips pressing lovingly, so wanting and desperate to somehow make this right again.

Sasha's hips bucked up from the bed, probably unintentionally, but it made both of them gasp and broke their kiss. The incubus didn't look like he would ever be able to stop crying. Dean wanted to fix that, fix everything, and he knew one way he could.

"Don't tell me to stop. Don't push me away," Dean said pleadingly, stroking Sasha's face again and pushing his fingers back through that too soft hair, "I'm going to help you because I love you, and it is a _privilege_ to love you. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you, baby, but if I'm gonna be lucky enough to be granted you then I am not going to let you go. Now…last time I'm gonna ask this…" he kissed Sasha's lips once more, _"Do you trust me?"_

Finally, when Dean pulled up again all he saw in those wet blue eyes was love and devotion. "I trust you."

And praise the whole damn universe because Dean knew he could believe that.

He kissed Sasha hungrily, feeding the incubus' desires and instincts that so quickly began to take over. Weak as he was, Sasha was soon kissing back just as fiercely, holding Dean's face in his hands. Soon it was all just a great big blur, and Dean figured that was probably because Sasha was so damn in need of him right now that the pheromones were crazed. It made Dean's heart flutter and skip, made him remember why he loved his incubus just the way he was.

Sasha slipped his arms around Dean's back and held tight as they kissed more deeply. Dean felt enveloped even though he was the one on top, felt his heart beating wild in his chest, and…damn, the pheromones were strong right now. So strong that Dean couldn't accurately explain what became of his pants, just knew when they were suddenly gone, his shoes too, and he was mighty thankful for that.

Dean would have welcomed some foreplay but it didn't seem like they had the self-control to manage any. Sasha's need was becoming amplified in Dean, making him clutch and claw at the body beneath him, Sasha writhing so wonderfully. Dean stretched his legs back out behind him, lying on Sasha fully again. He slithered the small distance down Sasha's body until their hips locked, Sasha's now hard cock teasing past his own, unbearably hot and slick.

There wasn't enough friction just grinding into Sasha's hip, not nearly enough, and Dean had to stop himself from just rutting violently against Sasha until he came. That was the pheromones talking, Sasha's great need whispering through Dean's veins. Dean couldn't give in after only a couple minutes of this. He wanted to be _in_ Sasha. He wanted to be connected. He also wanted this to last.

"Dean…forgive me," Sasha moaned, his back arching when Dean reached between them and took their like erections in hand, barely managing to keep hold of them both as he thrust down. Sasha let out a sharp cry, loud enough that surely someone had to have heard that, before finishing, "No one…uggnn…gets to touch me…but you. _Only_ _you_."

"_Fuck_ yeah, only me," Dean grunted back, running his thumb over both their slits and mixing the pre-cum.

This should have been more awkward after everything that had happened, but it wasn't. Dean could have still been angry for a bit longer, even though he knew Sasha understood and was going to try to be better, but he sort of liked that right now he didn't really care. He was delirious from the sudden rush of pheromones and how quickly their passion was fueling.

That probably should have worried him.

"I forgive you, baby," he said against damp lips, claiming them then for another kiss as they both thrust furiously, his hand trying to keep a hold on both of them, "You're just too wonderful…thinking you need to save everyone…then you go and…chew me out for the same damn thing."

Sasha laughed at that, _laughed_. "Mutual…character flaw," he chuckled, then cringed, then moaned, then gripped Dean's wrist that was attached to the tortuously moving hand jerking both of their cocks, "_Dean_. No more…please…just…just…"

"Just what?" Dean whispered into the hollow of Sasha's throat before licking it.

"Just _fuck me_." Blue eyes that already looked brighter sprung open. Sasha grabbed Dean's face and stared right at him as he amended, "Save me. Save _me_, Dean…I need you more."

More than what, Dean wondered. More than everything maybe. Dean certainly didn't have it in him to deny his incubus right now, not when he had been fighting Sasha up until this point to even have the chance to save him.

Briefly, Dean worried about going too fast and possibly hurting Sasha. It was pretty hard to hurt an incubus, sure, but maybe not so much when that incubus was drained. Dean tried to reach over Sasha and crawl closer to the drawer with the lube they had used the other night, but Sasha's thighs came up and trapped him, locking around his hips.

_Fuck_, that was hot, Sasha spreading his legs for him looking all pleading when minutes before he had been so resistant. Dean loved the pheromones when they worked in his favor like this, and right now they were definitely making everything easier, previous pain and heartache momentarily forgotten.

He wet one finger and reached down, leaving their cocks to merely grind again. It was almost distracting enough to disrupt Dean from stretching the incubus, but he managed, more insistent moans than usual spilling from Sasha's mouth at the slightest touch of Dean's finger inside of him, and then a second finger.

Finally, Sasha actually pushed at Dean's hand to get it away and then took hold of Dean's cock like it was his lifeline and everything depended on it, which in a way was sort of true. Sasha wasn't yet on the brink, but he would be if he didn't feed from Dean now. He was already feeding off the experience to some extent, his eyes back to luminescent blue and, surprisingly, none of his incubus traits sneaking out to play.

The first real thrust had Dean unraveling in layers, making him tremble from the intensity. Sasha had been weak like this only days ago and now he was right back there again. That had to make it harder, make the need for sex stronger, and Dean was pulled right into the whirlwind of it—the pheromones, the circuit, their love strong and hot, even the anger and remorse that hadn't completely faded away, it all melded together. Dean was thrusting hard but slowly inside of Sasha, rolling his hips, his arms holding Sasha beneath his knees, and _fuck_, this was right where Dean belonged, no question about it.

Sasha was smiling, eyes clenched tight and mouth slightly open in pleasure when his expression suddenly fell. Whatever startled Sasha just then, Dean soon started to feel it too, enough that he was pulled brutally from his euphoria.

"D-Dean…" Sasha shivered, his thighs tightening around Dean but his face looking stricken.

It felt like clawed fingers were tearing at Dean's heart, even though Sasha's hands were human and holding onto him gently. "What…is this?" he questioned, because he knew, somehow just knew that Sasha understood the name for this pain that was wedging between them.

With new tears starting to fall again, Sasha lifted up until he was nearly sitting. Dean accommodated, still maintaining their connection, deep enough to make both of them shudder. Sasha took Dean's face in his hands. "You feel it…" he said, maybe a little amazed but also heartbroken for Dean's sake, "Forgive me."

"I already did. I said I did," Dean insisted, stomach tight since the friction and heat between them was still building.

Sasha shook his head, more tears gathering in his eyes and making them shimmer. Dean liked it better when they were both caught up in the whirlwind. "Forgive me for _this_," Sasha said, "For what I gave up. This feeling…it's how close we are, Dean, how close _you_ are to turning, right on the damn border, but I can't bring you over to my side. Even though we both want it…we can't go past this. I…I'm sorry…" He clenched his eyes tight, more tears streaming down to mar his beautiful face.

Dean understood. There was an absence, but more than that Dean could feel everything Sasha was feeling, the deep remorse shared equally between them, echoing in Dean strong as only that time Sasha nearly turned him had been strong. Everything was in place except for that final step, the part Malak had taken away. They could tangibly feel the loss of it and it burned inside of them.

Pulling Sasha up further into his lap, Dean gathered the incubus to him. He was still so deeply buried in Sasha and he knew they couldn't stop here just because it stung, just because it broke just a little more of their hearts to taste something they could never really have.

"No," Dean shook his head, taking Sasha's hands and holding them tight, "I already said we'll find a way, and we will. Malak doesn't get to win in this. Not in this. Not with you. We'll find a way," Dean said again, bringing Sasha's hands to his lips and kissing the incubus' fingers, a subtle movement of his hips starting their rocking again, "And one day we're gonna go flying, and I'm not gonna be afraid. You know why?" He kissed Sasha's lips, rocking slow and steady so that Sasha trembled in his arms.

"Why…?" Sasha gasped, even through his tears and their shared sorrow in the circuit.

Dean forced a grin, forced it to be real. "Because. I'll have wings too. Then we can take all the time in the world to figure out all the different ways we can be stupid with each other and mess this up. But every time, I promise you, every time we will find our way home," he touched his pendant at that. Home. Touched Sasha's medallion. _Home_.

"I'll never do what I did to you again," Sasha promised, face so red from tears his cheeks were raw even though through feeding he looked healthier already, "Nothing comes before this, before us. I love you, Dean." He took his hands back from Dean and grabbed either side of Dean's face again, pulling Dean in for another kiss, one that was deeper, tongues tangling, trying to fight through their sorrow back to pleasure, back to glorious.

All Dean said when they pulled apart, their rocking still constant and shuddery with Sasha in Dean's lap, was, "Good," and the smile on his face was real despite the glimmer of tears trying to fall. Dean wouldn't let them fall. Sasha had cried enough for both of them.

"We'll find a way," Sasha echoed Dean's promise, sounding almost like he believed it, his neck arching with the renewed vitality of Dean's thrusts.

It was surreal, the combination of feeling so amplified by their deep connection, the circuit, and them basically being on the brink of Dean turning without the power to finish it, that Dean got swept up so fast again he almost pitched to the side. He could feel the grief that was still there, the passion rising again, how much Sasha loved him, truly loved him, and the plain ordinary physical pleasure that was, well, not at all ordinary. It made Dean's skin feel like it was tingling beneath the surface, made him feel short of breath and strangely light like he might float away.

Dean whispered to Sasha, keeping the incubus' face close to his own so they never had to stop kissing, whispered nothing, whispered syllables that might have been words but couldn't quite string together. Every lift of his hips, every rock of Sasha downwards against him was like a fucking morphine drip, making everything else just fade away around them.

It was exhausting. Dean felt a little faint even and laughed at that. People always did say makeup sex was the best. Dean rarely got to experience whether or not that was true. Not that he wanted to get in more fights and misunderstandings just for a good fuck. At least not all the time.

He slid his hands down the front of Sasha's chest, to his hips, clung there, squeezed, and then gripped down Sasha's thighs, raking his nails until Sasha hissed. They were close, so fucking close, and it was the craziest thing being able to feel his own climax building while feeling Sasha's too. They were riding their way there pretty closely together, but Sasha would come first, Dean knew.

"_Dean_," the incubus gasped as it built in his belly, his fingers raking down the back of Dean's neck where he clung to the tiny hairs, his back arching up until his chest was right to Dean's lips and Dean couldn't help licking up to Sasha's Adam's apple.

That did it. Sasha jerked, his nails digging into Dean's scalp a moment, and then he came between their bodies with a broken cry. Dean had barely even touched Sasha to help things along.

Once Sasha came, Dean felt the urgency of his own climax building that much more, felt more faint, really…faint…actually. He had to shake his head to keep focused. He couldn't just fall off to sleep when he was this close to getting off. Besides, Sasha fed more from his release than the incubus' own.

Dean rocked harder into Sasha, seeking a fast and dirty end now. Therefore, he was rightly startled when Sasha's hands moved down to his arms and suddenly squeezed too tightly. "Dean!" Sasha said with breathy urgency, his eyes wide and looking down at Dean practically glowing blue, more alert now than before, "Stop! You have to stop!"

"Wh-what?" Dean barely managed to say, feeling the heaviness in his eyes, but damn he wanted to finish this, "I told you…not to tell me to…stop."

"No, Dean, you have to listen to me! _Dean_," Sasha shook Dean hard, but Dean could barely look up at him now, "It's been too many days in a row, me needing too much from you, you…you have to _stop me_."

"S-Stop…" Dean repeated. It was like the word didn't really have meaning right now. Damn, Dean's head felt fuzzy, the only thing he could think of or concentrate on was his constant rocking into Sasha.

"Dean!" Sasha was yelling at him again, squeezing his arms so tight it stung, but the incubus' thighs were still clamped around him, "I can't…I can't stop myself…I need too much…I'll…take too much…you can't—" Sasha's head threw back and he moaned at the ceiling, Dean having hit that wonderful spot inside the incubus that always made him howl.

So close. Dean was so close now. His grip was slipping from Sasha's hips but he could… he could…still…

"Dean…_please_…"

The last thought that occurred to Dean was…why did Sasha sound so sad…?

-----

Dean knew the moment he blacked out because there was a sudden light, so damn bright it blinded him and he rubbed at his eyes to block it out. When he opened them again the light was gone and he was so damn sore and tired he couldn't move, laid out backwards on the bed with Sasha beside him, breathing slow and steady as he slept. Sasha must have conked right out after…

After…

_Shit_.

Dean bolted upright, instantly regretting it as the world spun around him and nausea struck his stomach like a blow. Sasha had been taking too much, couldn't reel himself back in after getting that deeply connected to Dean and feeding so ravenously, and…and _shit_. Dean should be dead. Why wasn't he _dead_?

He looked down at Sasha, worried the incubus had done something stupid to stop it all, but it was clear by the returned color to Sasha's face and the very aura about him that he had gotten what he needed and would be fine. Sasha's body just needed to adjust now, rest, and he would be back to normal by morning. But if Dean had given Sasha so much, too much, then how was he still alive?

The feeling of nausea was still there, so strong that weak and dizzy or not, Dean clambered off the bed and stumbled his way into the bathroom. He collapsed to the floor as soon as he reached the toilet and almost didn't get the seat up in time. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but whatever had still been in his system found a quick exit into the porcelain god.

Dean hadn't felt this sick since he was a kid. He was surprised he could even stand. When he tried to after he was sure he didn't have anything else to throw up, he realized he actually _couldn't_. Stand, that is. Or walk. So he crawled, forcing himself to stay conscious in case this had any other adverse affects on him. Feeling like shit was definitely an adverse affect he really didn't like.

It struck Dean that the last time he had actually felt like this hadn't been some childhood illness. It was the many times he had lost too much blood and was close to passing out. That's what Sasha always likened incubus feeding to—giving blood. Dean needed to eat and drink something, needed to get some of his strength back. It was actually kind of funny how appealing eating and drinking could sound after throwing up so violently.

Blinking at the clock on the nightstand, Dean saw that it was well into the night now, after midnight. He could have sworn it wasn't even dinner time, or at least not much after dinner when he came in and found Sasha in the tub. They must have been out for hours, and if anyone had come in to check on them, they must have figured it was better to leave them be.

Well great. Dean needed to get downstairs to the kitchen and everyone was probably asleep. Getting down those steps would be fun.

He crawled his way back to the bed and hoisted himself up enough to check on Sasha again. When he touched the incubus' face, Sasha's eyes fluttered and he groaned in his sleep, "Dean…" worried sounding and grimacing.

"It's okay…baby…" Dean whispered to soothe his love, "I'm okay. You didn't…hurt me. Knew you never would. Go…go back to sleep." He stroked his fingers through Sasha's hair several times until the incubus settled again. Sasha needed to rest and let the sexual energy work through him, heal him. Dean just needed a little nourishment.

He looked towards the door and snarled. _Fuck_. He still had to get some clothes on too.

He managed to pull a stray pair of sleep pants over to him and shimmied into them. Then, struggling to his feet, Dean actually did fairly well until about the time he got to the door, clutching the frame barely being enough to keep him upright. The door was ajar, proof someone had looked in on them, so all Dean had to do was nudge it open. Half a step out into the hallway though, he crashed to his knees, his arms shooting out and catching him as he fell forward.

"_Damn it."_

There was the most imperceptible sound of flapping. Then dress shoes and the bottom of blue suit pants walked into Dean's line of sight. "Would you like some assistance?"

Dean smirked to himself. "Couldn't have…helped me…when I was still in the room? Huh, Cas?" Dean looked up the length of the accountant wearing angel. Or at least Dean assumed the vessel was an accountant or CPA or something like that. He sure looked it.

Castiel didn't respond outright, but reached down towards Dean and Dean accepted a hand in helping him up. Then the angel had him about the waist and was leading him towards the stairs with uncanny strength.

"Don't suppose…you have some way of…poofing us down to the kitchen?" Dean asked, his head rolling to the side to look at the shorter man—_angel_.

That subtle smile tugged at Castiel's lips. "I do. But I am afraid it would aggravate your nausea," he said.

Dean grimaced. "Let's stick with the long way then." He so didn't want another date with the toilet bowl. "So," he said when they reached the staircase, glad that Castiel seemed to have a little night vision going for him since he didn't stumble at all in the dark of the Roadhouse, "Fancy meeting you here."

The angel tensed. "Forgive me, Dean. If I could have come…"

"Yeah, yeah. Rules. I get it." And he did. He was really fucking sick of hearing apologies right now, but he did. "Good thing you like to watch, huh? Or the good guys might be one warrior of God short after that little…session Sasha and I just had." He cast Castiel a sideways glance.

If it was possible for an angel to blush, and since he was inside a human body it definitely should be possible, Castiel was doing so now. He also kept his blue eyes forward instead of turning to look at Dean. "Please do not make it sound quite so voyeuristic. I watch to protect you."

"Sure you do," Dean nodded, "And you saved my ass again. Figured that bright light was you. But be honest," he leaned into Castiel, "You find yourself a nice cloud to sit on…and some popcorn…and enjoy a free show now and again, doncha?" He was grinning as wide as he could manage when Castiel turned to him with a furrowed brow.

"Dean…"

"Just ruffling your feathers, dude," Dean chuckled, "Heh. Feathers…" Obviously, Dean was still a little out of it, but Castiel paid no mind, merely continuing to help Dean to the kitchen, which Dean realized he hadn't actually told Cas why that was where he wanted to go, but he figured in this case he didn't really mind the angel getting inside his head.

The kitchen was as dark as the rest of the Roadhouse when they entered, making Dean blink rapidly when Castiel suddenly turned the lights on without actually flipping any switches. He helped Dean onto a stool, making sure Dean was leaning forward enough on the counter not to topple over, and turned to the pantry and large refrigerator.

"You feeling guilty or somethin'?" Dean asked of the angel's back.

Castiel immediately turned, his face betraying the 'yes' he didn't say. "We did not know enough to help you. Losing Solrin hit you hard, I know. I am sorry, Dean. This hunt was not easy on you and the time for the end is ever approaching."

"Well that sounds nice and ominous." Dean tried to keep his head together and stay focused so he wouldn't keel over and make the angel dash for him.

"What would you like to eat?" Castiel turned back to the pantry, opening the door and peering inside before turning to open the refrigerator as well.

Well didn't this just beat all? Dean had his elbows resting on the counter to keep most of his weight centered, but he turned his head to stare at Castiel. "Dave Almighty makes me coffee and fries…and now an _angel's_ offering to whip me up a midnight snack?" he just had to grin at that, "Since when did Heaven put in a drive thru window?"

Castiel's smile twitched at his lips again, though the angel tried to hide it by turning away and burying his head in the fridge. Dean wondered if Cas' expressions would look the same on his natural body. If it was even a body. What did angels look like anyway? Was Castiel really just a person-shaped mass of golden light like Dean vaguely remembered from when he was a kid?

A question for another time, he decided. "Don't s'ppose…you know how to make grilled cheese?" Dean asked hopefully, "Good and greasy and simple and all. And orange juice. There orange juice in there?" Dean saw Castiel nod and suddenly had to really struggle not to burst out laughing at the sight of an angel fiddling inside a refrigerator.

Moments later, Castiel turned back to Dean and set out orange juice, cheese, and butter. He grabbed bread from the pantry, got Dean a glass so he could drink some orange juice right away, and then set to work. The angel seemed to know exactly where everything was—a frying pan, the silverware, plates. The only thing that made this whole thing a little less weird was that Dean had experienced Dave already, and he also, thankfully, managed to get Castiel to ditch the trench and suit coat while he cooked.

Dean could tell, however, that there was more to this visit than just making sure he was in tip-top shape. Or maybe it was just that his intuition was starting to work again after he downed his first glass of orange juice and felt a little less like he was about to keel over. Still, Castiel didn't say much until he was setting a couple grilled cheese sandwiches in front of Dean that looked pretty frickin' amazing for being whipped up at all hours of the night.

"So what's the bad news?" Dean didn't waste any time, even as he was biting into the sandwich, and…_damn_, that was one fine grilled cheese.

Castiel almost looked domestic with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. But then he leaned back against the counter beside Dean, his face pensive, brow furrowed again, and he was suddenly all business. "You are very good at reading people, Dean. It is one of the reasons you are so right for this. You are a good leader."

"Can the bullshit," Dean said without hesitation, "What's up?" It had only been a day, not even a full day since Malak whisked Solrin off. They couldn't have caused any real trouble yet, could they?

Castiel shook his head, listening in on Dean's thoughts again, no doubt. "Please believe me, Dean, that I would have come tonight even if I didn't have information for you. I know you have taken quite a strain lately, and not just from…sacrificing yourself for Sasha's sake."

Dean snorted. Well, he supposed it was sacrifice. Dean just didn't usually think of it that way. "Okay, so I'm a mess," he said as he took another large bite of the sandwich and kept right on talking around it, "What else is new? Now tell me what's going on."

The intel Castiel had for him had to be bad if the angel didn't even want to say it. Slowly, Castiel began to roll his sleeves back down, a very human distraction, Dean thought. "Did you ever stop to wonder, Dean, why Malak was willing to make that amendment to your deal? Why he wanted you to return all those demons to Hell?"

This was already heading a not so fun direction. "He said it was because…he hated disorder or…some shit like that. That they were all doing their own thing instead of... being an army like they were supposed to be if Sammy led them."

Castiel nodded to himself. "That wasn't a lie. But why just bring them back to Hell? Yes, I am aware you also killed some of the demons instead, but the majority was sent back. Why would Malak want that?" Blue eyes flicked up at Dean sharply, so piercing and otherworldly with an angel's power behind them that Dean actually flinched.

Then he got the punch line like a punch in the face. "He wanted them back…so he could try again."

"With a new _powerful_ man to lead them."

"Solrin," Dean grit out, hating that it was all so obvious now. He tossed the piece of sandwich he had been eating back onto the plate. "He needed to start over fresh and we gave him everything he needed. His soldiers. Even his god damn _General_." Dean slammed his fist onto the countertop making the plate and glass of orange juice wobble.

"Solrin was not your fault, Dean. He made his own choices," Castiel said, slipping his suit coat back on and beginning to button it.

Dean had heard that line, that this or that was 'not his fault' so many damn times it just made him angry. "So what does this mean? Back to the Devil's Gate? But we still have the Colt so they shouldn't be able to open it, right?"

Grabbing up his trench coat next, Castiel again shook his head. "That is no longer necessary. With Malak's army restored by…" the angel's eyes darted away, "By…a righteous man's will, they can cross over to the human plane more easily now. They need only pass over the fields of Gehenna and they will be a unified mass at your doorstep. Gehenna is said to be the place evil will be destroyed, but now…" he looked down, his dark expression deepening further and making him look strangely human, "We thought we had more time to prepare you for this."

"Wait, what are you saying?" Dean stood from his stool, still feeling weak and wobbly but at least able to stand now. Everything was moving too fast, the floor falling out from under him all over again. "Where's this Gehenna place?"

At that, Castiel finally looked up at Dean again. "It is where most of the battle between angels and demons was once fought, and continues to be a place of bloodshed today. The place Michael leads us in battle. The demons have never been able to cross the fields, instead finding other ways to this realm. But if they can breach our defenses…" his trench came up over his shoulders and he straightened, fully himself again, "It would mark the beginning of the end and they would appear as a full army on the parallel fields of Gehenna on Earth. Here."

Dean blinked. "Here?"

"Here, Dean. The fields beyond the Roadhouse towards the town. _Here_."

The blood rushed from Dean's face. They had been standing on the battlefield of the apocalypse and they hadn't even known it? Figured. "And because…because we helped give Malak his army back, because _I_ amended the deal, they're stronger and more organized now, and…and Solrin is leading them?"

Castiel's lack of response was more than enough of an answer.

"_Fuck_," Dean's fists clenched at his sides, "If Mike and you guys can't hold them back…how long do we have til they make it across the fields?"

"We do not know. Not long. Weeks. Maybe days."

This was too much, too soon. "And that'll just be it?" Dean took a step closer to Cas, frantic now, "Malak's army here, the apocalypse, the end is fucking _nigh_?!"

For once, Castiel was not flinching at Dean's curses. "It means the real battle will be at hand, yes. And you, Dean, will have to choose a side. That is where your final decision will come into play. The side you fight on is the one that will win."

"What…what does that mean?"

"Dean? Are you in there?"

Dean's eyes darted to the door into the kitchen, where Iain suddenly appeared looking all kinds of worn out and tired in just a pair of flannel pants and a T-shirt. Wally was rubbing at his feet as he came in.

"Who were you talking to?" the brunette asked.

Dean could already feel his anger rising before he even turned back and saw that Castiel was gone. The bastard had bamfed right in the middle of their fucking conversation. "Damn it," Dean kicked at the counter, "Cas, you can't just leave me with that! What am I supposed to do!?"

"Dean?" Iain sounded really worried now, and of course he was, of course he was concerned; Dean was yelling at imaginary people in the middle of the night in the god damn kitchen.

"Nothing. It's…nothing," Dean sighed defeatedly, scrubbing at his face. What was Cas supposed to do, walk him through this? The whole point was that Dean had to figure this out on his own, make his own choices, Dean got that. But damn it, he needed to know more than just that they finally had a countdown to the end. If his final decision was merely who's side he would be on when Malak's army appeared on the fields outside the Roadhouse then what was everyone even questioning? Of course Dean would never choose Malak.

Cautiously, Iain made his way over to Dean, Wally trotting along beside him like a good little mascot, and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You okay?" Iain asked, "You look kinda…well. Like shit."

That actually managed to get a laugh out of Dean. He let Iain help him back to his stool where the rest of his grilled cheese and another glass of orange juice were waiting. "You don't wanna know," he mumbled to Iain, holding his face in his hands a moment as Iain took the stool next to him.

"You know, everyone keeps saying shit like that to me. But then seemingly nice guys with demon powers suddenly start terrorizing my friends and I gotta think…man, it woulda been nice to know about _that_ sooner." He actually smirked a little, sideways maybe, but it was there, and he nudged Dean in the arm.

Dean figured _what the Hell_ and peered at Iain from around his hands. "Well the short of it is…my guardian angel was just here telling me that the apocalypse is weeks, maybe days from hitting us, and it's gonna hit _here_, like right outside the Roadhouse walls. Oh," he added with a twitch at his lips, "And it's all…pretty much my fault." Not that Dean was all that surprised considering he was the Anti-Christ/Savior figure in all this.

Iain sat there silent a moment, brown eyes wide and a little 'well _that_ was more than I bargained for', before finally going, "Huh. Remind me to stop asking."

Dean laughed again. "Sorry, man. You know it really might be best if you got yourself out of here. Things are gonna get heavy." Dean picked up his sandwich and tore into it, feeling suddenly very hungry.

"Yeah, but…" Iain shrugged, kind of uncomfortable, his eyes darting everywhere so they didn't have to look at anything, "What if you guys need me?"

"Dude," Dean said through a mouthful of bread and cheese, "We're talking hordes of demons here. We don't need books to tell us what to do with demons."

"But Solrin, he…he can control other things, can't he?" Iain ventured hesitantly, "That's what was happening before. What if he summoned a whole bunch of other things, maybe even things you haven't fought before, and…tipped the scales? Maybe you'd need a quick reference on something."

It was actually kind of cute the way Iain was trying so hard to prove his usefulness. But useful could still get the guy very much dead. He also hadn't made Dean feel too much better about things. Dean had almost forgotten that Solrin could command demonic creatures better than Sam, and that could very well mean more than just demons to worry about if worst came to worst.

Fuck.

"Iain…"

"I'm staying," Iain said suddenly, hands clasped too tightly together on the countertop, showing just how tense he was despite what he was saying, "I…I wanna help. And…maybe I can't do much, but…Solrin, ya know…he was pretty cool. Before, when…when we were just alone? He was really cool. And nice. And…and I know you were trying to knock some fucking sense into the guy, and…and if anyone can do it, it's you, Dean. I don't like to think that Solrin's just…gone," he looked down at his clasped hands, "I didn't even get to know him."

There went another piece of Dean's heart, which sadly meant that he didn't know how to turn Iain away. "Might have to teach you how to shoot then," he said with a crooked smile, "Ya know. Just in case."

Iain looked over at Dean, the guy's perpetual smile just frickin' beaming and lighting up the whole damn room even though he still looked way too tired to be up this late.

It was then that Wally hopped up onto the counter and chirped impatiently, apparently upset that she was being ignored.

Grinning wider, Iain made a little clucking noise and held out his hand to get Wally to go over to him. She did happily and rubbed up into his hand as he pet her. "She's been following me all night. Even slept on my bed til…" he blushed suddenly, "Just…a nightmare. S'why I'm up. But it's kinda funny. She always seemed to be just tolerating me in _her_ library," he laughed, "Now she's my best friend."

"That's Wally," Dean said, feeling better by the minute, at least physically, as he ate his sandwich, "Though actually, I…sorta told her to look after you today, in case that whole mess was too much for you."

Iain looked up at Dean a little startled. "Really? Wait, she's that well trained? I've never heard of a cat—"

"Yeah, uhh…" Dean grinned sheepishly and scratched at the back of his head. He winked at the grey tabby cat in front of them. "Go on, girl. Add Iain to the list."

As if prepared for this development, Wally immediately jumped and was suddenly her chimera self, like a fluffy little ewok baby with large, fur-covered Gizmo ears. She scuttled closer to Iain carefully, just in case he freaked, Dean figured. And yeah, Iain's eyes were pretty wide, but there came a time in all hunters' lives, and in the lives of those close to them, when they just had to go with it.

With a helpless chuckle, Iain stroked Wally's long fuzzy ears.

"Huh," he grinned all lopsided and maybe delirious since his life had turned upside down and back again about five times since meeting Dean Winchester. Then he glanced over at Dean like he couldn't be more content, and said, "Guess I'm in it for the long haul now."

-----

Eventually, Dean finished his sandwiches, Iain let Dean lean against him a little on the way up the stares, though Dean didn't explain exactly why he was so weary, and Dean managed to crawl into bed to sleep the rest of the night away. He decided he didn't mind having to lie on the bed backwards so long as he got to snuggle up to Sasha.

The next morning, Dean was beyond pleased that Sasha woke up thinking he had dreamed it all, at least the nearly killing Dean part, and Dean was fine with leaving things that way. Cas had been looking after them; it was all okay. And it meant that _they_ were closer to being okay too because Sasha looked at Dean for the first time in a long time like the world wasn't ending.

Then of course as soon as the gathered mass of their group was all downstairs, Dean had to explain that, actually, yes it was. The world. _Ending_. Really fucking soon. Which sort of put a damper on breakfast.

Ellen handled the news the best. "I think I might throw up," she threw down the washcloth she had been wiping the counter with.

Dean definitely knew that feeling. "Makes a lot of sense though, how we'd all end up gathering here," he said. They knew the area, it was centralized and a good base, and hell, there were other hunters coming through all the time. They could gather up their own army easy. Most hunters would join up just on the chance that something big was coming. Kind of made all those recluses seem a bit more useful.

"And…Castiel said that when the demons get here, that's when you have to make your choice?" Sam said. He was sitting up on one of the tables, Sarah on a chair beside him, Jo, Sasha, and Iain at the bar with Dean, while Ellen was behind it. They were empty of other hunters for the moment, but they knew that would change.

Dean couldn't help feeling that Sam sounded worried. "Well…yeah. But come on, what could possibly happen in the next few days or even weeks that would make me _choose_ to go to the other side? I thought maybe the decision would be something else, ya know, that's why I was worried before, but…if it's just another yes or no to Malak, _come on_. No fucking way."

There had to be something wrong with the universe if half of Dean's friends looked skeptical. He had already called Bobby. At least Dean knew the old car junkie would be on his side once he arrived. But apparently, everyone other than Sasha and Iain weren't so sure.

"Oh this is _great_," he turned most of his anger onto Sam, "I had faith in you the whole damn time with your demonic powers." Dean corrected himself when Sam gave him a look. "Okay, maybe not the whole time, but I had faith in you. Now suddenly I'm the Anti-Christ instead so everyone immediately assumes of course I'm gonna go darkside."

"That's not it," Sam immediately countered, "You know I don't believe that, Dean. It's just…we've seen how far ahead of us Malak is. I'm worried about _him_, about what he has planned to lure you. You gotta admit, Solrin made some pretty good points about me and Sasha yesterday and you almost believed it."

Okay, _that_ hurt, though mostly because Dean knew it was true. He looked over at Sasha who was boring that renewed and bright blue gaze right into him. "Maybe I did almost believe it. A little. But I didn't let those thoughts win. Even with what his messed up eye made me see, I knew the truth and I still chose you. Both of you with all your fucked up powers," Dean turned back to Sam, "I want to save Solrin, to get him out of this mess, but…if we can't do it then we can't. Malak's not going to change my mind on that."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Jo asked. It was all a little big for just their rag-tag team of hunters. Okay, so they were some pretty _awesome_ hunters, but still. This was the end of the world they were talking about.

"I guess we just wait," Dean shrugged, "Prepare. Maybe we can call in whoever we think might help when things start getting bad. I'm guessing when the angels have more to tell us, Cas'll be back anyway. Not much more we can do."

"Well that sounds _boring_."

Startled by this unexpected voice, the group turned in unison towards the end of the bar. Dean felt his whole face go hot at the sight of the Trickster sipping a drink in that same stool he had appeared to them on the first time. "What the _fuck_ do you want?" he snarled, ready to pop right off his own stool and go over to deck the bastard.

"Whoa, geez, Dean-O," the Trickster held up his hands, standing and leaving his summoned drink, "What's with all the animosity? I thought we were friends," he smirked. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks, looking like he'd just come from Suburbia or a god damn golf course.

Iain, as luck might have it, was pretty close to where the Trickster had just poofed in. He got up from his stool, slowing backing away towards Dean.

"Come on now, I don't mean any harm," the Trickster moved right in, throwing an arm over Iain's shoulders like they were best buddies. Iain looked to Dean with wide, panicked eyes.

As if Dean needed a reason to push the two apart and knock the Trickster back a few steps. "Lay off," he warned the demi-god, "We're not interested. We never actually made a deal with you if you'll remember, and in case you haven't been paying attention, Sol's gone. So you can go back to your hole now. So _sorry_ we couldn't help," he finished sarcastically.

Even after being manhandled by Dean, the Trickster didn't lose his grin. "Dean, don't be so modest. You did the best you could. And even though things didn't turn out how you wanted, I'm pretty sure I'm good and low on the totem pole for beings Mr. Darkside of the Force himself wants to get rid of. That kid's gonna be pretty busy. Way I see it, I still came out ahead on this one."

Sam had gotten up off the table he was sitting on and came over to stand beside Dean. "Yeah? Well we didn't do it for _you_."

"We have a few more pressing matters right now, _thanks_," Sasha added just as bitingly.

Still, the Trickster didn't budge or look at all deterred. "Guys, loosen up, will ya? I like helping. You'll remember," he looked at Sam and Dean, "That I never went after any innocents with any of those tricks of mine. Only people who deserved a little cosmic payback. So even though you say we didn't actually make that deal, I have no problem still keeping up my end of it. You might need me after all. What with the big battle coming. Believe me kids, a win for Malak is not a win for me. I like this world as it is. Let me help you."

"We don't need your help," Sam jumped right in.

While Dean generally felt the same way, he also saw a certain irony to all this. It was possible Solrin was never meant to be their ally, at least not now. Maybe the Trickster was instead, maybe even that young incubus boy. They could certainly use all the help they could get, no matter what Sam said. Hell, maybe in some ways that meant they had still won.

That thought landed sourly in Dean's stomach. No. He just couldn't accept that.

"No offense, pal, but you're the last person whose debt I want to be in," Dean said. They had plenty of other allies they could call on.

Of course the Trickster wasn't offended. Just smiled a little wider, nodded. "Hey, I get it. Why trust me, right? Maybe I'll show up if you need me anyway, who knows. But in the meantime, just so you know how much I appreciate your efforts with that kid, I'd like to give you something, Dean."

Gifts from gods always came with a price. Dean knew that well enough. "Listen—"

"Just think of it as a…gift," the Trickster shrugged. One side of his mouth rose a little higher than the other, making his smirk wicked. He snapped his fingers and in that moment Dean felt the world around him go suddenly black.

-----

Honestly, Dean was really sick of waking up not knowing what had happened to him. Was there a pool or something on how many times he could get knocked out by supernatural beings? It was really starting to piss Dean off. The Trickster didn't know how lucky he was that Dean actually felt pretty good when he blinked awake and sat up.

"Dean!" called Sam, suddenly right there beside Dean. Dean was on a bed, he realized, his and Sasha's bed, and some guy with black hair was lying next to him, turned away. Dean didn't give the other figure much mind right now since he didn't know him.

"What the hell happened? Everyone okay?" Dean asked his brother. There was no one else in the room right now and Dean couldn't help being worried by that.

Especially since Sam had that 'I have something to tell you that you don't want to hear' face. "I…thought you two would want to be alone for awhile. Dean, don't you know what happened?"

"Huh?" Dean scrubbed a hand back through his hair. Damn he felt good. Even though he was still groggy, he felt _amazing_. "No. What happened? What did the Trickster do to me? And who the hell is this…guy…" Dean trailed as soon as he took a closer look at the man beside him, his stomach plummeting to his toes. It wasn't just some stranger. It was _Sasha_. "Holy shit," Dean gasped, rolling Sasha more onto his back so he could look at him. Sasha looked okay, just sleeping, but he had black hair, black eyebrows, and something else about him made it so Dean just knew, "He's human…"

"Yeah…" Sam said slowly, like it wasn't the most amazing thing ever.

Dean turned to look at his brother again and saw that Sam's brow was furrowed and he was biting his lip like he only did when he was really nervous. "Dude, what? He's okay right? Got dark hair like his dad since he's human now, but so what? I can live without the red. He's not hurt or anything," Dean turned back to Sasha, worried suddenly.

"No, Dean," Sam assured him, grabbing for Dean's hands so he'd leave Sasha alone, "He just hasn't woken up yet. But…uhh…see…Sasha being human isn't the only thing the Trickster did."

Now Dean was rightly worried. "What else?"

Sam stood more upright and backed slightly away from the bed, looking towards the bathroom. The door was open and the light was already on. "Go look at yourself, Dean."

Panic settled somewhere low in Dean's stomach. Of course the Trickster had also done something to him, or he wouldn't have passed out. But whatever the Trickster had done, it was bad enough that Sam couldn't just tell Dean, he needed Dean to see it for himself.

Dean suddenly had this horrible image of his face hideous or disfigured, Joker-style. It would be just like the Trickster, a gift with a price. Not that Dean would ever have asked for Sasha to be human. He really did love Sasha just as he was. But still. This made things easier.

Slowly, Dean threw his legs off the bed and got up. He walked towards the bathroom in a way that kept him out of line with the mirror until he was ready. When he was, he looked back at Sam a moment, still seeing that worried look, and then just stepped right into the bathroom and looked up.

Dean was at first startled because he didn't look at all bad, and for a second he wondered if Sam was just messing with him. Then Dean took a few steps closer to the mirror. Something was…different. That little scar in his eyebrow was gone. His hair looked sort of funny, like maybe the lighting was off in the bathroom, but no, it was just that Dean looked a little _blonder_. And his eyes, they were shimmering so green they almost…glowed.

"Oh _fuck_."

THE END...of ARC 10! TBC right here with...ARC 11!

A/N: There are two more arc to the main story, then the epilogue, and maybe a bonus. We're finally starting to get close. The next Arc is called: INCUBUS. Wonder why...

Now you may be all over the place with what you're thinking, but believe me, you have no idea where I'm going with this, just...trust me. This is all a very important lesson. You know how the Trickster likes those. Muwahahaha... And all very relevant to the end starting to close in.

PLEASE REVIEW!

New pic of Sasha at the website again from the Anime Con. My crew won best overall cosplay for our level. Woot. I'll put those pics up soon too. Love you guys!

Crimson


	84. ARC 11: Incubus, PART 1: What You Earn

ARC 11: Incubus, PART 1: What You Earn

-----

Even though he hadn't felt it up until now, that pressure in his body like when Sasha almost turned him so long ago, that pull within him, stretching him, changing him, it was suddenly right there. An aftershock maybe, his body needing to see it before it actually registered the feeling, like having to look at a wound before you started to feel any pain. Dean didn't really care why he was suddenly feeling like his body was a foreign thing when obviously he had been changed the moment the Trickster snapped his fingers. What he did care about was that he was—_changed_. Trying to stay calm just made him feel that much more like panicking.

An incubus. He was an incubus. And Sasha was _human_.

"Dean!"

Dean didn't hear Sam at first, not really, he was too busy gaping horrified at how his body was starting to shift, fast as anything and seemingly against his will.

His skin paled to white, his hair that much more golden blonde, his eyes flashing red with slit pupils, black horns spiraling up and slightly back from just past his hairline, fangs in his mouth, black claws sharp and taloned taking over his hands, his feet wobbly as he grew at least four inches from his new raptor height, and then the wings, black and as large as Sasha's shot out of his back, ruining his favorite blue T-shirt. Dean tried to back up, so startled by this new reflection in the mirror, but the largeness of him, and the wings he didn't yet know how to control, crashed into cabinets and the side of the shower, knocking several things to the floor and nearly unbalancing Dean as well.

"Dean, calm down!" cried Sam again, strong arms grabbing Dean about the waist to hold him still, "You'll tear apart the whole bathroom! Now get a grip. You can hold the human glamours. You were doing it a second ago. Just concentrate so you don't destroy anything else." Sam's tone was firm, not joking even though in some ways this was really fucking funny. Hilarious even. Only it _so wasn't_ because how the hell was Dean supposed to stay calm?!

"That bastard!" Dean growled—deep and rumbling and so totally an actual _growl_—straining against Sam's hold not because he didn't understand Sam's logic and that Sam was only trying to help, but because he was so angry, and anger was always easier for Dean to focus on than panic. He couldn't stop looking at his incubus self in the mirror—his _incubus self_—and feeling resentment for it because this was not how it was supposed to happen. "How is this a gift!?" he cried, "How does this change anything!? We're right back where we _fucking_ were before!"

"Dean!" Sam continued to yell, right against the side of Dean's face, only more like into the crook of his shoulder because Dean was just slightly taller than Sam right now, and that almost floored Dean right then because _shit_, it was way too frickin' weird, "Stop thrashing around and being an idiot," Sam demanded, "I don't know what the Trickster means by doing this, but one thing you should pull your _head_ out of your _ass_ long enough to realize is that you are not right back where you were before. You're the incubus now, Dean, and Sasha's the human. Now maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't work too well with Sasha's deal."

Part of Dean wanted to keep thrashing, not because he wanted to hurt Sam or wreck anything else, but because his skin felt practically _alive_ and he just didn't know how to make it settle.

Then the truth of what Sam was saying began to hit him, and even though he still felt strange, so damn strange, he watched as his body began to fade back to human just from him willing it and from his pulse finally steadying. He was the incubus. Sasha was human. The deal Sasha made with Malak said…

"He can't initiate me," Dean spoke aloud, not fully recognizing his new human-looking self any more than he recognized the incubus one with hair that seemed like it was highlighted or something equally humiliating, his eyes glowing green, his scars all smoothed over, and a presence about him that just seemed larger even though now he was back to being shorter than his baby brother.

"But the deal never said _you_ can't initiate _him_," Sam finished what Dean had already realized. It was a messed-up gift, sure, but it was a gift, it had to be a gift, maybe the best gift the Trickster could have possible given Dean.

Dean couldn't explain how he was feeling right then, there just weren't _words_, but as weird as it all was he still felt that lingering sense of 'amazing' and 'good' that he had felt when he first woke up. There were little things that he started to realize, like how he could feel satisfaction and annoyance and worry all coming from Sam at once, his emotions all tangled up but so potent. Dean could feel the way the glamours fit on his body, feel his own pheromones, _his pheromones_, and how they hovered about him.

Much as Dean loved Sasha, he knew he wouldn't have been ready for this had it been presented before him like a choice, but faced with it as fact, something he couldn't change, Dean realized he wasn't as scared as he thought he would be. If they were right, and they had to be, they had to be, then he could initiate Sasha, and they could be together, and no deals would ever be able to stand in their way again.

Sam's hold on Dean shifted to just Sam having his hands on Dean's shoulders, supportive, grounding. Dean remembered how the twins, Epica and Attoinette, had said they couldn't actually sense anything from Sam other than normal human guy, but Dean had always gotten the impression that Sasha could sense more. Maybe it was because Sam and Sasha were so close. That would make sense, because Dean loved Sammy more than anything—maybe not more than he loved Sasha, but still—and right now he could see, literally _see_ the power that emanated from his brother in waves.

There was nothing dark or evil about it, but Dean didn't think he could put that into words either.

Sam blushed and pulled his hands from Dean's shoulders, like maybe he had suddenly realized just how much of him Dean was seeing. "Guess it…really is like you and Sasha switched bodies even though you look like yourselves," he said softly, a vast contrast to how he had been scolding and yelling at Dean moments before, "We've had a…connection for…well we've always had one to some extent, but…it's been stronger ever since the cave in Colorado. We figured you kind of knew that, and didn't want to embellish on it in case you got any…wrong ideas," Sam shrugged and made a face, like even the mere thought of that gave him squicky feelings.

Like Dean would ever worry about that. The incident with Meg should prove that he couldn't even fathom Sam and Sasha getting it on; he'd known an imposter was involved the minute he'd walked in on them. Besides, Dean could feel his brother's emotions now. He felt a lot of love for Sasha, a lot of love for him too, but it wasn't the type of love that could ever make him worry.

Bucking Sam in the shoulder just seemed like the right thing to do, and Dean laughed when he realized he wasn't quite aware of his own strength coz he totally almost toppled his super-powered baby brother over. Sam chuckled too, helplessly but relieved since Dean had stopped going all DEAN SMASH on the bathroom. Anything else that might have passed between them was interrupted when a groan sounded from back inside the bedroom.

Dean had woken up feeling pretty good, his panic after seeing himself in the mirror not withstanding, but Sasha wasn't going from average to empowered, he was going through the exact opposite. And if Sam's little theory about this being a sort of pseudo body switch was right, Dean hadn't exactly been feeling top of the world lately.

A second groan from Sasha before Sam and Dean could dash back into the bedroom confirmed that Sasha was not waking up tip-top either.

"Sasha," Dean crawled right back onto the bed where he had been lying before, Sam going around to the other side to stand vigil there, "Baby, wake up. It's okay, you're okay." Dean stroked his fingers through Sasha's hair, his still silky but dark, Black Irish hair, and grinned to himself at how much more Sasha looked like his father this way.

The incubus—no, the _human_, the normal human hunter—blinked several times, his brow furrowed and his breathing shallow as he came to, before looking right at Dean. Despite his obvious fatigue, an echo of what Dean had been feeling lately as a human, Sasha smiled. "Hey. What…what happened? I feel like roadkill," he grimaced.

Dean laughed at that, not ceasing the movement of his fingers through Sasha's hair. He was feeling sort of giddy right now, not thinking about consequences or about all the different ways he didn't understand what was happening. He was buzzed, feeling so many emotions from other people filling his senses, as well as the varying emotions that had been swirling inside of himself—panic, anger, relief, joy.

"Dean…?" Sasha questioned, looking at Dean more closely and trying to sit up. Realization was hitting Sasha sooner than it had struck Dean, the beautiful _human's_ bright blue eyes still enough to weaken Dean in the knees even if they didn't glow quite the same way. "You…you're an incubus," Sasha breathed, as amazed as Dean had sounded when he realized Sasha was human. Sasha touched Dean's face, his fingers ghosting around the brilliance of Dean's eyes. Then he frowned. "You _are_, aren't you?" he said like he wasn't so sure anymore, "You have to be, but…I can't _feel_ it."

Dean only hoped that Sasha wouldn't react as poorly as he had at first. "Yeah, uhh…the Trickster has some crazy sense a humor, I guess. He switched us." No point in beating around the bush.

"You mean…_I'm_…" the hand Sasha had on Dean's face moved back to touch Sasha's own, like maybe he would actually be able to feel that he was human just by touching his cheek. Sasha went a little cross-eyed then looking up at the strands of hair falling into his face. He had to see that his hair was dark now.

"Still beautiful," Dean grinned, unable to not touch Sasha as his hands smoothed back Sasha's hair once again and then kept hold of his face. Dean had the most unbelievable urge to kiss Sasha suddenly but was trying valiantly to remember that Sam was still in the room.

The gears were working inside Sasha's head, his brow back to furrowed, thinking over what Dean had just told him and what it all meant. Then the truth clicked, quicker than it had for Dean, Sasha's eyes going wide as his brow smoothed and his lips stretched into a smile again. "Then…that means…" he couldn't form whole sentences right now, but Dean knew how to finish it.

"Yeah," Dean said, "It means I get to have you forever. Gotta love a loophole." Then he was grinning so madly, and Sasha was too, and damn it, Dean had to kiss him now; Sam would understand. Only as soon as Dean's lips were on Sasha's there was something like a rush between them and Sasha's hands suddenly gripped hard—though not as hard as Dean was used to—onto his wrists.

"Ph-pheromones," Sasha's lips trembled against Dean's, "Too…_wow_…too strong. Weird…feeling them on this end." He was grinning like he was in the most wonderful daze, trying to get back to their kiss even though he had been the one conscientious enough to push Dean away.

Dean held Sasha in front of him and tried to reel himself back in, tried to focus on how he could feel the pheromones around him, and maybe if he focused hard enough he could keep them in check. "Sorry. It's just…I don't really know how to deal with all this stuff. How do you do it? I'm—" Dean's eyes suddenly went wide, "I'm not gonna snap and frenzy or anything am I?"

Sasha cringed, and Dean realized he had moved his hands to Sasha's biceps and was probably squeezing too tightly.

"Sorry, sorry…" He let go and sat back a little. That was when he caught sight of Sam again, still on the other side of the bed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and this amused little smirk on his face. "Oh shut up," Dean scowled, "Like you were so fine and dandy when you first got your powers." It wasn't a low blow; it was perfectly legal brother ammunition.

Sam even took it just like he was supposed to and merely rolled his eyes. "Hey, I think this is great," he said, "To an extent. But even though it seems like it all makes sense right now, I gotta wonder what the catch is."

"Well…" Sasha scooted up more so he could lean back against the headboard, looking a little clearer without Dean saturating him with pheromones, "I feel like _shit_, if that's a good enough consequence," he grinned crookedly, "And it's not like Dean can change me right this second. Even if the circumstances are different, he's still basically an initiated incubus, an adult right off the bat. Meaning no, Dean, you're not gonna frenzy," he grabbed one of Dean's hands and squeezed it, "You should feel freshly fed, strong. The problem is you need to be trained how to control all your abilities, even trained how to feed, and…I can't do it like this. I could just _tell_ you, but…it's not the same thing. We're gonna need help."

The black-haired young man before Dean looked so fragile and tired. Dean wasn't used to seeing Sasha like this. Well, unless he was close to _dying_. But since Dean knew Sasha was fine and merely feeling human right now, he focused on the other not so nice thing he had just picked up on. "Wait. You're not saying you need to call in your aunt to sex me up or anything, are you?" Coz that would just be…_wrong_.

The wide smile that broke out on Sasha's face soothed Dean instantly. "No," he said through a chuckle, "You won't have to have sex with anyone to learn, Dean, it's just easier if another incubus or succubus goes over the finer points with you since they can…echo certain things your way. It's sort of hard to explain," he made a face.

As long as the only person Dean had sex with for the rest of his life was Sasha Kelly, and vice versa, Dean was up for anything. "Not too bad a consequence if ya ask me," he said, "Call your aunt then so I don't poison any of my friends with pheromones accidentally, and we'll be good." Dean turned his hand over, the one Sasha had squeezed, so they could lace their fingers together. Dean wanted to kiss Sasha again, envelope him, but he knew it wouldn't be a good idea when he didn't really know his own strength or powers.

"What about how this will affect the war?" Sam asked more seriously, his previous smirk completely gone now, "I really am happy for you guys if this is what you want, but we're not in a position right now to celebrate anything. A demon army is still headed our way, remember?"

"And we'll still fight them," Dean looked to his brother, "Might even have a better chance at winning now. You know, I think the Trickster's cleverer than we give him credit for."

Sasha tilted his head at Dean, his thumb smoothing along the soft skin of Dean's hand, and Dean had to suppress a grin that his skin felt softer than Sasha's right now. "What do you mean, Dean?"

"Well think about it. Why switch us if he knows I'll initiate you anyway? Why not just make me an incubus and leave you be?"

"He wouldn't have been able to do that," Sasha answered right away, something Dean expected, since Sasha had explained it to him not long ago.

Sam looked on curiously, not getting it.

"The Trickster can create something out of nothing, sure, but there are still rules," Sasha clarified for the tall brunette, "He can't just make someone an incubus. Only initiation can do that. Technically, the Trickster could create an autonomous incubus, you know just make one out of thin air, I guess, but he couldn't turn a human into one."

Good, Sasha was catching on. "And since we're on this line of thought," Dean added to the discussion, "Why not leave me alone and just make you human? He could have done that. Human's like…neutral, just a depowering kinda thing, right? I mean, it's not like I care _what_ we are, long as we're together. I'm just saying."

Dean stared into Sasha's blue eyes, sparkling in such a new way now that he was human, and then turned to look at Sam. Neither of them showed signs of recognition, but Dean understood, he knew the true power of this gift.

"It had to be a full switch, because making me an incubus means I'm not human. And if _I'm_ not human," Dean smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, "Then Malak can't possess me."

Those simple words fell upon Sam and Sasha like drops of rain, washing away little by little their doubts and worries as they came to understand just as Dean had what this really meant.

They had discovered that demons could, in fact, possess an incubus, but what Malak needed of Dean meant Dean had to be human and willing. It was the reason, the real reason Malak had been so brutal and upset the night he first revealed himself to them, the night Sasha almost turned Dean so many months ago. Only the cost of Sam's death was enough to make sure Dean wouldn't go through with it then, but Malak wasn't just a stickler for the rules. He needed Dean human, plain and simple.

And now, right now, because a Trickster, a former enemy even, gave them a gift, Dean wasn't human. He didn't have to fulfill any destiny. He could just fight. And live. Just_ live._ That's all he ever wanted.

"I take back every bad thing I ever said about the bastard," Dean laughed in regards to the Trickster. He scooted closer to Sasha, thinking he at least kind of had the pheromones under control, at least enough so he could kiss Sasha's lips once more, if only briefly, "What do you need, baby?" he asked in a hushed voice, "Do you need anything? Hungry, sore, tired? Tell me something I can do for you."

"Dean," Sasha laughed in kind, just as deliriously happy as Dean was. Even Sam in the background shook his head at them, smiling. "I'm not your pregnant wife," Sasha went on, "You don't need to coddle me. This is just…different. It isn't bad. Even feeling a little sore and tired isn't bad. It's actually kind of…peaceful. I'm so used to the throng of everyone's emotions hitting me from all sides, being able to just…_feel_ so much. It's quiet being human." He said that with adoration, with true reverence, and then turned, smiling, and tipped his feet off the bed so he could get up, apparently done letting Dean do his Florence Nightingale impression.

Dean got off the bed after Sasha. "You know, humans usually call that quiet feeling _loneliness_," Dean teased, "Not peaceful. But being like _this_?" he closed his eyes and drank in what he could feel all around him, beneath him, everywhere in the Roadhouse. He couldn't pinpoint where everyone was or what they were doing, but he could _feel_ all of them. Everyone was worried about what had happened with the Trickster, worried about him and Sasha, but Jo and Sarah were sharing some sort of secret emotion of excitement. Maybe the girls had figured out the punch-line too.

A hand on Dean's face alerted him back to where he was, to the joy and love he could feel from Sasha and the support he felt from Sam that, okay, had a little anxiety mixed in with it too, but this was _Sam_ he was talking about. Dean would worry if Sam _didn't_ second guess things. Dean didn't share Sam's anxiety though. It was surreal; he hadn't ever expected to enjoy being an incubus this much.

He pushed his face into Sasha's hand, his eyes opening so he could gaze at that beautiful face. It hadn't lost even the smallest bit of its radiance now that Sasha was human. Part of Dean missed the red hair, but the black was striking too, fitting in a way. Dean couldn't help leaning into Sasha's body to steal another kiss. It was as if every fiber, every cell in his body called to Sasha. He knew, at least in part, that that was because they were still connected, Sasha's human body marked now as Dean's had been marked.

"How do you ever keep your hands off me, feeling like this?" Dean grinned around their lip-lock, keeping it simple, sweet, only fleetingly touching tongues as they kissed, and kissed again.

Sasha laughed a puff of warm air against Dean's mouth. "Me? What about you? Do I really make you feel like this, Dean? So…wonderfully dizzy?"

"Every damn day."

Another laugh and puff of air. "Even with the pheromones settled down I…I feel like my skin's on _fire_," Sasha gasped.

"I can…go," entered Sam's very awkward interruption.

Oops. Dean so totally hadn't forgotten Sam was there. "Sorry, Sammy," he said, looking past Sasha at where his brother was still leaning against the wall, all bemused and blushing like he thought Sasha and Dean were a heartwarming sight and all, but like he also wanted to sprint out of the room and scrub all that sentiment from his brain. Dean could totally relate.

He shook himself to calm down the fluttering in his chest from feeling their connection so differently. It was like the whole rest of the world was just a little dimmer, making Sasha stand out all the more, glorious to him.

_Glorious_. Yeah. Sasha was the glorious one, not Dean.

"Come on, you two," Sam chuckled as he pushed from the wall, "As much as I'd be fine with leaving and locking the door behind me, I think we all know that that wouldn't be such a great idea when Dean's still a freshly made incubus. Besides, we need to fill everyone in, and I'm still not convinced this is completely…good. Something doesn't sit right with me about it," he frowned as he moved for the door.

That bothered Dean, got under his skin really—his softer, unmarred incubus skin. "What's up, Sammy?" Dean called after his brother, detaching from Sasha finally, since they just kept touching each other in small ways like they couldn't stop themselves. It was all so new for both of them, feeling their love and connection and attraction from each other's perspectives. "I thought you said you were happy for us. Thought you agreed this is pretty frickin' awesome, coz, hey, Malak not being able to wear my meatsuit around can't be anything but good, right?"

"It's not that I don't think you deserve this, Dean," Sam said to the door, not turning back to look at Dean, "And part of me wants to believe that you're right, that Malak can't touch you like this and it will all work out in our favor. But then I think of who gave you this gift," he said, glancing back over his shoulder only slightly and looking pensive all ways this side of Sunday, "And I have to wonder. When has the Trickster ever given someone something for free?"

Dean felt a chill cling to the base of his spine and hated it. They had answered that by how this wouldn't be easy, in knowing that it would take them awhile for Dean to even be able to initiate Sasha safely. Hadn't they? Dean really didn't appreciate how quickly he was starting to doubt that.

He pushed it from his mind.

"Don't think too hard about it, Sammy," he mustered a grin, wanting to enjoy how it felt to be strong and sturdy and sure of himself like he only ever felt at his very best when he was human, "You know what they say, quickest way to end a miracle is to ask it why it is or what it wants."

"_Batteries not included_?" Sasha asked humored from behind him.

Dean turned back to Sasha and had to grin wider. "I _love_ you," he said, meaning that in every possible way, coz _damn_, how could he have been so lucky as to have found someone who always got his obscure pop culture references? 1987 Spielberg films about tiny alien space ships was definitely among the obscure.

"Believe me, Dean," came Sam's serious tone again, bringing Dean back to Earth even though he had been way up in the clouds just from looking at Sasha's face, into Sasha's eyes, and seeing all the possibilities of them together, _forever_, standing right in front of him, "I really hope I'm wrong."

-----

As it turned out, Shiarra was still a little indisposed taking care of the young incubus, Adrian, the elder succubus seeming to enjoy having a new charge that needed her undivided attention. Of course as soon as the situation was explained to her she promised to find a way to get back to them as quickly as she possibly could. This meant they would have to call on the sex squad since Sasha insisted Dean needed a 'tutor' right away, there really not being a precedent for someone becoming an incubus the way Dean had. And out of Sasha's five childhood friends, it was obvious who Dean would feel most comfortable calling on.

The twins agreed to hit the road ASAP and would arrive later that day.

Sam suggested they call the others, Cam, Lindsey, and Charis too, since they might be helpful in the coming fight, but Dean didn't want all of them around right away to see him more than likely fumbling horribly at all things sex demon. They would get around to calling the others in later. They had plenty of other people to start recruiting as well.

It was when Sam first led them downstairs to where everyone was waiting that Dean really felt how different he and Sasha were now, at least if the gaping stares were any indication. They had all already seen Sasha and Dean changed when the Trickster snapped his fingers and left them unconscious; what was the big deal?

Of course it was different to see their eyes, Dean figured—his glowing green, Sasha's a slightly duller human blue—as well as their changed presence as they walked, existing as something completely different than they had been an hour ago.

Dean couldn't help noticing how much Jo and Iain stared at _him_ especially, and Dean had to remind himself that pheromones used on people who already had an attraction to him was where the real problems would come from. He had to make sure he wasn't radiating them too liberally. He really didn't know how Sasha managed.

"This doesn't change anything," Dean insisted when they had explained the situation, "We keep recruiting, get as many people here as we can before we'll need them, and when the battle hits, we fight. The only thing that's different is that I have more to fight for now because Malak can't hold anything over me anymore. He doesn't own any part of Sasha or any part of me, not with us like this. Ellen," he turned to the barmaid, "What do you think our odds are of getting the hunters that pass through here to join us?"

Ellen was sitting on a stool for once, letting Jo and Sarah man the bar, not that it needed much manning right now without any outside guests. "That really depends," she said, "There are plenty of hunters that stick to their own path, only hunt what they want to hunt. But just the same, there are more than enough I can think of that'd fight whatever you set in front of 'em. Just gonna have to take it case by case. I think it goes without saying, though, that we should not be letting it slide to any hunters that join us that we got any non-human helpers with us. Dean, that's you now. Sasha eventually again. His aunt, his friends. And some others you mentioned?" she looked to Dean, then to Sasha and Sam as well.

"I know a few…_non-humans _who might help besides my old friends," Sasha nodded, "Just acquaintances, but I trust them to want to be on our side in this. And I'm sure we could call on Ula in Maine. She might know others like herself, and as hard as it may be to believe, even a sweet, mousy shapeshifter's gonna be stronger than the average person."

That almost made Dean laugh, thinking of Ula on the battlefield, but then he often forgot that she was a shapeshifter. Dean briefly thought of calling on some of the regular old humans they knew that had gotten caught up in hunter dealings, even if they weren't hunters themselves—Detective McBain in New York, Detective Ballard in Baltimore—among others, but it just didn't seem right to bring in people like that. This was everyone's war, but only a certain breed of person should have to fight in it.

Of course that thought had to go and remind Dean that even though the danger of the battle ahead wasn't quite as immediate as it was going to get, times were scary, and right now…Sasha was human. That shouldn't detract from his total hunter awesomeness, but there had always been something like a veil about Sasha in Dean's eyes, being an incubus and so much stronger and more resistant to most things that might hurt him.

Now they were reversed, and Dean saw visions of himself being as over-protective of Sasha as he had ever been with young Sammy, especially if they got pulled into a hunt or battle before he could turn Sasha back into an incubus. That so wouldn't be fun.

"So we'll get started on contacts," Sarah nodded, pulling Dean from his thoughts, "I'm sure that'll keep us busy for awhile while you…" she looked over at Dean and tried to hide a smirk, "Get your crash course in being an incubus. Just for the sake of asking," she added, "We're sure this can't backfire on us, right?" Much like Sam, she couldn't help asking the logical question.

Dean looked first to Sasha, like he wanted to apologize on everyone's behalf for anyone who dared think this wasn't something they had earned. This was how they got their happily ever after, Dean knew it, and he wasn't going to let anything spoil that. He let Sasha know that with nothing more than a loving look and the _human_ hunter smiled back at him.

Then Dean looked to Sam and caught that pensive stare, the unease and uncertainty. Dean couldn't just see it, he could feel those emotions too, feel them stronger from Sam than from almost anyone else because of how he connected to Sam specifically. In fact the only other person Dean could feel with such potency was Sasha. Dean understood exactly why that was. Dean Winchester and his two perfect Generals.

"We're good," Dean answered Sarah, eyes trained on Sam as if daring him to counter that, "Unless anyone has a problem with sex demons?" he grinned slyly towards the rest of them. Sasha rolled his eyes but Dean only considered that that much more of a win.

"Hey, this is aces in my book," said Jo, "A way out of you having to make that final decision, knowing for sure Malak can't touch you? Praise be to the Trickster," she winked and held out her hand towards Dean.

He slapped his hand against it, grinning with her, before noticing how her gaze lingered a little too long to be merely friendly. Pheromones, Dean grumbled internally, definitely going to blame that on the pheromones. He looked across the bar at where Iain was sitting on a stool, fidgeting a little more than usual, and grumbled to himself again.

This was going to be a good thing. It was. As soon as Dean got his shit together and stopped filling the room with rampant pheromones, everything would be fine.

Dean made quick work of leaving the bar after that, figuring that some slight seclusion might be necessary to make sure he didn't explode anyone's endorphin levels or some shit. He also was starting to feel a little overwhelmed just being around everyone. He knew Sasha got a little something like a snack just from people's affections, and hey, Dean had a lot of people who loved him, but it was kind of intoxicating feeling it all at once when he wasn't used to it.

He said as much to Sasha when they headed upstairs, planning on making a list of all possible contacts while they waited for the twins to arrive. Sam was with them, hovering about like he didn't dare leave them alone.

"Lessons will help," Sasha smiled at Dean, their arms brushing against each other as they walked up the stairs, "But you'll get used to it. You sort of learn to tune it out most of the time, unless it's something really important or intense. Like white noise."

"Wish _you_ could teach me," Dean flitted his gaze at Sasha sideways, coyly, "Be a lot more…_hands on_ and all."

Sasha glanced away almost shyly, looking too damn adorable for words with a flush of color to his face. Dean wondered if being human made Sasha a little less forceful in the seduction department, but he quickly learned that was a big _Hell no_ when Sasha turned his gaze back to him with the same intense look of need and desire Dean had always associated with Sasha being an incubus.

Now he knew better.

"We'll get there," Sasha said, his fingers suddenly tangling with Dean's and squeezing tight.

"So…I should just get used to being the equivalent of wallpaper for the next few days, is that it?" Sam asked all mock-offended that they were once again acting like they had forgotten he was there, which wasn't that far off really. They were heading for the library to make up their contact list and get cracking, while the others did the same with some of Ellen's contacts and waited for Bobby. Almost reaching the end of the hallway, Sam added, "I know you want to believe this is only a good thing, Dean, but are you really sure it's okay to just go along with this?"

Sasha was between them as they walked, so Dean had to lean forward to really look at his brother. He didn't mind at all that he was holding hands with his boyfriend so publically right now, something he almost never did, and really, that might have bothered him if he wasn't a little drunk on new sensations and knew that Sasha was feeling the same way. "Sammy," Dean said, releasing Sasha's hand only so he could get in front of them both and talk directly, walking backwards as they went, "How could this possibly not be okay?"

With a smile on his face, Dean turned around just in time to walk fully into the library, where he nearly slammed right into _Castiel_ leaning against the back of the sofa.

"Shit, Cas," Dean held up his hands, instinctively taking a step back since otherwise he would have been all in Castiel's space. Then he remembered how Cas flinched when he swore and amended his exclamation. "Sorry, man, you just startled me. Ever think of showing up a little less like Jason Voorhees one of these days?" Dean was still smiling, even if his heart had given a little jump at almost plowing into an angel.

Dean's first thought after getting his bearings back was that Sam hadn't met Cas yet, and he should probably be being a good boy and introducing them. Plus the one time Sasha had met Castiel had been under not so good circumstances, so they deserved a better introduction too. But before Dean could even open his mouth or gesture from Castiel to his companions, Dean began to feel emotions coming from the angel that matched all too well his stern and impassive face.

Maybe it wasn't so much impassive as stunned and even a little _pissed_.

"This was not part of the plan," Castiel said in the voice Dean had so far only heard Cas use with Malak.

Dean swallowed. He was so used to his angel being friendly and accommodating that he felt a little nervous suddenly having some of that wrath of God directed at him. "Hey…not my fault. He's a Trickster. When does he _ever_ follow the plan?" Dean had sort of decided to forget about how the 'blue marbles' might react to this, which may not have been his smartest idea.

Castiel kept his intense blue gaze focused on Dean, even though Sam and Sasha came up to stand on either of Dean's sides. "You are not a fool, Dean. So why are you acting like one? You have to understand why this is disastrous."

Uh, no. No, Dean did not understand why him finally being able to have Sasha in his life without any outside amendments had to be disastrous. "What the hell are you talking about?" he spat right back.

A deep sigh left the angel's lips, his gaze dropping to impress upon Dean that much deeper Castiel's disappointment. "Dean, you think this is a gift? A way around the deal Sasha willingly made to save you? Now is not the time for this. You may think that by escaping humanity you escape Malak's hold on you, and that is true. But it also means that you cannot play your role for our side either. We need you human too, Dean, that is where your destiny lies. You cannot fulfill it as an incubus."

That chill Sam had helped place at the base of Dean's spine was back again. Dean clenched his fists. "You think I'm gonna bow out? I'm not bowing out of anything. I'll still fight. It's what we were about to work on right now."

"Dean," Castiel shook his head, "You do not understand. The side that you fight on is the side that will win, but if you cannot step forward to fulfill your destiny as you were meant to then the outcome becomes uncertain. There will be no guarantees. Our chances for succeeding against Malak will be greatly diminished even without you with him."

"That…that's not fair," spoke up Sasha, hand seeking out Dean's and clinging to his wrist, "We didn't intend for this to happen, but it has now, and…and can't someone else step up and take Dean's place if you need a human?"

The disappointment and, yes, _anger_ that was on Castiel's face shifted to Sasha. "The wheels are already in motion. There is no one else. This must be reversed immediately," he turned back to Dean, standing tall and full of resolve before them like he could reach right out and snatch their gift away.

No chance in _hell_ was Dean giving this up. Not for anything. He stepped forward and tucked Sasha behind him with a swift arm. "No dice, angel-boy," Dean said with a glare, wondering if his indignancy was enough to bring out his red eyes, "I'm not giving this up just coz me being an incubus 'might' effect the outcome of the war. We're still gonna fight, and that's just gonna have to be good enough for your boss up there. You can't take this away from us."

"No. I cannot," Castiel confirmed, some of his sternness giving way to something like pity that made Dean so angry he could scream, "I do not have that power under these circumstances. But the…_Trickster_ does. He could reverse it. If he is honest about being an ally, then he will do just that. You must understand the importance of this, Dean. The importance of _you_."

"The importance of _me_?" Dean scoffed, practically laughing at the very idea, "You really have your wires crossed, pal. I can't get how you could have watched over me my whole life and still think I'm something special. You angels, and gods, and whatever, you think you can toss this into my lap and expect me to pull victory out of my ass just because _you say so_? I'm not the guy. And you wanna know why?" Dean stepped forward again, right in Castiel's face. "Because I'm an incubus."

"_Dean_…" It was Sam, his tone coming across like a stern warning.

Dean whipped back around. "What, Sam? _What_? Don't I get anything for myself? Don't _we_? Why does it always have to be us sacrificing everything that's ever made us happy? If Sasha and I give this up now," he snatched up Sasha's hand again, possessive, "We might never get it back. Malak doesn't get to win in this. _Not in this_. The Trickster meant this as a gift so I wouldn't have to be Malak's bitch, and so I could be happy, happy like you keep telling me I deserve to be, Sam." He looked back over his shoulder at Castiel, whose brow was tightly knit, his face impassive again but unable to hide the last traces of disappointment. "Maybe he did it so I wouldn't have to be Heaven's bitch either."

Those fierce blue eyes narrowed further. "Dean," Castiel said just as warningly as Sam had.

"No. My answer is _no_. No, I won't beg the Trickster to switch us back. No, I won't jump every time you tell me to! If your boss has a problem with that then he can take it up with me himself. You tell Mike and Dave and whoever else that Dean Winchester is gonna fight this war just as he is and we're gonna win. _You hear me_?"

The most Dean knew about angels was that they were not what he expected. Castiel was curious and awkward, but also fierce and formidable when he needed to be. Dean was almost certain by the look in the angel's eyes, even if they were borrowed eyes, that he had managed to break Castiel's heart. "I hear you, Dean," he said solemnly, "Your choices are your own." And without even attempting to talk to Dean further, the air filled with the strange sound of flapping, as if coming from all around them, and Castiel was gone.

"Are you out of your fucking mind!?"

Cue Sam and his dickhead overreactions.

"Dean, you just told off an angel!"

"Way I remember it, you did the same thing way before I ever did," Dean shot back, thinking of how Sam had exploded at Michael when they first met him.

Sam couldn't deny that, even sputtered a little in response to it, but still, he talked on. "Dean, this is different. This is serious. He said that if you're not human, if you're not what you're supposed to be when the war finally erupts then we have that much more chance of losing it. I know you want to be happy, that you want to be with Sasha, I get that, Dean, I do, but—"

"But what?" Dean whirled on Sam again, "But this is bigger than us? But I should think of all the innocent people I'm putting at risk? When have I ever in my whole damn life put _me_ first? _When_?" Dean felt angry tears filling up his eyes, felt his face growing hot as blood rushed to it, and was almost positive that his eyes were burning red now as he leaned into his brother. "We can still do this. Heaven's not gonna just ditch us. The angels will still fight, and the fae, and all the people we bring here to help us. I am not some frickin' turning point that's gonna make a difference. We can win just as we are," he said more calmly, desperate to believe that. He did, he believed it, he had to. If the option of fusing with Malak was gone for good then Dean really didn't understand what could possibly make him so special as just a human on the good side.

"Dean?" Sasha's voice, small and hesitant, filtered over to them as Sasha slid in against Dean and coiled an arm around his waist, "I hope you're right, I do, I just don't wanna be wrong and have to look back on this one day with regret." His brow looked so wrong wrinkled when the rest of his face was smooth.

Dean let the anger and resentment trickle out of him, focusing instead on the feelings of trust, full and complete _trust_ that he could feel from Sasha, knowing then that he never had to question it again. He turned towards Sasha and held him close. "No regrets, baby. Ever. We can do this," he said assuredly.

When Sasha smiled back at him and let his forehead fall against Dean's, Dean felt renewed confidence flow through him.

Until Sam's angry voice interrupted them again.

"I don't _believe_ you. Either of you," he said, his fists clenched and his expression ferocious when they turned to him, "Maybe we _can_ still win, but if you think you're proving a point…" he trailed and shook his head, "At least when I wanted to prove Malak wrong I was doing it to save _you_, Dean. What did Dad ever do for us living his life just for his own vengeance? What did either of us ever accomplish working on our own? The way you always put everyone before yourself, Dean, it's something I've admired in you. It's the reason I never doubted why they chose you, why you're the one who's supposed to lead. But _this_?" Sam actually looked disgusted, "You hear the truth and you still turn your back. Who does _that_ remind you of?"

Dean was so stunned when Sam turned and walked right back out of the library, it was several moments before he managed to call after him, "Sam, wait! Sam!" but no answer or reappearance followed.

For what might have been minutes Dean just stood there, Sasha still close in his arms, a presence that felt familiar and right even though Dean could feel now that Sasha was human, feel so much so differently. The important things remained though, and he couldn't risk thinking for even one second that he was wrong.

Solrin. Sam had meant to make Dean think of Solrin—_who does that remind you of_—and he succeeded, because Dean couldn't help thinking of anyone _but_ Solrin right then, thinking that as much as Dean believed he never would have chosen Malak, getting to opt out of the choice completely was better. Maybe it would even be enough to make Solrin doubt Malak when he found out that Dean could no longer be on their side.

Shifting his attention back to Sasha, who was being too still and who seemed strangely small for someone Dean still had to look up at in order to meet gazes, Dean saw as well as felt how much Sam's words had shaken the dark-haired man. "Hey," he coaxed gently, moving one hand to Sasha's face, "He's angry, and probably justified in being angry too, I know, but _we're not wrong_. Wanting to believe in this, in _us_, isn't wrong."

"I know that, Dean. Unless…" Sasha frowned deeper, much as his face leaned into Dean's hand. Blue eyes met Dean's, holding his gaze steadily. "Just promise me, Dean, promise me you really want this for us, and because you believe we can win the war regardless. Not because…not because you're too afraid to face the choices you might have had to make." His gaze was sharp, intense as it had ever been when his eyes still glowed. "You _are_ special, and important, and more crucial to this war, I'm sure of it, than you realize. Don't choose me for the wrong reasons." Sasha's arms held onto Dean tighter, keeping their bodies closely met.

Dean didn't once break eye contact as he said, "I promise. I'm choosing this because I know it's right. We deserve this," Dean smiled, pushing the hand on Sasha's face back into his hair again that Dean just loved touching, so black, so strange, so beautiful. Then he pulled Sasha in against him, embracing and enveloping his…_human_ like he had wanted to all day.

His heart ached for how he was evading Sasha with that hug, but he ignored the feeling, allowing himself to feel pleased instead, grateful even that because they had been switched, right now Sasha didn't have the ability to know Dean was lying.

Everything would be better now. Dean was never meant to be anyone's savior.

A giggle from Sasha shook Dean from his thoughts. "What?" he asked, pulling back enough to see Sasha's face again.

Sasha's expression was adorably mirthful, and Dean decided that he liked mirthful far better than distressed. "Dean," Sasha said like he was chiding him, "You're still wearing the shirt you ruined. I can feel the tears from your wings." He accentuated that by fitting his fingers inside those tears in Dean's shirt and stroking Dean's shoulders blades.

Dean shivered a little, feeling not only his own spike of arousal from having Sasha close against him and acting playful, but feeling Sasha's desire growing too. It made Dean feel like every emotion he had was multiplied. "I love this shirt," he countered. He did. It was one of his tried and true favorites.

"It has wing holes now, Dean."

"So?"

"_Dean_," Sasha laughed.

"What? You wanna see my wings?" he offered suddenly, asking with a sultry lilt to his voice that he almost startled himself with when he realized there was a bit of a growl there too.

Sasha's face flushed immediately. He bit his bottom lip as he nodded.

It dawned on Dean that he probably shouldn't have offered this when he didn't really know how to control the changing back and forth part yet. In fact, he wasn't sure even after his misstep earlier that he knew how to pull back the glamours while still protecting his clothing inside of them too.

No time like the present to practice though, he figured. The twins still had awhile before they'd get there.

"Okay," Dean stepped back from Sasha, looking behind and around him to make sure he wouldn't knock anything over when he did this, "Dean, the incubus," he announced with a wink, making Sasha immediately giggle and shake his head. Dean slapped his hands together, took a deep breath, and focused, trying to go as slow as possible.

The weird thing was he could actually…_feel_ it, instinctually almost, which he supposed made sense or Dean wouldn't be able to hold a human glamour at all. Still, it was strange how easy it was now that he was actually trying to do it on purpose. He looked down his body and was pleased to see his shirt fading, bringing forth a white, incubus chest, but with his pendant still displayed coz why would he want to hide that?

Dean looked up, caught Sasha's blue eyes that were just devouring him as he changed. And why not? Dean hadn't gotten much chance to appreciate himself as an incubus yet, displayed in all his glory, but it had to be _hot_. He knew how crazy Sasha in this form made him, after all.

With as much force as he dared, Dean flexed his claws, shifted on his raptor feet, and let his wings shoot out fuller behind him, careful not to hit the floor lamp or the back of the couch. "So?" asked his gruffer, still foreign sounding incubus voice, "Do you approve?" As much as everything felt different being an incubus instead of a human, having the incubus features out felt a million times different than being an incubus glamoured. It felt…freer somehow, like an invisible weight had lifted off Dean's body.

Sasha, still very much devouring Dean with his eyes—Dean, who was _taller_ than him currently—started at Dean's face, up his coiling horns, then back down his body, _slowly_. When his eyes dropped below Dean's beltline, he suddenly choked with laughter. "Dean," he held a hand to his face, "You…forgot something."

Crap. Dean was already pretty sure he knew what Sasha meant when he looked down and saw that not only did he not have his jeans and shorts, which was intentional, but he didn't have that nifty black covering thing either. He also couldn't help gaping a little because…he had the tattoos. Of course he had the tattoos, but he had sort of forgotten about them.

They were pretty plain to him right now though, coiling and black around his hips, down his thighs, and intimately between his legs. The design was like Sasha's but also not, something completely unique to Dean. Narcissistic as it may be for Dean to think so, it was really fucking sexy.

"Right…" Dean thought for a minute, concentrating on how Sasha looked with that incubus speedo thing. In moments Dean had his modesty back, though not by much considering that little covering didn't leave too much to the imagination. Of course Dean had always liked that about Sasha's. He looked up again and saw that Sasha's eyes were still focused very much south of the border. "Hey, my eyes are up here, dude," he grinned fangs. _Fangs_. The mere thought made him have to tongue them.

Suddenly, Sasha was moving across the carpet, though Dean hadn't even noticed when the guy finally looked up. He grabbed Dean around the neck and kissed him hard, with that same intensity Dean knew so well. Dean worried for a moment about kissing with fangs, but it wasn't all that different than when Sasha had them. He felt how they pressed gently against Sasha's lips, felt Sasha shiver in his arms.

Then he wondered, "Hey," gasping out of the kiss, "Am I still radiating pheromones?"

Sasha laughed, thoroughly out of breath and heavy-lidded as he looked _up_ at Dean. "No, Dean. I just want you coz I want you. You've always been unbelievably hot to me. But right now? _Fuck_. You're sex on legs like this."

"Literally," Dean cocked an eyebrow. Sasha laughed again. Then they kissed again. Dean had to be careful how he held Sasha close, having claws now and all, but he managed. Being reversed like this, it was just so _crazy_, but it wasn't bad, not bad at all. "So…you're all naked right?" Dean asked with a sly smirk, "No more tattoos, I mean." He traced his claws along the line of Sasha's jeans.

As if to tease him, Sasha pulled back, lifted his T-shirt and tugged his jeans down a bit. The skin was bare where incubus marking had once been. "All gone. On my back too. Bet the clover's still there though, if you wanna check," he winked.

Now there was the man Dean loved. "Oh I am sure I will," he said, closing the gap between them again. If he wasn't drowning Sasha in pheromones then he saw no problem whatsoever with getting a little frisky making out.

"Hey…_weird_," Sasha said before Dean could capture another kiss, pressing a hand to Dean's chest and staring at the skin over his heart. Dean looked down and while he saw the protection tattoo like he expected, he was surprised to see that Sasha was tracing the lines of a jagged scar Dean had never had. Sasha looked up at him. "Body switch, huh?" he said.

Of course. "I don't mind," Dean replied. He didn't. Not in the slightest.

"I feel bad," Sasha said then, his smile faltering as he continued to absently trace the scar that had once been his, "I shouldn't be this happy when everyone else is…pretty much pissed. Makes me feel like a selfish jackass for wanting this so bad and not giving a shit about the consequences."

Dean understood that perfectly. As gently as he could, he moved his claws to Sasha's shoulders and squeezed. "We deserve this," he said like he had said before, "Maybe I was too hard on Cas. No, I know I was. I get why he was angry. And I get why Sam is too. But they'll get over it. They can be as pissy as they want, but when we stop the apocalypse, both of us as sex demons, _together_, we'll be telling them 'I told you so's' and everything will be fine. Sam was wrong about one thing," he said as he began to will himself human again if only to hold Sasha's face with a gentler hand, "This isn't just for me. I want this for _you_. I want you to be happy, to be able to give you all of me without anything standing in our way."

"Including _you_?" Sasha poked Dean's once again T-shirt clad chest, remembering a time when Dean hadn't been sure he would ever want to become an incubus.

"Including everything," Dean assured him, holding Sasha's face still and feeling Sasha's arms wrap around him, Sasha's fingers slipping inside the T-shirt's slits again from where the wings had wrecked it.

Again they kissed, slow, brand new almost in how the experience was different but still familiar. The feel of Sasha's tongue on his, of those lips tight and moving, their chests closely met and pulses racing so strongly they could both feel each other's heartbeats, it was all Dean ever needed to know that he was right.

He had to be right.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed, breath hot on Dean's mouth, always so hot, "Is it okay if…if even after you're trained and ready to turn me…if I stay human a few more days? You'll learn really fast, in a day or two really, and…I just want a little more time to know what this is like. Is that…okay?" He sounded so hesitant and unsure of himself asking that.

Dean swelled with love for Sasha because of it, this man that would be his incubus again someday, and that was what mattered. He smiled, nuzzling his cheek against Sasha's and keeping them close. "Course it's fine. Long as you want, baby. Might be fun to try out some things while we're still switched anyway, huh? Long as I know we're getting our happily ever after out of this, nothing can spoil it."

"Yeah…" Sasha gasped out gratefully.

And Dean couldn't help thinking again, like he had already so many times, that they deserved this. They did.

_They deserved this._

_tbc..._

A/N: Ta...da? I think I like this part. Sets up alot. And yes, we'll be seeing a lot of familiar faces in the future. This arc will be fairly short but important. Any guesses on what might happen?

If I haven't mentioned that you need to read Dark Angel's Blue Fire's story "Away" which tells Sasha's side of the story while Dean is in Hell, go to my favorites and read that now! Also, I had another late entry into my wincest contest that once again gives a nod to "Incubus" and was quite awesome, so please go check that out. Lots of pics at the website, remember, too.

For something completely different, one of my good friends surprised me last weekend with her reading the first chapter of "Incubus" as a podfic. It's this new fangled thing that's all the rage apparently, and if you want to hear it, you can check it out at audiofic DOT jinjurly DOT com. Not up quite yet but will be. When it is I will also link to it directly from the "Incubus" website. I may dive in and do some podficing myself, but we'll see. The weirdest thing is imagining SPEAKING the sex, but who knows, I might like it. ;-)

Love you guys! Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Crim


	85. Part 2: Lessons

1) I totally was ready to post last night but one of my good friends called me with news of finalizing her divorce, and we really needed to paint the town.

2) For those I haven't mentioned it to, this is what I call the 'false sense of security' arc. ;-)

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Part 2: Lessons

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Disentangling himself from Sasha proved much harder than Dean ever realized it could be. While he knew it would be dangerous to do more than harmlessly kiss, and, okay, mildly and agonizingly grope each other through their clothing, he still didn't want to stop. The new sensations coursing through Dean's veins were intoxicating to say the least. Dean almost didn't feel like himself at all, thoroughly lost in overpowering emotions from _everyone_ that he couldn't be sure which ones were actually his, causing him to shower affections onto Sasha that he didn't realize was somewhat out of character until Sasha finally called him on it.

"_Seriously_," the dark-haired man laughed, pulling his head away from where Dean had been whispering into his ear, their bodies tight and close, "While I can appreciate the occasional lovey-dovey moment, I did not fall in love with a pussy. Wanna try cutting back on the sweet nothings there, Romeo?"

He was teasing Dean, mocking him even, the bastard. "Whatever," Dean pulled back as well, feigning a glare of accusation, "Look who's talking? At least I got the excuse of being new to all this. What about you, Mr. Sap King of the Year? You were an incubus your whole life." Dean was only partially serious of course, but his words had merit. Sasha had always been a tad more emotional than Dean, a bit more like Sammy in that regard actually, and hey, maybe Dean understood why now, since being an incubus was so damn emotionally intuitive that he didn't even have to try.

The one reaction Dean did not expect from his companion was for Sasha to go all forceful lover on him and slam him back against the nearest hard surface, which happened to be the back of the couch. "Whether incubus or human," he said in a low voice, "I'm pretty damn sure I could still take you, Mr. Winchester, so don't push your luck."

That dark tone of voice, the shimmer of danger in Sasha's eyes, it had Dean shivering like he hadn't since he first met Sasha Kelly all those months ago. He couldn't help the crooked grin that twitched on his face. "Really now? And here I thought I was the stronger one by default," he fairly well leered, gripping Sasha's forearms tightly as Sasha pinned him against the sofa.

Superior strength in Dean or not, Sasha didn't seem to care. He smirked, snatched a quick, fierce kiss, dragging his tongue along Dean's lips, and then moved away. "Strength is a relative term, Dean," he said, looking much stronger in general actually, considering he had to still be a little fatigued, "Now get your ass over here so we can make our list of contacts. We still have a job to do, remember, and as much as I'd love to crowd you into some dark corner right now, we're gonna have to hold off on that until you have a little more…" Sasha's eyes swept over Dean's body, "Self-control."

_Damn_.

Dean rolled his head back to catch his breath and keep from darting across the room and tackling Sasha right that second onto the floor. Okay, so Dean's jeans felt a little tight right now, and his head was swimming from about a million different things he couldn't quite grasp, but he was the incubus here, god damn it. He could have sworn that should mean something, and yet Sasha still made his head spin just by walking across the room and sitting on the couch.

Now, the last thing Dean wanted was to a) hurt Sasha accidentally because he couldn't control his abilities, or b) turn into a freakin' _girl_ just because he was a little more in touch with emotions right now. Coz really, that just wasn't Dean.

"Work to do. Right," Dean took a few more breaths to still his pulse, moving slowly to join Sasha on the couch and hoping his almost full hard-on would start to go down, at least a little, "I can definitely keep my head on straight til the twins show me the ropes. Just…try not to be so god damn irresistible," he eyed Sasha playfully, "Or I can't be held responsible for my actions." Dean had always been a sucker for dominant Sasha, and dominant _human_ Sasha was just that much more of a turn-on for some reason.

Blue eyes blinked almost innocently up at Dean from beneath _black_ wisps of bangs as Dean joined Sasha on the couch. "I make no promises," he said.

Dean decided right then to chalk everything up to both of them enjoying the _hell_ out of being switched. It should be scarier, but for whatever reason it just…wasn't. Maybe that was because it was like being in each other's shoes, and both of them loved what usually fit into those shoes. Besides, it was safe like this. They rarely got the chance to enjoy anything 'safe'.

Somehow they managed to make up that list like they had originally planned to do with Sam. It wasn't all that far into the process though that Dean started feeling that nagging gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, an annoyingly strong sense of _guilt_ because he hadn't run after Sam and he knew he should have. Maybe he should be summoning up Castiel right now too to apologize, or at least be trying to reason with both of them. Dean blamed his incompetencies on having been distracted by being an incubus, but now that he was settling, at least enough that he didn't feel quite so buzzed and out of it, he was starting to realize how much of a dick he had been.

Sasha was just being supportive, being on his side because he wanted the same things as Dean. It wasn't that Sasha would blindly follow Dean wherever, it was just that he trusted Dean, trusted Dean like Dean had asked him to trust him. That made Dean feel even more like a dick if his decision ended up being something that ruined this for both of them.

"You mind starting on calling a few of these people while I go check in with the others?" Dean asked when they had a fairly impressive list of potential recruits, "I'm just…feeling a little antsy, you know?"

"You want to talk to Sam," Sasha said, not asking, but wearing that knowing smile of his. Even though Sasha may have lost his inborn ability of emotional intuitiveness, he still had a fairly abundant amount of just good old fashioned human understanding of how Dean's mind worked. "I'm surprised you lasted this long," Sasha chuckled lightly, "Go on," he nudged Dean in the shoulder, "I didn't want to push you about it, but…you should talk to Sam. I'd like to think there's a compromise somewhere in this," he said a little more somberly, "But maybe that's just wishful thinking."

That gnawing, guilty feeling swirled in Dean's gut for a different reason. "I won't believe we're wrong. We can have this and still save the world, I know it. I just need to make Sammy understand, that's all. You got this?" Dean glanced at the list.

Sasha already had his cell phone out. "Better leave yours too. I don't think I have all these numbers," he smiled.

Dean was definitely a much luckier man than he let himself believe most days. He left Sasha with his cell phone and headed downstairs. It had been nearly an hour and no one had come to check on them. Dean didn't need anyone lording over him, or even worse, _mothering_ him, but sometimes it bothered him when the others just left things alone. This was not something Dean was going to cave on.

Time had already been enough to help Dean steady his emotional intake. He could ignore it to some extent now, like Sasha had promised when he said it would come to him more easily, but there was still a dull throng of emotions about the bar when Dean reached it. What made him fill suddenly with dread was that there were very few _pleasant_ emotions inside that throng—only anxiety, worry, and anger.

_Bastard_. Sam had told the others about Cas, no doubt giving the whole thing his own personal spin until he had everyone against Dean. Dean could feel it as well as see it on their faces when he entered the bar. They were gathered at various tables, piling over paper lists as well as having several laptops out, doing their half of the contact gathering. But when Dean entered, all of their eyes flashed to him.

Iain was the only one who still seemed hesitant to pass judgment, his large brown eyes avoiding Dean with great strain. But even Jo, who had seemed on his side, and who he had even fed a few pheromones to—albeit unintentionally—was right with everyone else. It made Dean so mad, his fists clenching tight enough at his sides that he felt the slight manifestation of growing claws cut into his palms.

"Why do I get the feeling I've missed a helluva lot more than just the start of the apocalypse?"

Dean looked past the others to the door where Bobby Singer, arms and shoulders loaded up with various packs, probably filled with weapons and the like, was standing like he had just walked into an Old West saloon. The atmosphere in the bar sure made it seem that way.

"Well then," Bobby said, letting some of his bags fall to the floor as the rest of the eyes in the room turned to him, "Who wants to go first?"

-----

Judging by the way Bobby was staring at Dean with such well-practiced passivity, Dean was fairly certain that the elder hunter was about two seconds from smacking him upside the head. He was also more than fairly certain that his rambling explanation of the past few days had included several details Bobby probably never wanted to hear.

Fearful that Sam would poison Bobby against him like he had the others, Dean had pulled Bobby aside as soon as Bobby finished his initial 'how do you do's' and round of hugs and handshakes. It wasn't that Bobby wouldn't have wanted to be a part of every last inch of the Winchester and Co.'s life as of late, but he had his scrap yard and hunts of his own, and as much as Dean might mourn the loss of a father figure at constant vigil, he understood that.

He was also relieved beyond belief to have Bobby here now.

Except maybe for the being alone with him part after having spilled the beans on _everything_, hoping his words had been without bias so that Bobby could come to his own conclusions. Only the more Dean talked, the more he fumbled and tripped over his words, and realized with a sick sinking feeling that he wasn't nearly as sure of himself in his decision to stay an incubus as he had first thought.

He wanted Bobby to tell him it was okay, that he hadn't made a huge mistake when he basically told Cas to fuck off. Dean didn't expect Bobby to say that, but he knew enough about his own psyche to understand that his blathering idiocy was because he needed someone—someone other than Sasha who was far too understanding and accommodating for his own good sometimes—to see his side, and hey, maybe even back him up. Coz really, that would be nice.

But Dean was done telling Bobby every last intimate detail of the past week, rambling not always so coherently as he did so, and the experienced hunter, Dean's pseudo father figure, was just staring at him, hands clasped hanging loosely between his legs as he leaned forward. They were in the downstairs lounge, where talking alone, even talking alone with _Bobby_ had always seemed the best place to be. The room felt a little closed in to Dean right now though. He really wished Bobby would say something.

About the time Dean was about to crack under the pressure and just shout "Smack me already, I'm a fucking idiot!", Bobby sighed. He sighed long and thoughtful, tonguing his front teeth in a way that made his top lip stick out. Then he said, "Well. I suppose I can't say much against a decision like that, it being the kind you have to make yourself. As long as you're sure about this." Caring, gauging, almost challenging eyes glanced back at Dean, the passivity still very much present.

It made Dean want to scream. Bobby was taking the fucking high road, the very much like Dad, 'you make your own mistakes and I'm not going to push you even though I obviously don't really approve' tactic. _God damn it._

"Dean," Bobby spoke out of the side of his mouth, the way he always did when he wasn't entirely comfortable with what he was about to talk about, "You know how important you and Sam are to me, Sasha too. Hell, I'm not ashamed at all to say that if I had to choose between you boys and the rest of the damn world, I wouldn't be able to make the righteous call, no way. Not many men could. But don't go trying to swindle me, acting like that's why you're doing this. You love that boy then you have every right in the world to want to do everything you can to make it possible for you to have a good life together. But I don't think for a second you're actually dumb enough to be that selfish and foolish about it right now. It ain't fair to Sasha if your motives are different than you're saying. It ain't fair to anyone. Unless I'm wrong, of course," he sat back, "and you really do think you're doing right by everyone, that we can still win and all that." He trailed a little, his eyes narrowing, challenging again.

_God fucking damn it_. Dean could feel his knuckles cracking as his own clasped hands squeezed tighter. "Bobby, you know how much more serious this all is right now. I just told you. I wouldn't put the world at risk unless I honestly believed we could do this without me…" Without_ me. _"Without me being human," Dean finished quickly, "I don't want to give up the one chance Sasha and I might get to be happy."

Damn, Dean was getting good at this lie, probably because there was some truth to it, but not all, not everything, not the truth Bobby was trying to wheedle out of him.

Bobby sighed again, and Dean was almost certain that even though Sasha hadn't been able to tell Dean was avoiding the issue and not being wholly honest with him, Bobby could. Bobby knew. Bobby Singer always fucking _knew_ when it mattered.

"Alright then, Dean," Bobby smiled crookedly, "You know I'm with ya. You always make the right decision in the end, just like your father. Even if I don't like it."

Something about that phrase was familiar—_you always make the right decision in the end_—familiar like maybe Dean had heard Bobby _say_ it to his father, or maybe because so many others kept saying something similar to Dean. It should have been the type of thing he could smile about, modestly shake his head, and take what was obviously meant to be a compliment, much as Bobby had hidden innuendo imbedded in the words. But all it did was piss Dean off.

What did they know—anyone, everyone—that made them think Dean was capable of making the _right_ decision? He never could have done it, made the right decision that for whatever reason was suppose to change everything and make sure they won and came out on the right side of the apocalypse. At least like this he had a better chance, they all did, _without_ Dean at the forefront.

Angry as Dean was, it was a brief, fleeting feeling, because he could read Bobby's emotions enough to know that his good friend was trying to be supportive even though he doubted Dean in more ways than one right now. Sam couldn't even manage that—being supportive. Not that Dean wanted to be mad at Sam. He was actually starting to feel bad about thinking so ill of Sam for getting the others against him. Sam wouldn't have lied, and if all he had said was the truth then they had the right to make up their own minds on how they felt about it.

So everyone was against Dean. So what? Dean just had to convince Sam that his decision was the best for all for them. He was about to excuse himself from Bobby, maybe go right to his brother and try to work this out, maybe even pray to Cas right afterwards too, when Ellen came in with a bemused look on her face.

"I believe we have some more guests here to see you, Dean," she said, arms crossed over her chest congenially, "At least I hope so, coz those girls couldn't possibly be hunters. Though who knows these days," she smirked and walked back out.

Bobby chuckled a little and Dean shook his head. Sounded like the twins alright, and right on time. Dean knew better than to leave them out there alone with everyone unsupervised. Oh, it wasn't that the girls were anything to fear, but they had a tendency to be blatantly honest and open about pretty much everything, and Dean could imagine several scenarios that had him quickly headed back into the bar area.

He discovered things much as he expected, Epica and Attoinette cooing over Sam and Sarah, chatting with Jo too, all of whom they had met in Colorado, and then turning to Iain who had left for Denver by the time the sex squad arrived, so this was all new to him. It showed on his face too, this mad blush when the twins started cooing just as openly over him. Iain might not be straight, but that didn't mean he could handle Eppy and Atty's insane double-bombardment of loose pheromones and ready compliments.

"You know I think the term saucy minx was invented for chicks just like you two," Dean said, grinning wide as he walked into the bar. The atmosphere around the room had completely changed with the twins' arrival, like everyone was breathing a little easier, though maybe that was because they hadn't yet caught their breaths from the blonde whirlwind that had just swept through. Especially Iain, who didn't quite know what to do with a blonde bombshell on either side of him, hovering over the chair he was sitting in, all touchy-feely like they were with everyone.

Epica's eyes drifted to Dean first, growing wide, but Attoinette was the one who squealed, "Oh my _god_," and bounded right over to him like she had her wings out and simply flew across the floor, "Dean!" she said with just as much squeal in her voice, throwing her arms around him and glomping liberally, "You're gorgeous!"

Epica sauntered up less violently, thank goodness, hip cocked when she stopped to get a better look, her eyes appraising Dean slowly. "_Shit_," she said, eyebrows raised, "Can't disagree that you make one fine incubus, Dean."

"We thought there'd be all this, I don't know," Attoinette started rattling off, still with her arms around Dean's neck though she had stopped squeezing the life out of him, "Like maybe there'd be some crazy sign over your head blinking 'not quite right' or something, under the circumstances."

"Not being normally initiated, she means," Epica supplied.

"But _you_," Attoinette shook her head in amazement as she looked at him, "It's crazy! If I didn't know better, I'd think you were born an incubus."

Dean refrained from commenting that several people had told him that long before he ever met a sex demon in real life. "Well," Dean tried to shrug all the glowing attention off, much as it was a nice change, "We figure it's more like an almost body switch kinda thing, so that makes sense. Wait til you see Sasha," he smirked.

"Where is he?" Attoinette jumped right on that subject, finally releasing Dean and glancing wildly about the bar like maybe she just hadn't spotted him yet.

"Upstairs, working on getting some contacts here to help out later," Dean explained with a shrug, like the apocalypse _wasn't_ a dire situation, "End of the world and all that, ya know. Come on, I'll take you up."

He let Attoinette take his arm and gingerly put his hand on Epica's lower back to guide her. He felt a little like his old self again actually, girl on either side of him, though maybe it was because he could feel something from the twins that was so amazingly potent and unique compared to everyone else. It drew him in such a unique way like…like _family_. He could sense their emotions just as keenly as he could sense Sam's.

And of course the twins could sense the emotions from the others in the room all too easily.

As they began to head off that dull hum of dissent started to pick back up again, the worry and resentment in the others, all feeling that Dean was doing the wrong thing. He knew the twins could sense it when it rose up strongly around them because both of them faltered, Epica looking to him, speaking still loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Everything else okay?" she asked, "I mean, I know the apocalypse isn't exactly cause for celebration, but we're not throwing in the towel just yet, I hope." She cast the others a furtive glance.

They were almost to the door. Dean paused as the twins paused, looked back and, naturally, his eyes went immediately to Sam. "You know, why don't you lovely ladies go up without me? Have a couple minutes of alone time. Sasha's right up the stairs, end of the hall, last door on the right. He'll be thrilled to see you."

Dean's real meaning was clear enough. Epica nodded with a tight smile, Attoinette nodding as well and grinning as she grabbed up her sister's arm instead of Dean's, and then they headed off without him towards the stairs. Dean met eyes with Sam again before heading out a different door, one that led to the med room where the hallway was small and mostly separate from other parts of downstairs.

Without having to look behind him, Dean knew his brother was following. Bobby understood, at least enough to let Dean make his own decisions without judging him solely on that—though Bobby still did have a point that Dean wasn't being entirely honest about why he wanted this. But Sam, Sam didn't get it at all, and Dean had to at least get Sam to see his side, even if Sam didn't like it.

Dean thought of going into the med room completely, but chose instead to just lean back against the wall of the hallway, watching his brother as Sam came towards him, his face almost as impassive as Bobby's but still with traces of his patented bitch-face that he just couldn't shake fully.

"Shit, Sammy, I almost think you wanna take a shot at me," Dean said all casual, smiling sideways, though he wasn't feeling casual at all right now really, or much like smiling. He tapped his jaw. "Go ahead. With your strength it'll still hurt as much as always. Hit me for being an idiot. For being a selfish sonuvabitch. That's what you think of me, right?"

Sam just scowled, crossing his arms all petulant like he was nine years old again. "Dean, this isn't something where we can beat the shit out of each other and come out better for it at the end. This is your decision to make. I know that. But I have every right to think it's a piss-poor idea to risk the fate of the world on you finally being the right species for your libido." His words were terse, angry, but also still at least somewhat joking because it was clear to Dean that Sam didn't really think he was being quite that frivolous about all this. Sam still didn't get it though, didn't really understand, and maybe that was what hurt the most.

"Do you honestly think for one second I would make this decision if Cas said me being an incubus would _for certain_ mean losing the war?" Dean pushed from the wall; he wasn't smiling anymore. "Of course I wouldn't. This is a might, Sammy. A maybe. And not even a we might, maybe lose, but that it might, maybe make it harder to win. Hard we can handle. Hard we've been dealing with our whole lives. I'm not bowing out. How many times do I have to say it?"

"But you're not stepping up either, Dean," Sam countered, the few feet between them suddenly feeling much too short a distance, "We can solve the problem of Sasha's deal another way and still make sure you're who the angels need you to be. I don't know why it's so important for you to be human, but it obviously is. You can't just cozy up to Sasha and embrace all your fun new talents like there aren't going to be any consequences. This isn't like you."

Only this was very much _like him_. It was exactly like him, Sam just couldn't see it. Dean was no coward, and he didn't make rash decision that put himself before others either. Rash decisions were Sam's boat. This wasn't even about that. Dean knew better than to think he was anything as special as everyone kept thinking, that him being at the forefront would make some kind of difference. If they weren't relying so much on him then everyone would put more effort into being a team. _That's_ what was going to win this war. Not Dean Winchester.

Even when he was thinking of himself, even when he was afraid he couldn't make the right decisions, Dean was always still thinking of others _first_. But he couldn't explain all that to Sam. Sam believed in him, believed that as a human Dean would have made the right decision where Malak was concerned. Dean had believed that too, so strongly, because he was too afraid to believe anything else. But now, being an incubus, suddenly having an out of even having to make that decision, whatever it might have been, he could stand back and really look at himself.

He would have ruined everything. _Again_.

"I just want the chance to try, Sammy, that's all I'm asking for here," Dean went on, his defensiveness slipping away as he stared into the brown-green eyes that always knew how to weaken him, "I'm not saying I'm certain. How could I be certain? But there's a chance. There's also a chance that we never would have fixed Sasha's deal without this and at best he would have to watch me grow old over the years and _die_ when he'd have to live on for centuries all alone. At least like this we might be able to salvage something from the mistakes we've made. And I know this might be a mistake too," he said as soon as he saw Sam's brow furrowing further and his mouth twisting to speak, "I know that, Sammy. I'm not asking for you to pat me on the back. Just let me try. We still have a chance to win. Please. I'm asking you for _that much_. Please."

The mere utterance of 'please' on Dean's lips, _twice_ even, was enough that Sam immediately faltered, backed off like he was imploding, or at least cowed. "Dean…" he shook his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a sudden headache.

"Let me try, Sammy. If I'm wrong, maybe there's still a chance the Trickster could reverse this before it's too late. I'm pretty sure when the shit hits the fan we'll find out whether or not I'm right real fast. But we have time. I'm gonna try and talk with Cas later too, if he'll even come talk to me again. I'm not trying to be selfish, okay? Yeah, I want this for me, and for Sasha, but I honestly think we can do this without having to…" Dean trailed. He didn't really know what he was going to say. Maybe…

_Without having to rely on him._

Sam was silent for a long time, eyes downcast when he finally opened them again, posture hunched forward, the way he used to all the time when he first shot up in height and didn't know how to be taller than his big brother. Eventually, his eyes drifted up to meet Dean's. "I still think this is a bad idea. But…" he took a breath, nodded, "Of course you deserve the chance to try, Dean. I'm sorry. I guess we all got caught up in all this. Go…start your training or whatever," he grinned a little lopsided, reaching out to push on Dean's shoulder, "We'll get to calling the contacts we've gathered. There should be a good amount of people starting to arrive by tomorrow already. Thing's are gonna get crazy."

For almost a solid minute Dean couldn't stop smiling, even before everything Sam just said caught up to his brain. He almost glomped onto Sam the way Attoinette had thrown herself onto him, but boy would _that_ have been weird and so not like Dean that instead he returned Sam's gesture and gave his brother a good smack in the shoulder. "Thanks, man. Really."

Sam just nodded again, still worried, still hesitant, his emotions in turmoil, but he was beginning to have a little faith in Dean again, enough to at least let him try. If that was mainly because of guilt, well, Dean wasn't about to complain.

He knew this was the right thing. Even Castiel, probably looking down at Dean and scowling that very moment, had to understand that there was no hero in Dean Winchester, he was just another member of the team.

-----

To say that the twins were all over him and Sasha was putting it mildly. Mainly all over _Sasha_, probably because he was their friend, someone they grew up with and knew so well, and now suddenly he was a much more appealing meal choice being human. That would have worried Dean if he didn't know they wouldn't dare try anything without permission.

Permission? Where the hell did that come from? Like that was even something that would be brought up. Dean's mind was definitely being fried by his own pheromones. He did not, in any way, want some crazy hot foursome thingy with his lover's friends that…also happened to be hot succubus _twins_. Definitely not.

Fucking pheromones.

Dean was trying to pay attention to what Epica was telling him while watching Attoinette run her fingers continuously through Sasha's black hair, practically sitting in his lap, no, _actually_ sitting in his lap while they lounged on the sofa. Dean and Epica were standing and Sasha and Attoinette were on the sofa. With Attoinette pawing and petting and…_god damn_ _it,_ why couldn't Dean stop thinking about sex?

"That's because you're near Sasha right now, sweetheart, and since Sasha's your marked mate you're feeling drawn to him and haven't learned to control that yet," Epica answered what Dean had _thought_ was internal monologue. Damn it.

"Is that going to be lesson number one?" Dean returned his attention to the shorter-haired blonde. Epica was wearing another snug, low-cut, cropped tank top, royal blue with tight blue jeans. It was…distracting, Dean found, that little star tattoo he remembered, the blue streak in her hair, how just all around _fuck me_ she looked.

Gah! If Sasha was the cause of all these sex thoughts then he should be thinking about sex with Sasha, not...

Dean shook his head. Swallowed. His eyes went straight to the blue star tattoo again.

"Dean," Epica laughed, "We're already on lesson one, remember? We're practicing wheedling out foreign emotions and pheromones. Pheromones from other sex demons and other creatures can still affect you. You're supposed to be trying to resist what I'm sending you."

"I what now?" Dean blinked up at her. Then, like a splash of cold water, his mind cleared and he immediately felt supremely stupid. "Crap, resisting. Right. Trying to resist the sex signal. Was…totally attempting to do that." Only he had so totally forgotten that they were even doing an exercise.

"Attempting and _failing_," Attoinette giggled from the sofa. And from on top of Sasha.

Dean's feelings of jealousy were definitely his own, even if some of the sex thoughts had been from Epica and her invading pheromones. "I was trying," Dean defended, "I just…sort of lost my focus."

"More like your focus _shifted_," Sasha raised an eyebrow playfully at Dean. He pulled Attoinette a little more fully onto his lap, close against him like it was the most casual thing, only Dean totally knew Sasha was goading him on purpose from the way his blue eyes never once drifted away. They were still up in the library where the twins had found Sasha finishing his calls to his half of the contacts. "Gee, Dean, I can't believe you would so easily be distracted by sexy thoughts about hot blonde twins," he added, dripping sarcasm.

Really, Dean had to respond to that. "Me? Nah, man, I totally wouldn't think about—" Dean cut off mid-sentence, face going blank. Then he let a slow grin spread across his face as he his eyes drifted into space.

"Dean!" Sasha called, half-laughing while the other half of him definitely sounded pissed.

"No worries, baby," Dean let his grin turn goofy, eyes still unfocused, "You're in this fantasy too."

Of course Epica and Attoinette broke into like laughter. Sasha, however, harrumphed at being left out in a way he really couldn't help right now. He was human and apparently he didn't like this joke when he couldn't read how serious they were all being.

"Okay, okay," Dean held up his hands, eyes and mind all focused back on what he was supposed to be doing, an apologetic look thrown Sasha's way, who couldn't help smiling back at him, "Back to the grind. I am resisting your emotional, pheromone cocktail. Ready," he nodded at Epica. And he really, really thought he was until he blinked 'awake' again after another bout of distracted, sexually frustrated thoughts and once again had to admit defeat with Attoinette's giggling echoing in the background.

Thankfully, on the third try Dean was able to stay focused, able to actually feel out what emotions were Epica's, which pheromones were coming from her and which were his own. Once he realized he could recognize that it was much easier to resist. Epica smacked him on the back for a job well done, gave it one more try to make sure Dean truly got it, and then Attoinette gave it a go just to be sure Dean could still manage the same thing with different emotions and pheromones hitting him.

He passed with flying colors.

Dean decided that, despite his initial fumbling, if all his lessons were this easy to get the hang of, he'd be done with his training by the end of the day. Sasha had said it might only take a day or two, and Dean, well, in some ways he was downright _made_ for being an incubus.

Being able to keep human emotions down to a dull backdrop was already coming naturally to Dean, but they experimented a little on that front with Sasha anyway. The only problem was that when Sasha started sending out feelings of desire and want and need and…_fuck_, Dean had a hard time _wanting_ to block that.

Later, when Epica and Attoinette first brought Dean downstairs to the back room where Ellen had set up an area for sparring, working out, and even a little weightlifting for the more hardcore hunter, Dean had thought the succubae were joking. Then Attoinette stepped up to be his sparring partner and Dean was sure of it.

He had super-strength now and still had all of his skills. He would wipe the floor with this little blonde thing in front of him. He couldn't do that when Epica, Sasha, and Sammy and the girls were all watching. Thankfully, Ellen and Bobby were busy working on the last of the contacts, ones they knew would be much harder to convince.

"Listen, maybe this isn't the best idea…" Dean began, hanging back, remembering his fight with Sasha long ago and how he had actually held his own fairly well even for a human.

"Dean," Attoinette said like a chiding mother, even though something in the way she spoke always reminded Dean of a little sister, one who never shut up, "Controlling your strength and reflexes is harder than you think when you go from Bruce Banner to the Hulk overnight. You need to practice holding back as well as how to really let yourself go. I can take it," she said with a haughty toss of her hair. It was pulled back into a pony-tail, the little sweater cardigan she had been wearing discarded to leave only a violet spaghetti-strap tank top, her skirt lost for magenta sweats, no shoes. Dean had changed as well but that didn't mean he thought this was a good idea.

"I'm just saying," Dean said offhandedly, trying not to give away that he felt uncomfortable fighting someone who looked like a five and a half foot Barbie doll, "Maybe it would be better if I sparred with Sam and you just…coached from the sidelines."

Sasha was chuckling against the wall, whispering something to Jo and Sarah that had them both snickering too. As much as Dean was glad to see everyone a little less townsfolk with pitchforks over their Dean the incubus development, he was not thrilled to become a new topic for ridicule instead.

Attoinette was huffing at him, delicate hands planted on her hips.

"Dean, we wouldn't be here if we could just phone in your training," she said. Then her momentary seriousness broke as she smiled. "Well, we totally would have come anyway, who am I kidding. But _still_. I'm not some fragile little flower, you know. We'll work on holding back first if fighting a girl makes you nervous." She got herself into a defensive stance, batting her eyes at him prettily. "Come on. Sparring shouldn't need instructions, right?" she winked.

Ah _hell_. How was Dean supposed to fight someone winking at him? Granted, Sasha was usually pretty good at distracting Dean with that tactic, but this was different.

Dean struggled to remind himself that Attoinette was not your average girl by any stretch, even if she did like pink to an excessive degree and acted a bit like a Valley Girl. She was a succubus. Sex demons were tough as nails. Besides, Dean was supposed to be trying to hold back at first so he could learn not to accidentally dislocate his friends' shoulders when he smacked them on the back.

Shifting into his own defensive stance, Dean decided to just treat this like any other sparring match, at least ones he would usually hold back a little in, like when he was younger and was first teaching a very petite little Sammy.

Taking the first shot, he swung slowly for Attoinette's head and she blocked it easily, raising her eyebrows at him. "Okay, seriously, the trick is to get to a point where you can effortlessly make your strength look normal and human. You're not acting normal. Unless, of course, you're usually this much of a sissy," she taunted him.

_Brat_. Dean swung a kick at her legs, aimed right for the knees, but she jumped easily to avoid it. Little miss Barbie doll, Valley Girl was surprisingly fast.

"Better," Attoinette grinned at him, "Fight like you normally would, Dean, and I'll tell you how to adjust. It isn't like pulling your punches, okay, this is all mental, emotional stuff."

Dean tried really hard not to snicker at how his _sensei_ should be on the cast of Gossip Girl not Karate Kid 4. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, circling her. Fight like he normally would. He could do that.

Faking left and then moving fast into Attoinette's body, Dean aimed another easy punch for her head that he knew she would block, and then slammed his other fist up into her stomach while she was distracted. Or at least that was the plan, which worked until he remembered that her reflexes were damn fast and she had managed to block both punches, no problem.

"Fuck," Dean cursed as he realized they were too close right now, grappling, and she had the upper hand. Before Dean could move away, Attoinette punched him in the side with her free arm and then kicked out at his thighs to knock him back. Dean nearly tumbled to the floor, the wind mostly knocked out of him since she had aimed squarely at his ribs with the initial punch.

Attoinette beamed sweetly at him. "That's more like it. But remember, my hits could have hurt a lot more than I let them. Keep at it so we can find a balance. No time for breathers here, sweetheart," she winked again.

Okay, Dean was done playing games. He had obviously underestimated this chick, something he wouldn't make the mistake of doing again.

He nodded, catching his breath, making her think he just needed a second before he could go again, and then he plowed forward, right into her so that they tumbled to the floor. Unfortunately, Attoinette was ready for this, immediately rolling over backwards using _his_ momentum against him, and successfully tossing Dean right back off of her again.

Dean was wise to her game now; she never stopped moving, not even when she blocked or countered. He followed her lead on that, and rolling around to better face her, Dean swung out with his legs just as she was about to get up, knocking her right back onto her ass.

That's when Dean felt it. It wasn't like normal emotions, not like what he was used to feeling from everyone. It was more like some sort of constant signal, a pulse, Attoinette's general energy, he thought, something that emanated off of her to show how tired she was and how much more she could take. It was strange, almost like he could sense exactly how brutal he could be with her without actually hurting her too badly.

"You're synching up," Attoinette smiled, Dean having paused as those new sensations struck him, "Good. That's the key to doing a fair fight, and to fighting dirty." She licked her lips. Dean was only half sitting up, still vulnerable. Suddenly, Attoinette rolled over onto him, and then like before, using the momentum to better propel Dean, she rolled right back the other way and tossed him aside.

Dean cringed as his shoulder slammed into the floor. This chick was hardcore.

That was about the time Sasha was leaning down towards him, sharing the secret finally that he had been explaining to Sarah and Jo.

"Sorry I didn't tell you, Dean, but…Atty's the best fighter in the bunch. Won sparring competitions in school every year. Kicked all our asses. Even with all I know now, I'd still worry if I ever had to fight her again," Sasha said with a wide, totally _unapologetic_ grin.

Well that was just wonderful. But Dean wasn't about to be deterred. It just meant he obviously had the best teacher. It also meant he didn't have to hold back. He just needed to synch up and the fight would be fair, his power evening out to not go insanely above hers. No problem. He could still do damage that way.

Smirking up at Sasha, Dean jumped back to his feet, seeing that Attoinette was already waiting for him. Dean understood the game now, so he didn't waste any time. He charged her, but this time instead of plowing her over, he stopped short and punched towards her midsection. She countered but wasn't prepared for his knee to follow so quickly afterwards. He hit her in the stomach and she stumbled back, winded, but not badly hurt.

Dean was surprised how quickly he could feel what she was trying to get across to him. This whole synching up thing meant he could fight on whatever strength level the person he was facing had, if he wanted to be fair anyway. It made him wonder if Sasha had synched with him that way the day they sparred, which he probably had, but then Sasha had been so pissed at him in that workout room when they fought their way to establishing their relationship that he hadn't thought he could hold back enough to avoid hurting Dean. It was also probably harder to maintain a balance with a human than it was with another sex demon, but Dean was fairly certain he got the gist.

"Holding back is easy enough," Attoinette gasped, grinning even though he had gotten in a good hit, "Long as you keep your cool and take the time to feel out who you're fighting. Getting the hang of that means the general stuff will come easy, like shaking someone's hand without crushing it," she licked her lips again, "But now you can feel what it's really about. Without that you might not have known where to begin."

"You fishing for a thank you?" Dean snarked, circling her since he knew she wasn't nearly as winded as she was feigning.

Attoinette wiped her brow, stood up straight again. "Nope. Just letting you know you should try going all out now, Mr. Winchester. If ya can," she said coyly. She paused, eyeing him in a way that had Dean immediately on guard, which was good because about two seconds later she was right in his face, having moved so fast Dean barely caught anything but a blur.

She was giving him a chance at first to catch up, he could tell merely from the fact that he was able to block her hits, but they were coming so fast he was going to have to really step up if he wanted to stay in the game. So he did—stepped up, sped up—matching each hit and not even thinking about synching, just letting that feeling fall away so he only felt himself, strong and fierce and skilled.

When he swung up with a roundhouse towards Attoinette's head, she blocked, but as soon as she whirled back around to punch him as he steadied again, Dean was ready to block _her_ just as adeptly. They were moving so fast, both of them, that Dean knew most of what was happening was purely on instinct, and he was certain that that was what his succubus tutor was trying to bring out in him—his incubus _instincts_.

"Okay, boyo…now…see if you can control yourself again," Attoinette huffed, pulling back to avoid Dean's right hook and then slamming a knee into Dean's side that almost unbalanced him, but only until he leapt up and was aiming another kick at her head.

Switch back, she had said. Right.

Without slowly down or risking that she would get in a good enough hit to take him down, Dean tried to feel her out again, to find that synch that kept his strength and reflexes a little more in check, more _human_, feeling almost immediately how Attoinette was doing the same.

Their movement slowed in unison, their hits more precise but with less brutal power behind them, until finally Dean saw an opening and slammed an open palm into her solar plexus, sending her flying back towards the wall. Luckily, it was not one of the walls with onlookers lounging against it.

For a second, Dean feared he had still been too suped-up when he struck her, not yet synched enough, and that he had hurt the succubus unintentionally. But after not more than two steps forward in a rush to reach her, Dean began to hear Attoinette's giggles bubbling up from beneath her as she pushed up onto her knees.

"Go, _Dean_," she said as she sat up, hair tussled and falling into her face, brow sweaty and chest heaving, and yet still she was smiling, "You rock, honey. That was perfect. Still got a good hit in, but with just enough holding back to totally own those abilities. Told ya, gorgeous," she winked, "You were _made_ for this." Accepting the assistance Dean offered in helping her up, there was a firm smack of skin on skin as they gripped each other's forearms and pulled.

Dean hoisted Attoinette to her feet, grinning as wide as she was. He had nearly forgotten they had an audience until the others came crowding in around them.

Jo started right in to Attoinette about how the succubus totally needed to show her and Sarah some moves, coz she was 'bad_ass_'. Dean couldn't agree more, enjoying the bemused smile on Sam's face that was much better than all-out disapproval, and enjoying even more the way Sasha slid a hand inside his sweaty T-shirt to paw at Dean's abs as he stole a quick kiss.

Alive and in control, something Dean had been the opposite of at several points in his life, Dean was starting to feel confident again in his decision. He would get to apologizing to Castiel, soon as he was done training, and by the end of it all everyone would know this was for the best.

He was certain of it.

-----

Dean really needed to keep his mouth shut—or _mind_, whatever—before thinking that everything was for the best when he didn't yet have all the facts. While he thought his wings were cool, he had sort of forgotten about the _using them_ part of being an incubus.

"Dean, you have to learn to fly. You have wings for a reason," Epica was scolding him with a hand on her hip, much like her sister. Attoinette may be the ace fighter, but the more punk of the twins had an abundance of 'I _will_ fuck you up if you mess with me' countenance, "What's the big deal anyway? We're not all that high."

Ha frickin' _ha_. Not all that high? They were on the roof of the Roadhouse! And not that safer little patch outside Sammy's window either, no, but up on top of the higher area of roof over the attic that was really _freakin'_ _high_ to Dean Winchester. Three stories was more than enough for him to break limbs or crack his head open, thank you very much, not to mention that being an incubus did not suddenly null and void his fear of heights.

"Don't think I won't play momma bird and throw you off the building," Epica warned.

"Ah, come on," Dean whined—yes _whined_, because he had every right to in this situation as far as he was concerned, "Working on the emotional stuff, and the controlling my strength, and even all the sensing crap so I can pick out certain monsters and know what types of passing affection and whatever other crap I can feed off of, all great, really. But we already agreed we're skipping the whole hearthing thing coz going to the other plane would be a bust right now anyway, so can't we just—"

"We are not skipping flying," Epica said sternly.

"It's so totally the best part, Dean," Attoinette chimed in, "What's there to be scared of?"

Uh, falling to his death?

No, _worse_, breaking several bones at once, which he never really enjoyed when it was just one, even if being an incubus means he would heal quickly. For all he knew he could land on his head and come out a vegetable. He wasn't a baby bird!

The other lessons hadn't been that bad, some had even been fun, and the group had all been able to sit down to dinner together without lingering awkwardness over Dean's decision—though he knew he hadn't actually won everyone over—knowing that the first of many new arrivals to add to their army would be coming tomorrow. Dean should be feeling great, all things considered.

But it was getting late now, really late, and he hadn't so much as flapped his way more than a few inches up off the roof before coming back down on shaking feet—_claws_, whatever. And the twins and Sasha were getting irritated, he could see it.

The others had all watched in the beginning too, but even Sam had gone in to call it a night after awhile, the joke of the occasion lost since Dean wasn't really doing anything. The twins, on the other hand, had sworn they wouldn't let Dean go to sleep until he had left the roof completely at least once by the power of his wings.

This sucked so hard.

"Dean, it's okay, we're just asking you to try and fly straight up a few feet. The only place you'd land is back on the roof. You only have to fly off away from the building if you're ready." Sasha's voice was the only one still sounding patient, though Dean could feel that his caring boyfriend was about two seconds away from screaming.

Dean wanted to do this for Sasha, but letting incubus Sasha whisk him away every now and then was not the same as controlling it himself. And yes, he knew that the being in control part should make this easier, it was just the getting to the point of realizing that that was difficult. It meant he had to actually…take off. The twins had flown Sasha up to this part of the roof while Dean had sort of _climbed_ without looking down.

"_Dean_," Sasha said with slightly more aggravation.

"Okay, I can…I can do this," Dean shifted his weight from raptor foot to raptor foot. He was not a pussy or a sissy or any of those other words his so called friends had tossed around today. It was late, and he was making everyone frustrated. He just had to—

"That's it," Epica said, her voice bored sounding but her hand firm on his back as she gave a good push, "Times up, pretty boy."

_Damn it!_ Déjà vu of way too many times Dean had begun a descent from a frighteningly high height washed over him, heights that could have very well killed him if he had landed just so, and sometimes might have killed him simply because he landed at all. In the past there had always been someone or something to catch him, make him not go splat all over the ground below, but Dean had the worst sinking feeling as he left his stomach back up on the roof that the twins would not be soaring down to his rescue; they wanted him to do this on his own.

Why the _hell_ did everyone have so much faith in him?

Dean was plummeting at an awkward angle towards the ground, seconds away from just closing his eyes tight and accepting the broken limbs he would probably suffer—and also promising to himself that he would filet Epica and maybe her sister too, just out of spite, for dinner tomorrow—when he caught a gust of wind. He was in his new incubus form, after all, claws and fangs and wings and all, and since his wings were open in preparation for flight anyway, they caught the wind and lifted him like a glider.

Since Dean wasn't really controlling himself well, the glider effect didn't help his falling so much as slow it down and propel him further away from the Roadhouse, but it gave him the motivation and opportunity to actually _flap_. Dean was immediately amazed how much one simple movement of his wings was enough to soar him back up several yards, the wind only aiding in keeping him airborne.

"Dean!" called Sasha's voice from the roof that seemed so far away now, "Don't stop! You're doing it! Just keep flapping!"

Easy for the ex-incubus to say; Dean was a little preoccupied staring at the ground. He told himself not to look, to keep his eyes up, or at least level, and gave his wings another flap. He had started to sink, the current of the air only enough to let him hover a little before he started falling again without added momentum. Flapping seemed to do the trick though—Dean wasn't stupid; he knew it would, he just didn't particularly like the free-falling feeling currently filling up his belly.

He flapped again, not having any direction, his heart in his throat as it wildly beat, his body feeling so hot even though it was night and dark and supposed to be chilly. Where was he? He could see surprisingly well in the dark, an incubus trick he knew came naturally, but all he could see were trees scattered about and the land below that was still a little too close. Or was it not close enough? Dean wasn't so sure anymore.

He could hear Sasha calling to him, Epica and Attoinette cheering loudly. They were definitely behind him. He had no idea if he could land safely so he knew he had to get back to the Roadhouse. Flapping again and feeling surprisingly safer as the ground got further away, Dean felt out the current of the wind and tried to turn with it, to let that whole gliding thing steer him in the direction he wanted to go. It wasn't easy at first. He over-compensated, like a lot of kids did when they first grabbed the steering wheel of a car, and ended up almost doing a 360. Then he tried again, adjusting how much he moved, and saw the Roadhouse take shape in front of him like a god damn holy beacon straight from Dave above. He was a lot farther away than he had thought, and _a lot _higher.

_Fuck_.

"Dean, stop thinking about it and fly already!" called Epica.

"You look awesome!" Attoinette chimed in.

Sasha was waving his arm in the air as if that movement was necessary in order for Dean to see him. All Dean needed to do was flap in that direction, feel out the wind and let it help guide him, and hopefully not suddenly crash headfirst into the ground. He could totally do this. And that's what was so weird as he began his trek—his wings flapping like he wanted, the air beneath him helpful instead of hindering.

_He could do this_.

He _was_ doing this, each flap bringing him higher and closer to the Roadhouse. It was weird how he didn't have to really think all that hard about it after awhile, his wings being a natural part of him that just knew what to do, like walking. The weirdest part was that the closer he got to the Roadhouse and the faster he went with the wind wiping around him, the less he was afraid.

Now that he was actually doing this, he knew he wouldn't fall, knew it was next to impossible unless a damn missile shot him out of the sky, and he wasn't quite so paranoid as to think _that_ would happen. His skin, he had so much more of it with the wings and the extra largeness to him, felt exhilarated by this, not cold or numbed. He almost couldn't believe it but…he was actually kind of enjoying this.

As he neared the Roadhouse, high enough to fly right over his companions if he chose, Dean got a wicked idea. Oh, he would have to make Epica pay for that little 'mother bird' stunt at some point, though he couldn't deny that it had worked. Right now, however, his target was different. This was all coming so easily once he let himself try, just like Sasha had said, and really, Dean should be sharing that with his lover.

He let the wind carry him up above the others' heads and then dove right for Sasha, hooking him under the arms and carrying him off the roof. Payback time. Dean so hadn't forgotten the prank wars in the Roadhouse when he had awoken to cold winter air _naked _fifty feet above the ground.

"Dean!" Sasha cried, startled at suddenly being airborne, "I thought you were scared!"

"_Someone_ sure sounds scared," Dean chuckled into Sasha's neck as he pulled him in close. It was ridiculous how light Sasha felt in Dean's arms, how easy it was to hold and carry him, even while flying. Dean thought at that moment that he finally understood why Sasha wanted this of him so often. He had never before been so sure that nothing could hurt Sasha as long as he held on tight.

"Dean!" Sasha still sounded frantic, clinging tight to Dean and still yelling even though Dean's now slightly pointed ear was right there, thank you, "I-I…don't have wings! What if I fall?!"

The tremor in Sasha's voice had Dean glowing. He held Sasha tighter, watching where he was going over the dark-haired man's shoulder as he merely circled the Roadhouse roof, seeing the twins below still cheering him on. "Come on, man, you trust me, right? I know it's weird for you since you've always had wings, but you know I'd never drop you. I got you." He squeezed Sasha for good measure, kissed the side of his hair.

Soon, even though Sasha was still flooding Dean's senses with fear, he began to relax, to let the trust he had in Dean convince him that he wasn't going to fall. For Dean, he had just always had a fear of heights and flying, but for Sasha to suddenly have his wings clipped, more or less, when he had had them practically all of his life, had to be scarier. Dean understood that but he still enjoyed every minute of flying with Sasha when _he_ was the one with wings.

Dean landed on the ground in front of the Roadhouse doors, a little wobbly but gentle enough that he and Sasha both held their footing. It was about time they went back inside anyway.

The twins dropped down beside them, in their true forms too since they had leapt from the roof. They were even more beautiful that way, Attoinette's hair fuller and golden, Epica's wild with blue streaks throughout instead of just the one, making Dean wonder if she had been born with it. Both of them had dark rose-colored markings, truly epitomizing the fae side of being a succubus, like nymphs. Dean couldn't help enjoying the way their little bikini covering things, echoing his incubus speedo, looked more like lace woven around their bodies.

"Ooo, Dean, we're so proud!" Attoinette squealed, practically mauling him as soon as he let Sasha go.

"Not too bad. Knew you just needed a…push," Epica grinned.

Dean laughed around Attoinette's hug, letting himself form back into human, which Attoinette joined him in as she pulled away. Epica followed then too and suddenly it could have been like they were any group of young men and women standing about, not an incubus, two succubae, and one human who wouldn't' be human for long.

A few days more, Dean reminded himself. Sasha wanted to experience being human, something Dean more than understood. Dean could survive a few days with them still being separate species, since he had, after all, done that for months already.

"You're so getting paid back for chucking me off," Dean pointed accusingly at Epica, "But I guess I can't complain with the results. That was actually…halfway awesome."

Attoinette giggled happily, Epica smiled, clearly proud of herself and not at all worried about repercussions, and Sasha merely leaned into Dean, them being pretty damn near impossible to separate whenever they were close enough to touch. Dean was so ready to call it a night.

"Bed time, kiddies," he said, his eyes locked on Sasha's still wide-eyed but smiling face, "Let's hit the hay, huh? You got your rooms all settled, right?" he looked to the twins. They nodded and all of them turned to head inside. The Roadhouse was dark and empty-looking, it having grown late throughout Dean's failed attempts, meaning everyone else was probably asleep.

"You two better keep your hands off each other til we've gotten through some feeding lessons," Epica warned them, her voice hushed as they walked through the dark bar.

Dean knew that, but even the thought of just sleeping right now, Sasha beside him, had a nice ring to it. He was wiped. "I'll behave if he does," he bucked Sasha with his shoulder, "How exactly…_are_ you gonna teach me the feeding thing? I can already kind of, ya know…feel certain things, I just gotta learn how to not take too much, right?"

"Well, there are several ways we can walk you through it," Epica began, only to be interrupted as her sister suddenly grabbed her arm.

"And I know just the one," Attoinette bit her lip, her gaze devious as she glanced up the stairs, "You feel that? Nice and…_familiar_. No better way really to give Dean a taste, doncha think?" She winked and started skittering up the steps ahead of them.

Epica's smile was quickly becoming as devious as her sister's, but Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out what Attoinette had been talking about. What could she possibly be feeling from upstairs that would help Dean—

It hit him like a pistol whip to the face. _Sex_. Pure and simple, just…_sex_. His senses hadn't been used to picking up on it, or maybe he was just too distracted and tired at first, but now, after just a few steps up the stairs, _shit_, suddenly Dean could feel it like he was experiencing the real thing himself.

It was like what Sasha called 'hotel runs', something he hadn't had to do in a very long time, the trail of sexual energy being given off by an autonomous couple, heady and strong. Someone was having sex in the Roadhouse, no doubt about it, and it was obvious who that had to be.

"Uhhh…no way. Way too weird. I don't even think I can be up here with…" Dean trailed as another wave of _sex_ hit him, grimacing, "Shit. Being able to feel _Sammy_ having _sex_? Way too fucking creepy." Dean shuddered to prove his point. It wasn't just that he could feel the sexual energy; he could feel that it was _Sam_, feel Sarah too, feel _everything_.

"Mmmm," Attoinette hummed, first to reach Sam and Sarah's door and practically plastering herself to it, "He is something else, huh? Don't be weirded out, Dean," she glanced at him, her eyes already heavy-lidded, "It's such a great way to teach you. No danger involved. And mmm," she hummed again, her voice hushed but still a little too audible for Dean's liking, "You shouldn't be trying to block this. It's good stuff."

Damn, it was like she was talking about getting high off weed or some shit. "Look, it's just…a little wrong to me, okay?" he said, fighting the feeling of just how good it felt even when he wasn't trying to take the sexual energy in. The closer he got to approaching the door, the stronger it felt, like little rivulets of pleasure racing through his veins, very much like the night Sasha tried to share this experience with him and knocked him flat on his ass, only right now he could still stand.

"Dean, you don't have to think of it as Sam," Sasha tried to reason with him, his voice a much more sensible whisper, "You're not feeding from him. You're feeding from _them_. You're feeding off how they love each other, how they connect. What's wrong about that?"

Did Sasha even listen to his arguments before he spoke them? _What's wrong about that?_ It was his brother and his practically sister-in-law, that's what was wrong about that!

"Come on," Sasha said in a soothing voice, leading Dean by the arm that much closer to the door, Attoinette moving away and allowing Dean to take her place. Dean really should have been more capable of controlling his own limbs right now, but he couldn't seem to stop Sasha from taking his hand and placing it flat on the door.

Pleasure coursed through Dean immediately, stronger now and so unlike anything he had ever felt before, unlike the circuit, unlike sex physically, just…so different. He felt his pulse racing but it wasn't, felt hot and like he was breathing so damn heavy, but his body wasn't reacting at all. It was all just mental, emotional, _metaphysical_ right down to his last pore and enzyme. Damn, did Sammy love that girl.

Dean tried to pull himself away, succeeding only in falling back against the door instead, Sasha and the twins standing before him. He knew that the twins were letting him take it all now, letting him feed off the sexual energy Sam and Sarah were giving off as they made love inside the room. Saying 'made love' instead of 'fucked' somehow made it easier for Dean to do this.

He didn't even try to dissent now that he was caught up in it all, probably wasn't even capable. "How do I…do this?" he managed to ask, overrun and barely able to keep his eyes open.

It was just like Sasha had explained that night so long ago—he couldn't see anything, couldn't tell what was being put where or anything, but he could feel how slow, how deep and shuddery they were being, just…enjoying each other. He could feel love too, so much love, and desire sparking from it like an electric shock. Sammy was definitely leading, and because of how he drove Sarah _wild_, she was letting him, completely given over.

It was so fucking _hot_.

"H-How…do I…?"

"It's okay, Dean, just breathe," said Sasha's voice, Dean was fairly certain it was Sasha.

"We'll show you," said Epica, her tone soothing as if maybe Dean was dreaming, and maybe he was because he so wasn't all in his own body right now. Part of him was inside that room, feeling what they were feeling.

Dean barely noticed at first when Epica took his hand, or maybe that was Attoinette, he couldn't be sure. The touch was light, simple, but there was a steadying thread pulsing from it, something that helped Dean focus, helped him see again. Both of the twins were touching his hand, he realized.

"You feel it, feel how strong it is, feel how it flows into your body," Epica began, "And I know you're gonna hate this at first, but to start, Dean, you're going to have to sever that connection so we can begin fresh or you'll only get lost in it."

Sever the connection. Yeah, that pretty much sucked ass, sounded like severing a _limb_ really, and would probably feel like that about now too. But Dean needed to master this, _this_ especially, so he tried, tried to cut off the flow of energy. It made him gasp at the sudden loss.

"Good," said Attoinette, "Now start to let it back in, but slowly this time, little pieces of it slipping in through a window instead of barging in through the door."

Dean smiled at that analogy at first, but as he began to 'open the window' and feel the sexual energy flowing again, he found that image surprisingly helpful. It was still so strong, the sensation, almost like Dean could feel the ghost of hands on his own skin, but it wasn't so overpowering that everything else was blocked out.

"Now you have it," said Epica, "This is how you always have to begin when you're feeding. It'll be second nature before you know it, but it's important to remember now. As for making sure you know when to stop, this really is the best way to teach you. Reaching the end will feel almost exactly the same as feeding from sex, but you can't hurt anyone feeding like this. Do you understand?"

Can't hurt anyone. Dean liked that. Much better than flying blind and merely hoping he could learn hands-on without sucking Sasha dry. "O-Okay," he shivered, _fucking shivered_ so hard his knees nearly buckled. He might be focused, but he was still caught in a whirlwind of sex and love and need on the other side of that door.

Neither of the twins said anything else for a long time, Sasha just standing there, a hopeful, innocent smile on his face as he watched Dean. Even though Dean wasn't supposed to be able to 'see' anything of what was happening in the room, he imagined he could, couldn't help it really, seeing flashes of moving bodies, shifting and wrapping around each other beneath cotton sheets. A broad expanse of back. A long neck arching. Dark hair fanning out over a pillow.

Dean had jokingly called it 'free porn' to Sasha but it wasn't something he could even categorize now that he was experience it himself—_feeling_ how two people loved each other and expressed that through their bodies from an outside but still very present perspective.

When the end began to draw near, Dean could feel that too, feel Sam tensing, feel Sarah right on the brink. She was going to get there first, the force of that build making him tremble so hard that the twins had to move their gentle touch on his hand to his shoulders, where they clung tightly to hold him up.

"Now, Dean, you feel the difference?" Epica asked, "You feel that threshold at the end? You _can't cross it_. That's the danger zone. That's where you start to take too much. In the beginning, when you're still learning, your body tries to trick you into thinking that threshold is where the climax hits, where you'll really feel everything to its fullest, but it's a lie. If you hold back, keep away from crossing that line, you'll still feel what you're waiting for, you just have to be patient."

Dean heard her words, understood them, even thought it all made a crazy kind of sense, how he could feel it just like she was saying—a threshold so close he could almost touch it, that appealed to him to cross over—and _damn_, he still wanted to cross that line even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. Learning the first time how to not take too much had to be torture for a young sex demon.

At least right now, in this situation, Dean knew he wouldn't hurt anyone if he slipped up since he wasn't feeding directly, but he still had to succeed. The sooner he could do this right, the sooner he would be able to be with Sasha again, not just to change him, but to _be with him_. Dean wanted that. He wanted that so badly.

So he stayed behind the line, the build-up practically killing him, and the desire to just say _'fuck it'_ so damn strong. He understood now why Sasha, so young and unknowledgeable of these sensations, had unknowingly killed the first person he fed on. It made it so much easier for Dean to hold control, empathizing with Sasha.

Then, after what felt like ages, Dean about ready to die from holding back, just _die_, he felt the spike, the end, the _rush_ from Sarah. Feeding off that surpassed anything crossing that line had tempted him with. He was utterly lost in it, in the aftermath, and therefore completely unprepared for Sam's echo, stronger somehow, so strong that suddenly Dean was blinking up at the others from a cozy spot on the floor.

"Way to go," Epica whispered, looking quite surprised as she crouched down to offer him a hand, "Most newly changed and initiated don't manage that the first time. Not in almost any of the potential exercises for it. That was impressive."

"So was _that_," Attoinette giggled towards the door.

Dean chuckled breathily, his smile crooked, his steps unbalanced as he was hoisted to his feet. He wasn't tired, he felt invigorated, but the process had him reeling so much that he could barely stand up straight. He leaned into Sasha. "Sick and wrong or not," he huffed, "That was flippin' fantastic. And it wasn't even the real thing," he waggled an eyebrow at Sasha.

White teeth flashed back at him, Sasha's answering smile wide. "You'll need a little more practice before it's safe for that, Dean. Much as I'm tempted."

"Hell, I know," and Dean did, he really got it and wasn't bothered in the least about having to wait when he knew what would be waiting for him, "But it's nice to dream." He kissed Sasha then, slow and simple, languid even as the last thrums of sexual energy filled him. He didn't even mind that the twins were watching, both of them buzzing with powerful emotions of glee and goodwill. Despite all the setbacks and long talks, Dean felt like everything about today had turned out for the better.

'_Go to bed, Dean,'_ called a voice into his mind suddenly, _Sam's_ voice, annoyed but amazingly tolerant sounding.

Dean's eyes snapped open, his head snapping back away from Sasha at the same time.

"What's wrong?" Sasha blinked at him, eyes so damn blue, even though they were human, because of the stark contrast of black hair.

"Nothing," Dean whispered a little softer, "Just, uhh…really ready for bed, is all. Long day. Longer one ahead of us, I'm thinking. We'll see you girls in the morning?" he looked to the twins, who couldn't have hid their approving grins even if they covered their mouths.

Epica nodded. "Wouldn't miss a thing."

"We're in it for the long haul now," Attoinette nodded.

The girls headed further down the hallway while Dean and Sasha stepped over to their room across from Sam and Sarah's. Dean swallowed deeply as he stared back at their door a moment. Sam didn't know how good of a brother he was sometimes.

He really, really didn't.

tbc...

A/N: Now I've had some very good 'complaints', good criticism really on what is happening here, mainly in regards to how Dean is acting, but I honestly believe it will all work the way it should and make in-character sense by the end. I hope you all stick with me.

Oh, and another thank you to the many anonymous readers lately who I can't respond to directly. You rock!

Crim


	86. Part 3: Worthy

ATTENTION! Forgot to mention, go check out Dianna's Wickham's Incubus/Ten Inch Hero crossover, pairing Leven with Jensen Ackles' character Priestly. Mmmm...

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Part 3: Worthy

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Dean was walking up a steep slope, rocky and uneven, changed ever since the demons had appeared and made the Roadhouse's backyard so very different. He was not afraid, feeling strong, so strong with his new incubus strength, his form already shifted, claws out, wings spread, fangs bared. His taloned feet dug deep into the earth beneath him as he walked to the top of the cliff and looked down at the battle below.

It was massive, the sheer amount of humans and demons and creatures. There were angels as well, fighting as their true selves, no longer needing hosts to protect their human comrades. Everyone involved in the battle could see them without being struck blind, made worthy merely by their choice to join the right side of the fight. Only Castiel fought in his host's body, feathered wings having sprouted from his back, so different from the golden light of the others. Dean could pick out everyone even from his high advantage point, everyone that mattered.

Sam was fighting Solrin, their power evenly matched, but Dean knew Sam's strength was waning. Solrin had more at his command and was stealing creatures from their side, making them turn on their friends unwittingly. The incubi and succubae, Sasha's friends, were all in their true forms like Dean, fighting viciously, all bleeding and torn but not stopping, not ceasing for a single moment. Bobby and the band of human hunters—Sarah, Jo, Ellen, even Iain—were holding back many of the normal demons. It was easier to kill these demons since they didn't have hosts, only their true bodies, but there were so many of them. Dean couldn't even put a name to all the other creatures he saw, fae and demonic alike.

One thing he could be certain of, however, was that their side was losing.

Frantically, Dean searched the battlefield for signs of Sasha, but he couldn't spot him anywhere. Then suddenly he saw him, Dean's black-haired _human_, laden with various weapons, surrounded by demons and cut off from the other hunters. Sasha was in trouble.

Without thinking Dean dove from the cliff's edge, disturbing chunks of rock as he leapt, his wings out and leading him expertly down to where Sasha needed him. The demons were backing Sasha against the rock wall, ready to swarm him and attack. Dean had to dive straight down, and only when he was almost there did he suddenly realize…he no longer had wings.

Dean was human, naked, and falling, falling too fast, his body striking the side's of the rock wall as he tumbled towards the ground. He landed with a thud, too many bones cracking from impact as pain filled him so strongly he couldn't breathe, he could barely see. He knew the demons were gone, but where was Sasha? He tried to turn, tried to roll over, just barely managing it only to see Sasha right beside him, red-headed now, an incubus again but too late, too late because he was gone. _Dead_. His blue eyes staring forward at Dean blankly.

"No…" Dean croaked, his own body so broken, everything too late and lost now, _lost_. And then Dean felt the fire, flames so hot they couldn't be real, but he felt them, lapping at his skin, at Sasha beside him, at everything until Dean was screaming so loud, his cries shattered everything else.

He jolted awake gasping for air, like he had been choking on the fire and smoke from his dream. His _dream_, it was a dream, just a dream. Dean ran a hand through his damp hair and sat up in bed. At least he hadn't screamed for real. Sasha was still sleeping soundly beside him, contentedly on his side facing Dean, his chest moving with even breaths.

Dean, on the other hand, was trembling, his hand shaking so much that he pulled it back when he had meant to stroke through Sasha's dark hair. Dean needed a drink. Any drink. He'd take fucking _lemonade_ just so long as he had something to help shake him out of the lingering feelings of dread from that nightmare.

Rolling out of bed, Dean padded to the hallway in just his shorts, suddenly very intent on getting out of the room. He didn't even know what time it was, not that it mattered; everyone else was still asleep. Quietly, Dean headed for the stairs. He'd just get some water from the kitchen, take a few minutes to calm his pulse. It was only a dream. Everything would be—

"Dean, my dear boy, you are so very talented at deluded yourself, aren't you?"

Panic replaced that echo of dread instantly, sheer panic and terror making Dean's pulse race far faster than any dream could cause. Not now, not again, not after _that_.

"Oh, Dean, you really need to get control over yourself. I only wanted to say hello." Malak's voice was so damn smug and self-satisfied. It made Dean's fists clench tight as he stood looking down the steps.

"You gave me that dream, didn't you?" Dean asked without turning. It was dark but he could see the full expanse of the staircase just in front of him. Malak was behind him in the hall. Dean didn't want to look, didn't want to see him.

"Well, I missed you, you see. Solrin is a great asset, a good leader, and, mmm…" he hummed lewdly, "Many other things. But he can't take your place. My army is strong, but you as its leader would be far more effective. Keep in mind, Dean, that if you are neither on my side nor Heaven's then if I win the world will look far bleaker than you could make it should you accept my offer."

That made Dean so angry, _livid_. He was free, no longer something for Malak to taunt and use. The bastard didn't have the right to offer him anything. Dean whipped around, allowing his eyes to burn red in warning. Malak stood only a yard from him, handsome and terrible in his nice black suit. "You can't have me. I don't fall under your jurisdiction anymore, asshole," Dean said as evenly as he could.

Malak merely smiled, his perfect white teeth glinting, and took a few steps closer to Dean. "Do you honestly think this development worries me?" he swept his eyes over Dean's body like Dean being an incubus hardly concerned him, "I know it won't last. Clever _trick_ and all, but I know how your mind works, Dean, only too well. In the end you will be what I need you to be and you _will_. _Choose_. _Me_. Solrin will be so pleased when that happens," he smirked wickedly.

"Fuck you," Dean growled, truly _growled_, his fists clenching tighter, "I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands, with my own _fucking_ claws, you hear me?" He wished he could yell his threats but it was safer if Malak saw him alone. Alone Dean only had to worry about himself.

"Kill me?" Malak laughed in Dean's face, closer now, close enough that he could reach out and grab Dean's face, which he did none too gently. Dean tried to squirm out of that hold, but Malak's grip tightened, firm and malicious as he held the side of Dean's jaw. He pulled his body in close to Dean's, his breath oddly cool as it struck Dean's face and Malak brushed his cheek against Dean's stubble. "Dear naïve little Dean," he whispered, turning just so, so that his lips pressed to Dean's cheek instead, making Dean tremble, "You can't kill me. What would the world be like without…_me_?"

A million comebacks flitted through Dean's brain—the world would be better, happier, worthwhile, worthy, safe—but none of them seemed like a good enough argument, not one Malak would do anything but laugh at, so Dean stayed silent. Instead, a silent prayer left him as he closed his eyes, _'Cas…'_

"When you realize what a fool you are being," Malak continued, his face and nose and mouth ghosting along Dean's jaw until he was speaking against Dean's lips, "I will come back for you. You can trust me on that."

The kiss Malak imprinted on Dean's lips then was cool and strangely tender, still filled with possession and claim but not cruel, more like…longing. Dean felt it, felt Malak's emotions, hot and pulsing like he hadn't been able to feel at all until Malak's lips were on his—_longing_ more than anything else. Dean didn't understand it, understand what it meant, and he only got to feel it fleetingly before Malak faded like mist that washed right over Dean and nearly sent him tipping backwards down the steps.

Dean was gasping again, like he had when he first awoke from his nightmare. Every encounter he had with Malak was like a nightmare of its own, so that was no surprise really, but he just felt so shaken, so sick and nauseous in the pit of his stomach.

Malak wasn't even a little worried that Dean was an incubus, that Sasha's deal was void right now, or that technically Dean's choice should never come into play. That didn't bode well. Of course Dean also couldn't help mulling over Malak's threat, promising a much worse end for the world if the demon side won without Dean. Whatever Malak's intentions might have been with that threat, it only made Dean want to see his decision through to the end all the more.

He sat down on the top step of the staircase, looking down into the darkness of the lower level. He didn't want a drink anymore, didn't want anything. There was something pained and hollow trying to beat inside his chest. Dean barely even looked up when he felt the presence of someone suddenly sitting beside him.

"So…feeling _spiteful_ and figured you'd wait til he left this time?" Dean asked the angel.

Castiel sighed. "He could not have truly harmed you, Dean, not with you like this."

"Right," Dean huffed, not feeling particularly safe from Malak or untouchable considering he could still feel the remnants of Malak's hand on his face and those lips on his lips. He tilted his head to look at Cas, his angel in a suit and trenchcoat, always the same, like Malak was always the same. Only Castiel's expression wasn't smug, it wasn't even passive, it was heartbroken.

"You are still my charge, Dean, whether human or otherwise," Castiel said slowly, staring at his own folded hands hanging between his knees, "Even an incubus is my Father's child. It is not anything at fault in an incubus' existence that makes you unworthy of your destiny, but merely the importance of humanity."

Dean felt his throat tighten as he looked at Castiel, an angel that he had seen curious and caring and frighteningly fierce, but who looked so wrong when he was sad. "Don't suppose you'd care to elaborate on why humanity is such a big deal in this, or why I'm so damn important? All everyone keeps telling me is that I'm the one who's s'pposed to save the day. No one says why, no one says _how_."

"That is something, Dean, you must—"

"Figure out on my own. Right," Dean huffed again, sounding bitter and angry when the last thing he wanted was to make Castiel more estranged from him, "Look, I'm not gonna try and justify this to you. I know I'm risking a lot. I'm sorry I was a jackass about it before, but I'm gonna ask you the same thing I asked Sam. Let me have a chance."

"Dean…" Castiel sighed again, shaking his head. Dean really wished those blue eyes would look up at him and actually _look at him_ so he didn't feel like such a dick right now. But Dean realized he wasn't only seeing sorrow on Castiel's face. He was pleased he couldn't see any pity, but there was something else in Castiel's expression.

"He scares you a little too, huh?" Dean bucked Castiel in the shoulder, remembering as he did so that he was sitting in just his boxers right now while Castiel was fully clothed and wearing a damn trench to boot. Dean tried not to think about it.

Glancing away at first, Castiel finally looked up at Dean, _finally_, his head cocked slightly to the side as he tried to smile, very faintly. It was admittance, Dean realized, almost bashfully given.

"So you're not the most powerful angel at the Heavenly water cooler. Big deal," Dean grinned, bucking Castiel in the shoulder again and wheedling out at least a little more of that smile, "You were pretty badass that time you stood up to him, all wrath of God and everything. I kinda figured you'd be thrilled I won't get the chance to…mess this up now."

The smile that had been growing on Castiel's face immediately fell. He looked so young right then in the dark, on those steps, or at least his vessel looked young despite the age and experience in those strange blue eyes, like Sasha's and yet so different. "Dean," he said, leaning closer, his stare constant and penetrating the way Dean had at first found uncomfortable, "It is not that I do not believe you can accomplish the impossible. You have many times in the past done just that. But this is not your destiny. Not like this, not yet." His eyes swept over Dean's form, curious perhaps but disappointed. He tore his eyes away with difficulty, his expression falling further into misery. "The war is not going well on our end, Dean. Solrin is an adept leader, Malak was not lying about that. Time is short, and you are missing one very fundamental lesson."

Dean hadn't realized how much he wanted Castiel's blessing to accompany Bobby and Sam's until it hit him that he wasn't going to get it, not even mild understanding but instead another lament that he was screwing everything up. Only this time Dean couldn't be angry. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face. "And what lesson is that, Cas?" he said.

_Flapping_.

"Wait, no!" Dean jerked his attention back to Castiel, or rather where Castiel had _been_ moments before. "Damn it," he clenched his eyes shut again after seeing the angel had left him, his fists tightening, "No freebies for Dean. Wonderful."

But even at this he couldn't be angry. The war wasn't going well for the angels. That was bad. And how could Dean expect Cas to be on his side when in all reality Bobby and Sam were only tolerating Dean's decision _for now_. Castiel wanted Dean to understand why he couldn't approve of Dean staying an incubus, only without having to explain it to him. It was kind of like something Dad would do, and maybe that was why Dean wanted so badly to understand what this all important 'lesson' was.

He sat for awhile longer at the top of the steps, thinking of Malak's visit, of Castiel's, of all the people that would start arriving tomorrow and everything that lay ahead of them. Eventually, he got up and went down to get his water. He had so many more doubts now, but he didn't want to give up, not yet, not when they were so close. He didn't want to be the reason Castiel or anyone else he cared about got hurt, and the angel would be far more hurt if a Malak-possessed Dean ripped off his wings. Dean was certain of that.

-----

Up at practically the crack of dawn, those new arrivals started pouring in way faster than Dean expected. And not all of them were just the people they had called, some were regular hunters passing through that got roped into staying when Ellen and Bobby started explaining the details.

It was amazing to Dean how hunters could so easily accept that the apocalypse was upon them and that soldiers were needed right then and there at the Roadhouse for the battle ahead. Granted, quite a few of those recruits were hesitant to believe angels were offering the intel, but that didn't mean they weren't willing to help.

Most of the hunters and contacts Sam and Dean had known through their father were dead now, so the hunters that were arriving were all ones Dean had never met, maybe a few he had seen at the Roadhouse on occasion, but that was about all for recognition.

There was a couple that came in, a younger African American couple that seemed rather friendly, the wife having a strong British accent and both of them knowing Bobby well enough to greet Sam and Dean with similar friendliness, if not with a little scrutinizing too. There was an older black gentlemen as well, one Bobby said he doubted would even come, Rufus something or other, who showed up as bright and early as the others. His eyes were a little twitchy maybe but he was willing to lend a hand and that was good enough for Dean. There were several others, even a couple younger hunters that surprised Dean. Either Bobby or Ellen or both knew every last one of them, which made Dean feel a little better when the other side of their recruits started showing up.

The rest of the sex squad wouldn't be arriving until the next day, the remaining three—Lindsey, Charis, and Cam—having certain things to take care of, or something like that. Shiarra was far more anxious to reach them but was still taking care of Adrian for now, so she wouldn't be joining them for awhile yet either.

But it was the sudden arrival of Ula and three others with her that made Dean a little wary of hunter/non-human interaction. It had sort of unanimously been decided that until they had to spill the news that not every recruit was human, they weren't going to. Ula blended in fine at first glance, but some of her friends were, well…_different_.

"Sam…" Dean hissed a whisper at his brother when he spotted Ula and her unique companions coming through the door, "What am I looking at coz…I don't know if it's just the incubus thing or not right now, but…none of those things are human, are they?"

Sam was close to Dean, sitting at a table where they had started to inventory all of their supplies so they could decide as people arrived what things they would still need. Sam glanced at Dean and then over at the door. His eyes widened. "Uhh…well," he cleared his throat, "I think they're fae. Not sure what kinds, but…oh, wait, the taller guy—"

"You mean the one who kinda looks like a Greek Keanu Reeves?" Dean ventured.

Sam choked on a chuckle. "Uhh…sure. He's another shapeshifter."

Well, Dean had known things would get crazy. "We said bring your friends," he shrugged, rising from his seat to wave Ula over, who looked very out of place and like she didn't know where to step in case a landmine was placed beside every one of the hunters she saw.

Then she spotted Dean and very gratefully made her way over to his and Sam's table with her friends following. "Dean, Sam," she smiled, her face only going mildly red as she came to stand in front of them.

Dean made the bold gesture of hugging her before she could start fidgeting. She had really helped them out in Maine after all, and Dean had way gotten over her being a shapeshifter. He trusted Sasha's opinion, and hey, here Ula was with reinforcements. Sam had risen as well to hug Ula, blushing a bit too actually which Dean attributed to the mantra of 'this girl saw me acting like a five year old and _babysat'_ that was probably running through Sam's head.

"Wow," she said, laughing a little, "It's so good to see you both. I was really happy when Sasha called and filled me in. Of course I wanted to help right away. You look…good as an incubus, Dean," she leaned in and whispered, her face going a little redder.

"Yeah, well, suits my personality, or so they tell me," he smiled back at her, "Who are your friends?" He was still having a hard time not staring at the two girls. The Keanu Reeves guy looked normal enough, just being a shapeshifter, but the fae chicks were…interesting.

One of them was almost ridiculously short for her build at less than five feet tall, but was also ridiculously buxom. Her hair was platinum blonde, her eyes a pale green, and something about her skin honestly _glittered_. She looked awkward in jeans and a tanktop, like she usually didn't wear human clothing at all.

The other chick was possibly even more conspicuous. She had fire-red hair, as in almost _literally_, shades of Crayola red, orange, and golden yellows were evenly distributed like an actual flame, hanging wavy just past her shoulders. Her eyes were orange, bright and nearly glowing. She wore green shorts and a purple tanktop that just looked awkward, much like her shorter friend, like maybe Ula had had to dress them both.

Yeah, this wouldn't make the hunters in the room suspicious at all. _Awesome_.

"Oh," Ula smiled wide, looking the most normal of the group despite her demureness, her hair a little longer now, still blonde, blue-green eyes, her tall form clad in a light sweater and flowery skirt, "That's Danny," she pointed to the guy, "He's a shapeshifter," she brought her voice to a hush again, "We met a long time ago and became good friends right away since we both, umm…ya know…like our particular look."

Which Dean took to mean that Danny kept to one form like Ula and didn't go around slaughtering others to change into, at least as far as she _knew_. Dean wanted to be trusting of their recruits, of course, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be keeping on eye on everyone, even if the guy smiled charmingly and nodded in greeting.

"This is Serileth," Ula went on to the short glittery girl, "She's a pixie."

"Pixie like…Tinkerbell?" Dean started to say before he realized how stupid and possibly offensive that was. Thankfully, Ula and her friends merely laughed.

Sam nudged Dean in the arm, shaking his head.

"Sorry, first reference that came to mind," Dean smiled apologetically at the…_pixie_, "Haven't met too many fae. And you are…?" he turned to the other girl.

"Kaley," she responded, holding out a hand for Dean to shake. Her voice had a smooth, low tone, very soothing. Her smile was crooked, more like a smirk, but Dean didn't sense ill-will in any of them. He accepted Kaley's hand that was very warm, like she radiated heat. "I'm a salamander," she said, which had Dean blinking at her rapidly like he must have heard her wrong.

"A fire elemental?" Sam questioned, saving Dean from his unknowledgeable blinking, and sounding both amazed and impressed as he too shook Kaley's hand, "Wow, I…I didn't think elementals ever traveled outside the fae realm. I'm sort of surprised to see either of you," he glanced at Serileth as well.

Dean added, "We have it on good authority that there may be some fae help on the way, but our emissary on that front is still working on it. Haven't heard from her. She was pretty certain she could get a good amount though. You're not part of that crowd?" he looked to each of them.

"You must mean Gwen," Kaley smiled and looked sideways at her other fae friend, "And yeah, she's making the rounds all right. She'll get enough gathered eventually. Hard to say no to that woman even if she is semi-banished. Seri and I sort of prefer this plane most of the time, ya see, so we figured why the hell not when Ula asked us to come here. Beat the later rush and all. Sorry if we, umm…" she looked around, a few of the hunters already having eyes on them, "Stick out."

Hell, by the time this was over, there would be so many freaks around, no one would stick out. "We don't want to split everyone down the middle here. We'll have to fill the hunters in eventually, and it might mean some of them will leave. But we won't let anyone hurt anyone else while they're here, you can count on that. We just figured it might be better to let everyone settle and realize how serious this really is before we give anyone any reason to bail. We really appreciate you taking this risk. You certainly don't have to."

A giggle responded that sounded suspiciously _like_ Tinkerbell's jingly noise to go along with the little blonde's coloring. "And let this world go to the demons? Never," she said, "Humans are important to a lot of us. And as an incubus now, well, you're practically family," she smiled.

Dean actually really appreciated that since Sasha had said a lot of fae looked down on incubi and succubae as 'tainted' because of their demon blood. "Thanks," he nodded. He was certain Sasha would want to meet these people too, but he was pretty sure the dark-haired hunter was upstairs with Iain trying to help settle in all the new texts they were getting from the arriving hunters so they had a proper research space when things started getting hairy. Who knew what they would be up against, after all?

"You might be surprised, Dean," Ula began shyly, her voice still quiet to keep any curious surrounding hunters from overhearing, "But news of all this has been spreading through a lot of camps already. It's the end of the world, you know, so…word travels fast. About what's happening. And _you_ of course."

That caught Dean's attention. "Me? What do you mean?"

Ula giggled like it was too funny Dean didn't already know. "Because you're _Dean_. You're the Winchesters. Everyone's heard of you. The things you've done," she shook her head in seeming awe, "Why, I saw some of it firsthand myself, and it's still hard to believe. The way you dealt with that cursed house, Dean, and helped Sasha and your brother. Most people wouldn't even know where to begin, I bet not even most hunters. And then when you found out the truth about me, well, you listened to Sasha, you listened to me and…people just don't do that, Dean. You're really something special." Her blush was fierce now and it was obvious she meant everything she had said.

It made Dean feel strangely…_angry_.

He realized suddenly that Iain was standing just behind him and Sam, maybe had been there for some time, and that things were starting to buzz a little more around them. Dean wished he could offer a little special treatment to everyone that came in, talk to them, thank them for joining up, but time was short and everyone had things to do.

Dean knew Iain was waiting because he had something to tell him, so he smiled at Ula and gestured over to Ellen and Bobby at the bar. "Go check in with those fine folks there. Ellen will get rooms settled for you. We're starting to run out so we may need to get creative. But don't worry about those two. You can be honest with them about what you are. Might help with deciding what to do with you until the fighting actually starts. We don't really know what to expect at this point."

He was continually pleased that no one seemed bothered by that fact; how could anyone predict just how insane the apocalypse would be, after all. Ula just smiled, nodded, and led her friends over to Ellen and Bobby.

Dean sighed to himself and shook his head. "Special," he muttered, "Yeah right." He turned to see whatever it was Iain needed only to discover the guy's expression set in a firm frown. "What?"

Iain's frown deepened. "Seriously? That girl gushes nothing but truth as far as I can tell, and you come back with 'yeah right'?" It was actually a little weird seeing and hearing Iain so suddenly confident and in Dean's face. He shook his head at Dean like he honestly couldn't believe him.

"Geez, man, no big deal. She was blowing it all outta proportion anyway," Dean defended, hoping to dismiss this subject matter quickly, "I'm nothing special, believe me. Just doing my job."

The very mild resemblance to Sam that the taller, lankier brunette had seemed much more pronounced with a scowl on his face. "Dean, I don't know a lot about the things you guys did before I met you, like what that girl was talking about, but I do know that you saved my life. Have more than once now. You tried to save my mother even though there was nothing you could do, let me be apart of all this so I can try and make a difference with you, and are preparing to fight the _Devil's army_ to save the world. You can't really think there's nothing special about you."

Iain's disbelief was almost as sobering for Dean as there not being a single curse word in that entire speech. Dean didn't want to hear this, didn't want anyone to tell him that he was important, because then he might actually have to believe he was.

"I know why you want this, Dean," Iain said in a softer voice to be certain others wouldn't hear him, though his tone remained firm, "Why you made the choice you did so you can be with Sasha. I don't really get all the details, but I know you're making a pretty bold choice here and I'd like to be on your side. But only if you're still going to be on ours. You're the leader, Dean, because you _are_ something special. Everyone who knows you believes that. We _need_ you to be that. Human or not." Then Iain actually turned and walked away, headed over to the bar to pose whatever his question had been to Bobby instead, looking stoic and disappointed.

_Fuck_. Why was everyone in Dean's life so god damn _disappointed_? He had made up his mind. He believed he was right. He didn't need anyone giving him new reasons to doubt.

Suddenly, Dean was so angry, so angry at _something_, maybe not even Iain, but he had to get out of the bustling chaos of the bar—_now_. He didn't even look at Sam as he stalked away from him, heading for that tiny hallway to the med room because it was the one place he was fairly certain no one had wondered yet. He didn't stop when he reached the med room this time but went right in and closed the door, taking a few deep breaths and trying not to focus on how the tips of claws were biting into his palms.

The door opened again only seconds later.

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?"

_Sam_. Always Sam, coming after him even though Dean had more than once just let Sam walk away without following.

"Go away, Sammy," Dean said without turning. He was facing the other wall, where he had once slowly unwrapped the bandages from Solrin's body, another person he hadn't been 'special' enough to fucking _save_.

"God, Dean, this is so stupid. Don't you realize how stupid this is?" Sam was right behind him, at his back, yelling at his _back_ in hopes that Dean would turn. But Dean couldn't turn, couldn't _do this_. "I want to give you the chance you asked for," Sam went on, "but you know this is wrong. You're a _fucking_ liar trying to pass this off as something just for you and Sasha. Iain doesn't even know what's going on and he can still see that you're running away from this."

"I am not running away!" Dean shouted before he even realized the last straw had fallen, anger and so much else exploding out of him as he spun to face Sam, fists still clenched, "I'm not sticking my head in the sand, Sammy, I'm trying to take care of you, to be smart."

Sam's brow scrunched angrily. "Take care of me? How does this take care of _me_?"

"Not just you, _everyone_," Dean said dismissively, irate and wanting to pace the room, but unable to look away from Sam now that he had locked gazes, "I'm making sure I don't screw up again, okay, _that's_ what I'm doing. So it's not just because I want this for me and Sasha, so what? I can't…_do_ this," he ran blackened fingers harshly through his hair, feeling the sharpness of his not-quite claws, "I make wrong decisions all the time. I've made some of the worst. Why does everyone think I'm so god damn special when I already let him _fucking win_!"

The ricochet of Dean's final bellow, a cry that had to have reached those in the bar, if only as muffled anger, was replaced too quickly by silence filling up the space around them. Silence that _choked_. Silence that made Sam's hazel eyes go soft and sympathetic. "Dean…" he tried.

"Don't. Don't try and tell me who I'm supposed to be, how I'm supposed to act, what choices are _Dean_ enough for me to make," he was still so angry but he felt the dampness in his eyes, tears he wouldn't let fall, that he didn't deserve to let fall, "I was in Hell, Sammy. You weren't. I was there and it was…horrible, but that's no excuse for what I did. When push came to shove…I caved. I gave in. Malak used you to make me choose him and _I did_. I gave him what he wanted and I didn't care about the consequences. I just wanted it all to stop, I would've done…_anything_," he clenched his eyes tight, breathing in sharply to stay those tears, "You don't know…" Dean couldn't finish.

Silence squeezed in on them again, thick, charged with static. Then Sam said, "So that's what this really is?" his voice soft and—God, Dean hated it—_disappointed_, "Dean, you said it yourself, you were in _Hell_. Malak had you there for years, pushing all the right buttons. No one would ever blame you for breaking. You're here now. That's what matters. Malak has a lot of power, and maybe he can still push you in ways we won't be able to prepare for, but, Dean, I know that won't matter. You made the right decision in the end, even if you did choose him in Hell, and you'll make the right decision again."

_You made the right decision_. Ha. Sam didn't know _anything_.

"You made the right decision, Dean," he said again, making Dean feel like clawing at his own skin, peeling away layers of himself that even after all this time still didn't feel right, whether human, incubus, or anything.

"No, I didn't," Dean said in an angry hush.

"Of course you did. Just like I know you'll—"

"No, I didn't!" Dean yelled this time, his eyes open and flashing red, catching Sam by surprise and startling him into silence, "I chose him, Sam. Him. Then when Sasha brought me back I freaking _left _you."

"But you came back, Dean. You came back to us."

Dean shook his head, fiercely back and forth like he couldn't stop. "It's not enough, Sammy. If Sasha hadn't made his deal—"

"God, damn it, Dean, _shut up_."

It was an order, no more nonsense in Sam's tone, no more sympathy, just that perfect Dad-tone of 'shut the hell up and listen to me'. Dean had never learned how to not obey that. He looked up, realizing suddenly that Sam hadn't only given that order but that he was holding tight to Dean's shoulders now, Sam's whole body close, his eyes stern and a million miles away from showing pity.

"We're not only made up of the bad choices we make, not you or anyone else."

Dean thought immediately of _Dave_.

"It's the good decisions that I remember of you, Dean. Every damn time," Sam finished.

Then Dean remembered what Bobby had said yesterday, how angry Dean had been at the time to hear yet another person telling him he would make the right decision because he always found his way there _eventually_. It was the 'eventually' that tripped Dean up. He stumbled so many times along the way, let so many people he loved get hurt while he was figuring things out, that he couldn't understand how Sam could focus so easily on only the good. So he asked him, "Why?"

"Because, Dean," Sam said, still stern but somehow saying his words affectionately too, his hands squeezing Dean's shoulders in reassurance, "The good choices happen more often. And they always happen when it matters. I've told you before, you've never let me down. And no matter what happens after today, after _right now_, I know you never will. I'm not saying I'm right, that you should call on the Trickster this very second, because maybe I'm not right. Maybe there's something about this that none of us fully understands. What I am saying is…don't make a decision because you think you're not worth it. You are. Sasha would never be stupid enough to love someone who doesn't deserve him." Then Dean saw it, the shadow of a smile, crooked on Sam's lips, and the slight indent of dimples.

Dean couldn't help thinking back to days ago, before everything with Solrin, when he had eavesdropped on Sam and Sarah in their room, overhearing what he assumed was the first time either of them had said 'I love you'. Sam didn't believe Dean had ever let him down, but that day he had told Sarah he couldn't bear to let _Dean_ down again, like he thought he already had, thought that somehow he had been less than what Dean believed of him.

That couldn't be further from the truth. Dean wanted to tell him that.

"Besides," Sam shrugged, his sternness dropping away completely but not his sincerity as he let his arms fall back to his sides, "Why do you have to be in such a hurry to have this? It's weird, ya know…being the older brother. Or did you forget you're twenty-five now?" he grinned. Only it wasn't a humored grin, it was actually a little…sad.

To be honest Dean _had_ forgotten he was technically twenty-five. He didn't really look any younger, but then four years wasn't exactly a lot to show. One day the difference would be more though, the difference in age between him and Sam if he stayed an incubus and Sam remained human.

There was a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach, like he had swallowed a mouthful of molten iron, eating away at him from the inside. He felt like such a bastard, his eyes damper now like they were suddenly seconds away from overflowing.

When he was still human he had been so worried about having to leave Sasha someday. He had completely forgotten that being an incubus meant _he_ would one day lose _Sam_. Dean didn't know what life was like without Sam. They didn't know how to live without each other. Not anymore. Not after everything.

"People are gonna start worrying," Sam backed off, intent on leaving now, it seemed, even though nothing had really been resolved, his face still shifting between a forced smile and the grief he had just revealed, "We don't want any of those more trigger-happy hunters having any reason to get suspicious. Better get back out there." He turned, pushed on the door.

"Sammy," Dean called, more like _choked_ because he honestly didn't know what to say here, or how any of this could actually be rectified enough for all the pieces to fit the way he wanted. He wanted Sasha. He wanted Sam. He wanted the world to _not end_ in the next few weeks. He wanted a happily ever after that meant no one else would ever leave him again, or vice versa.

Slowly, Sam turned his head, his body still facing the door like he didn't dare open himself up to Dean any more than he had. He smiled but the expression was fractured. "I just want you to be happy, Dean. But it'd be nice if you believed in yourself a little more sometimes. I wanted to be just like you when we were kids." He paused, and for a moment Dean wondered if Sam would leave things there, on a sentiment he had shared with Dean before. But then Sam smiled a little wider, a littler truer, and finished, "There was a reason for that," before slipping out the door.

-----

There was so much on Dean's mind now, so much weighing him down that he could barely function. He had let Sam walk out of the med room door, let Iain stay estranged from him, let everyone go about their business and handle things on their own, even if some of them were already looking to him to lead.

He needed to think this through though, really think and decide what was right. What had started as guilt—and the last thing Dean wanted as inspiration was _guilt_—had turned into something else, some unanimous war cry from all the people that knew Dean best rallying behind him, believing things Dean couldn't understand.

Believing in him.

He remembered something Shiarra said to him once after they had taken care of that Faust guy in Maine. She talked about all the things Sam and Sasha could do that made them stronger than the average hunter, more capable, but then she said, _'You have none of those same abilities and yet you accomplish all the same things…as just a man'._

Why did everyone see something in Dean that he couldn't? Solrin and his 'light'. Sasha and the way he looked at Dean. Sam idolizing him. Bobby. Ula. Iain. _Everyone_. Dean wasn't used to believing he mattered as much as everyone else. His life had been about sacrifice. He liked it that way. Okay, so maybe _liked_ was too strong a word, but he believed it was the right thing even when he felt jilted and railed against it. Even when he was in that damn dreamworld created by the djinn, praying to his father in that graveyard and asking why they had to be the ones to give up everything, he had come to the conclusion that whether it was fair or not it was what he needed to do.

Now was different. Now was _bigger_.

Dean was sitting at the top of the steps like he had been last night. He could see the many people still bustling about, the recruits that had arrived so far. Their smattering of supernatural creatures were getting on just fine with the hunters, no one seeming the wiser at this point. He could see the twins through the door into the bar area talking with that young black couple, congenial as anything.

While Bobby and Ellen handled most of the checking in and assigning of duties with the hunters, and Sam dealt more directly with the non-humans, Dean could almost pretend he wasn't the leader of anything.

Some of the people here were under the impression that he was supposed to be their freakin' General, but others had no reason to think of Dean as anything but another hunter. Part of him still wanted to believe that that was the best course of action, just letting them all be a team without singling anyone out. Sure, they would need to single out who could do what to best strategize, but they couldn't even start strategizing when they weren't sure what Solrin and his army consisted of. Dean really needed to ask Cas for more info on that.

The circumstances alone were enough that everyone was acting more accommodating, so at least that was a good thing. Since there weren't going to be enough rooms when the rest of the crew got there—some expected to arrive tomorrow like the rest of the sex squad—people were already doubling up, preparing sleeping bags and extra space in lounges. They were like a frickin' commune and it had only been a few hours, everyone just going along with what would be necessary since the end was so damn nigh.

Dean supposed this was one of those times when humans actually acted human. Well, and fae and sex demons and shapeshifters.

After awhile, Dean started to lose track of how long he had just been sitting on that step, watching everyone moving about, stocking supplies, planning fortifications, talking shop about all the ways this might go down. He almost felt left out, almost went down and grinned all coyly at Sarah and Jo who had started up the bar some time ago and were passing around drinks, but Dean couldn't find the will to move. He honestly didn't know what he should do.

"Dean?"

Which was usually about the time his decisions became that much harder to make.

He looked over his shoulder, still a little surprised every time he saw Sasha with that black hair. Sasha had still been helping with making the library into a real research hub, apparently having to bring in more bookshelves and furniture to accommodate everything the arriving hunters were adding to the mix. He looked tired now, ready for a break probably. Dean hadn't really seen him much all day.

He didn't know if he was glad to see him now, but he couldn't deny enjoying the company when Sasha came over and sat down beside him on the top step, just like Castiel had done the night before.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked, brow furrowing in concern as he leaned into Dean's body reflexively, "Everything seems to be going okay down there. Ula and her friends came up awhile back to say hi. They seem nice. And none of the hunters have been making any fuss over the supernatural recruits. Have they? Still waiting for a better time to spill that secret, right?" he said with a small grin.

The usual banter fell right out of Dean's head. He didn't know what to say. He shrugged. "Yeah…after a day or two maybe. Ya know…wait til they kinda like each other before we give them reasons to hate each other." And with that Dean tried to smile back at Sasha but he just couldn't. He knew now that he had to tell Sasha the real reason he had made the decision to stay like this, because he needed Sasha's honest opinion on whether or not it was right for him to carry on as he had been. He felt like such an idiot for lying. When had that ever been a good idea where Sasha was concerned?

"Dean," Sasha pressed, since Dean had sort of trailed, staring off at nothing, "Seriously, what is going on? If it's not the general populous then what? You're pretty much done with training. I know things are moving fast apocalypse wise but…" he sighed, not finishing, maybe hoping Dean would finish for him. His hand moved to rest on top of Dean's thigh, warm and solid.

Dean closed his eyes, his own hand unconsciously seeking out Sasha's and resting atop it. "I'm sorry. It's just…this. The Trickster's gift. I want this for us. I do. But it's not the real reason I made the decision to stay like this. I need to tell you the truth." He took a breath, squeezing Sasha's hand and hoping his friend wasn't about to pull that hand away. Then he looked up, looked over at Sasha beside him and…saw the human hunter smiling knowingly back at him.

"Took you long enough," Sasha smirked, his head bowed slightly so that he was looking at Dean through long, dark lashes, "Come on, Dean, really? You thought I didn't know? I don't have to be able to read your emotions like an incubus to know how you think, how you feel. I know you're scared. I know you don't trust yourself to make the right decision with Malak. I just wish you did. You're stronger than you think."

For a minute Dean could only gape. Bobby guessed the real answer. Sam had been able to figure it out even before Dean blew up about it. Of course Sasha already knew. "But…when you asked me before, I…_fuck_, I…I lied right to your face and you didn't even call me on it." He was a fucking bastard for doing that and he knew it. Why was Sasha smiling at him?

But he was, he was still smiling, his hand squeezing Dean's thigh supportively. "Yeah, I'll admit, I wanted to be pissed. But I understood why you were lying. I guess…I wanted to give you the chance to come clean on your own, prove you're so worthy of my _trust_ and all," he bit his bottom lip coyly.

Dean was such a fucking _tool_. "Why do you love me? I so don't deserve you," he said.

"Yes you do, Dean. The problem is that you don't believe it," Sasha shook his head, frowning suddenly, "And you should. You need to start believing you can do this, Dean. If you can't have faith in yourself then at least have faith in us sticking by you, being there to back you up. You are not alone. Just because the decision is on your shoulders doesn't mean we don't bear some of the weight with you."

Sasha pulled his hand out from under Dean's, away from his thigh, and took the side of Dean's face in his palm, his fingers teasing at the base of Dean's neck. It was world's different than how Malak had held Dean's jaw the night before.

"Have faith in us knowing what we're doing when _we_ have faith in _you_. We're not dopes, you know. At least I'm pretty sure the girls aren't, at least," he wrangled up his smile again, "But, Dean, this isn't about us convincing you to make the right decision. I want to be selfish too, I want you to be free of having to make a choice at all, I want to just have you all to myself and say fuck everything else. But it's not my call to make. This is about you realizing, Dean, that you know how to make the decision on your own. And I am _really_ sorry for the 'After School Special' feel that just had," he chuckled, leaning in closer to brush his lips against Dean's chastely.

Dean chuckled right back within their brief taste of each other, feeling lighter already. "Yeah, that was pretty lame. Good thing you're cute," he snarked, feeling, if only a little, like himself in that moment.

Of course Sasha laughed again, but his expression fell soon after, serious and resigned. "So what do you want to do?" he asked, pulling back but taking Dean's hand and holding it between them on the step.

"The Trickster isn't here," Dean said almost offhandedly.

"No," Sasha huffed like a lost laugh, "I think he'd either wait for us to call on him, or wait until we were two seconds from total annihilation."

That had Dean huffing in not-quite laughter too. "Yeah."

Blue eyes were shimmering at Dean, almost surreal the way they used to look in the dim lighting up here on the steps. Those eyes didn't judge Dean, didn't resent him, they merely looked patiently at him as Sasha asked, "Do you want to take this back?"

God damn _dampness_ in Dean's eyes. "I don't know."

Sasha's hand squeezed Dean's tighter. "Whatever you decide, Dean, I'm with you."

"Why?" Dean managed, thinking of Sam and having asked him that same question.

There was Sasha's sad smile again, the one Dean had known since he first met Sasha back in Minnesota, too much sorrow, far too much in a man who didn't deserve to feel it. "Because," Sasha said, leaning in quick and stealing another kiss that was the barest dusting of lips on lips, "I trust you," he smiled conspiratorially, "I love you. And I know you'll make the right decision."

Heat washed over Dean from those words, settling low in his gut. He should have been able to feel that Sasha was hiding from him that he had known the truth all along, but maybe Dean just hadn't wanted to see it. Now he knew the truth and he could feel beyond any doubt that Sasha meant every word he had said. But he had been able to believe Sam and Bobby too, and part of Dean wanted to let the heat those words rose up in him make him angry again, only angry wasn't solving any of his problems.

Sasha couldn't solve this for him either. He was already getting up, squeezing Dean's hand once more before letting go and heading down the stairs. Dean didn't move, knowing Sasha was leaving him so he could think about this on his own, and Dean couldn't have been more grateful for that.

He just wished it was an easier decision to make, but trusting himself had never been easy for Dean Winchester.

-----

Later in the day, still afternoon though since everyone had been up and arriving so damn early, things had started to settle a bit more. Everyone who had arrived so far had some sort of task and was going about doing it. Some of the group was going over research on what they might be facing given what they knew—which was minimal—and some were even out doing normal hunts nearby to clear away any demonic fodder the Devil's side might think to use against them.

Granted, Sam might be able to use those same creatures too, but then they couldn't be sure if Solrin would be able to just take them away again. That scenario—especially since they had supernatural creatures on their side already—meant Sam had been skipping off to his and Sarah's room on occasion to hone his powers where the more anxious hunters wouldn't see.

Everyone was keeping busy doing what they could while they waited. It was better than sitting around worrying. Wally had been confined to cat mode, and pretty much to the upstairs too, mostly the library where she wouldn't get in the way. She didn't seem to mind since she preferred a smaller group to the horde of new Roadhouse occupants.

There were a couple of hunters who arrived after lunch that bothered Dean a little. Two middle-aged men, gruff-looking with sour dispositions, even more so than that loner guy Rufus that Bobby knew. They were the most obviously twitchy, the type of hunters that made Dean think of Gordon and Kubrick, always watching everyone with paranoid eyes that would probably mean trouble later even if some of the hunters ended up being okay about their non-human help. Dean knew to keep an eye on them and just hoped no one did anything stupid.

As far as the Trickster's gift went, Dean had made his decision, he was fairly certain of it, but for now he was keeping things low-profile and just going about his business. There were some things he needed to take care of before he explained his final choice to everyone.

The Roadhouse was a whirlwind of activity, even with some of the crew gone on those side-hunts. Dean had resigned himself to manual labor, finding that as he became engrossed again in what was happening, almost everyone looked to him as leader even though he wasn't trying to be. He was just a personable kind of guy, friendly, wanting to make sure everyone was doing alright, that's all.

So when the twins wanted to pull him aside for a little extra training, he was fine with it, even if it surprised him later when they asked advice on how he thought they could best use their abilities when the fight started.

Ula seemed to appear out of the woodwork on several occasions to merely chat to Dean, talking up all the ways she really could be useful since it was really hard to kill a shapeshifter, and how she knew her friends, and the other fae would be great assets to the fight. She was so damn sweet that Dean sort of hated the thought of her being a part of that fight at all, but he couldn't deny her enthusiasm.

Dean found himself making rounds that took him all over the Roadhouse for hours, usually because Ellen needed someone to lift or move or organize something and Dean just wanted to be in the throng right now. It helped solidify the moment, making Dean certain of the decision he had made.

Of course that didn't mean Dean wasn't allowing himself breaks.

"Baby, I think you've got scruff," Dean teased Sasha when he had a moment to steal with the dark-haired hunter by the jukebox, not caring one bit if those twitchy hunters caught him being cozy with another guy, coz really, Dean was so not in the mood for having to hide who he was in his own damn home.

Ha.

_Home_.

"I kinda like it," Sasha grinned, leaning into Dean's touch as Dean stroked a hand along the nicely even bits of stubble forming on Sasha's face, dark and, yeah, scruffy. It was amazingly sexy.

"It's all rough though. I'm used to kissing you smooth," Dean had to tease, even though he didn't really care that their now matching stubble scratched at each other when he kissed Sasha full on the lips.

Sasha pushed on Dean's chest playfully, being called away by the twins. "You always have scruff," Sasha mock-pouted as he slipped out of Dean's grasp, "And I've had to live with it for months."

Dean grinned. "Yeah," he whispered, "But I'm you right now, so I'm betting if I shaved it wouldn't grow back. Be all baby soft for ya," he added with a wink.

It was painfully obvious how difficult it was for Sasha to tear himself away from Dean after that, but the twins were still calling and they were technically in the bar surrounded by a lot of people who, granted, were so busy no one had even noticed Dean and Sasha pawing at each other near the jukebox _at all_, but…still. Dean was definitely going to have to ask the twins if he had been trained enough for safe 'recreational activities' yet.

Definitely.

"Dean!" called Ellen as Dean watched Sasha shuffling away to join Eppy and Atty, "Just got back with the supplies! Grab someone and bring it all in, will ya!?"

Dean nodded Ellen's direction, glad to have an immediate distraction actually, and scanned the bar for the best candidate to help him. Ellen had been out getting more groceries for the horde.

He saw Sam over at a table with Sarah, Jo, and Ula's shapeshifter friend, Danny. Sam must have noticed Dean's stare, whether supernaturally or just from brother-sense, because he looked up and smiled at Dean right then in that same longing way he had when he left Dean in the med room.

That made Dean's heart plummet a little. He definitely wouldn't be asking Sam for help right now as that might mean risking another heart-to-heart that would probably implode him. Besides, there were some issues there that he didn't know how to deal with quite yet.

He also wouldn't be asking the girls, who he realized still had some kind of buzzing excitement between the two of them, like a secret no one else knew. He would have to pry about that later. _Later_ because Sarah seemed content with Sam right now, and Jo was having a bit of a flirting match with Mr. Shapeshifter. Dean wondered if she knew what he was. That'd be a hoot.

Coming up blank so far for a helper then, Dean rolled away from the jukebox to check the other room and nearly collided head-on with Iain. He grabbed the other man by the biceps to make sure no one ended up on the floor, shaking his head with a dull laugh. He and Iain hadn't actually crossed paths since Iain chewed Dean out earlier. "Hey," he managed, smiling wide as he could, "Don't suppose you feel like hauling in groceries? You'd be saving my life, man, I swear to God," he gave his best attempt at the puppy eyes on that, which on him usually came out more flirty and even smarmy rather than sympathetic, unless he really meant them.

Iain was definitely not the type of guy to hold a grudge though, and actually looked relieved, like he had been afraid Dean would be angry with him. "Yeah. _Fuck_ yeah. I could use a little exercise. Been sitting on my ass cataloguing _all fucking day_. Lead the way, man," Iain smacked Dean on the back.

They shared a smile that both communicated they were okay and that they understood each other, something only guys could manage really, and that girls would have had to talk out at length. Then Dean was leading Iain towards the kitchen where Ellen had parked a van full of groceries outside the back door.

There was so much chatter going on around Dean and Iain as they walked through the bar to the kitchen that they couldn't hear themselves think let alone talk to each other until they were through the kitchen doors.

"We always seem to end up alone in the kitchen," Iain mused, that dull roar of noise muffled now, thank goodness, "Think it's some sorta sign?"

"If by sign you mean reason we should raid the new groceries for munchies, I am so right there with ya, pal," Dean bucked Iain with his shoulder.

And just as Dean hoped, Iain laughed. "You know me too well, my friend," he joked right back, "It's common courtesy anyway to let the loaders get first dibs, right?"

"Oh, totally," Dean agreed.

The first couple loads weren't too bad either. Dean was an incubus now so heavy lifting wasn't exactly _heavy_ lifting anymore. He could handle about twice as many bags as Iain. It was still surprising how many trips it took them though, and how much Ellen had managed to fit inside one freakin' van. Only a mother.

They had about one load left, laughing about something or another as they headed one last time out to the van, when Iain suddenly looked out past Dean and went sheet white in seconds.

"Who are you?" Iain asked with a hitch in his voice, frightened at finding someone right there in front of them when no one had been outside moments before.

Dean didn't even have to wonder really as he turned his head and saw _Castiel_ standing just in front of the van's open door. "Hello, Dean. We need to talk," the angel said gravely, his face that passive blank stare he had worn when Dean first met him and said those exact same words.

At this point Dean really couldn't help himself, Iain present or not, and in fact maybe Iain's presence was part of the reason Dean responded as he did, with a hand scrubbed down his face and a firm, "_Fuck_."

tbc...

A/N: If you're still a little confused as to what Dean has decided as far as the gift goes, you should be. All will be revealed next chapter, with one helluva cliffy. But then, you should figure that, as this is me talking. ;-)

Oh I am excited for this next part! So excited. Been planned for so long. It includes a little on Castiel's vessel so I was SO happy it worked out that we'll see the episode about the vessel this week BEFORE I write what I want I have planned. Depending on the episode, I may or may not take artistic liberty with him. ;-)

Please review! I know thing's are getting crazy but oh how worth it, I promise you...

Crim


	87. Part 4: Standing Tall

Okay, so this ended up WAY longer than planned, and has been split into two chapters. So no cliffy yet. Next chapter up later this week. Enjoy!

Also, this chapter is for Winterheart for all the times I forgot to credit her for song recs that ended up in the fic, like "Almost Lover", "Goodbye my Lover", "Live This Life", and "Hurt". And also to Hellfire for Malak in this chapter. ;-)

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Part 4: Standing Tall

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Dean could tell immediately that Iain was freaked, too engrossed now in the fearsome ways of a hunter's life that he probably assumed Castiel was some sort of baddie. Hell, Iain might even be assuming that Castiel was Malak, a thought that would have almost been funny if there was anything funny about Dean's guardian angel looking that serious. Cas hadn't even looked that serious last night, but now he looked downright grave.

"It's okay, Iain," Dean gripped Iain's arm for a moment to reassure him, "This is Castiel. That angel of mine that ditched before you could meet him last time. Course I'm pretty sure he's about to give me some really bad news for this visit. _Again_," Dean grumbled as he looked back to Castiel, who had yet to move from standing like some immobile watchtower in front of the van full of groceries.

Under Dean's accusatory glare, Castiel's expression almost immediately shifted, so human really, overrun with different emotions he couldn't express all at once, but Lord, how he tried. He was at least courteous enough to incline his head in Iain's direction before sighing and saying, "I do not always bring ill news, Dean, but I am afraid you are not wrong today. It has come to our attention that some of Malak's forces have slipped past our defenses. A couple demons only, but enough that they could be extremely dangerous to you if they are indeed already here," he nodded towards the Roadhouse, "Has anyone out of the ordinary arrived recently?"

Dean almost choked on a laugh. "Is that a trick question?" he spat, "_Everyone's_ out of the ordinary right now, human hunters and crazy looking fae-folk alike. Are you saying we got demon _spies_ with us?" That was just too horrible a thought to entertain, especially since Sam should be able to sense if there were any creatures around besides the ones they knew about.

"I am sorry, Dean, we do not know anything for certain," Castiel shook his head, looking as if this mishap was somehow all his fault, another human aspect Dean wondered if the angel had learned from him, "Even we did not feel their presence immediately when they crossed into our camps and moved on into this world. We believe Solrin may be able to mask demons in some way, something only noticeable if they act out, or in the case of possessing a human…" his eyes shimmered as he stared at Dean more intensely, "They could take over at a given time after lying dormant."

"Wait," Dean held up a hand, chilled and nauseous as he stepped closer to Castiel, leaving Iain back by the kitchen entrance, "You mean we might have _sleepers_? Like someone could be possessed and not even know it?" Yep, there was that sinking feeling again. If what Cas was saying was true then those two escaped demons could be in any of the new arrivals. Or in no one. Dean didn't want to rouse up suspicion when he hadn't even explained to all of the hunters yet that they had fae and sex demons and shapeshifters on their side.

"Be watchful, Dean," Castiel said, as if Dean wasn't already thinking that intently, "Do not act unless you are certain, but be wary of those you do not know, even those you do. These demons are not like most of the escaped souls you dealt with in the past. They are soldiers. Our own numbers are stretched too thin," he glanced down, disappointment in his voice having to tell Dean that, "but as the time grows closer, we will send some from our ranks to your aid in preparation. The fae representative will be contacting you soon as well, once she has acquired more support. We will do all we can to help those willing to stand here and fight, Dean, I promise you that. Are _you_…willing to do the same?"

The question sounded tagged-on to Dean, like that whole damn explanation had merely been an excuse to yet again ask if Dean was finally going to man-up and ask the Trickster to take back his gift. It made Dean just as angry as before that his decisions had to be so damn important, and that no one seemed to trust he could make them despite all their words to the contrary.

He ignored Castiel's question.

A sudden creak from behind snapped Dean's attention to Iain again, who had been slowly trying to back his way through the door with wide, fearful eyes. "Iain," Dean frowned at him, "Dude, I said it's okay. Cas is an _angel_. He's not gonna hurt you."

Caught in his escape now, Iain remained frozen just inside the doorframe, staring at Castiel wildly but darting his eyes to Dean as he shrugged and gave a weak grimace of a smile. "I-I know. I'm just…not really all that…_pure_ in the sin department. More like a fucking disaster area," he scowled. Then he suddenly seemed to realize that he had just cursed in front of an angel and both of his hands flew up to cover his mouth, his brown eyes even wider. "Please don't smite me," he said muffled through fingers.

Dean tried not to laugh, his own eyes wide in disbelief. The one reaction he had yet to experience in relation to Castiel was fear of being smote—or was it smited? _Smitten_? Dean coughed and shook his head. "Iain…"

"It is alright, Dean," came Castiel's voice from much closer behind Dean now. Dean turned and watched as Castiel approached Iain at the door, soon parallel with Dean as the angel allowed that small, fleeting smile. "You exaggerate your sins, Iain Wilde. You are a good man, I can see that only too easily," he said.

Iain's eyes were about ready to pop out of his head now, his hands slowing falling from covering his mouth. "You know me?" he asked in a small voice.

Again, Castiel's lips twitched within a subtle smile. "I know everyone who is important to Dean," he said, which might have actually been a little creepy if, ya know, he wasn't an _angel_ and all, "And you needn't worry about any…smiting," he allowed his smile to twitch into something that might have been a smirk, "You are hardly sinful in a way that requires scorn or retribution. In fact…I find you quite beautiful," he finished softly.

Now, if it had been anyone else they knew calling Iain 'beautiful' Dean might have thought it was either a come-on or a tease, but when Castiel said it, the connotation meaning something so much deeper than physical appearance, it was something entirely different.

Iain was positively dumbstruck.

He actually squeaked in response, a little whimper that he quickly coughed his way out of, blush in his cheeks, goofy smile back in place, as he attempted very valiantly to make a suitable comeback. "_You're_ beautiful," he said at first, which caused his eyes to widen again at his traitorous brain for allowing that, fumbling and blushing even more, "I-I meant…y-ya know…the vessel…guy. He's…kinda hot. I mean—!" Iain clenched his eyes shut, his face full-blown red in seconds and his expression the funniest damn thing Dean had ever seen, "Not hot! I so didn't mean to call an angel hot. Or his…vessel. Or anything! I just…" now Iain was scrubbing a hand through his hair, "Sorry. Sorry. He can't, like…hear me or anything, can he?" he finished his ramblings with a gesture at Castiel's body, or rather, the vessel's.

Dean assumed the only reason he wasn't on the floor laughing right now was because he was too stunned to believe all of that chatter had actually come out of Iain's mouth. Iain knew about Castiel, knew that the angel rode around in a regular human guy, but this being his first encounter with the angel, Dean supposed it was understandable to get a little flustered.

And if he was being very honest with himself, he was thankful for Iain's ramblings because he had often wondered about Castiel's vessel but hadn't really known how to broach that subject.

"Actually, he is very much aware of everything that happens while I am in control," Castiel answered simply, "Unless it is something I purposely veil for his protection. Certain battles are not for human eyes. But he is ever-aware otherwise. It is part of the communal nature of this type of joining, not like demons that take without giving anything in return." Castiel stopped himself there, gave a little start even like he hadn't realized he had gone on with all that until he was finished. Then he summoned back his small smile as he regarded Iain. "Jimmy is very flattered by your words," he said.

That required a moment of pondering, or would have if Dean's lips had immediately spewed back out, "_Jimmy_?" like it was something positively vile, "His name is Jimmy?"

Castiel turned his attention back to Dean, his head tilting in that curious way. "Born James Daniel Novak. But, yes, he prefers Jimmy. Do you think it unsuitable," he pulled at his lapels and looked down _Jimmy's_ body, as if searching for some reason the vessel's name should be something else.

"Nah, man, I didn't mean it like that," Dean quickly covered, "Just, uhh…such a normal name, ya know, for a…guy with an angel in him," he chuckled, and then coughed like Iain had earlier to cover it, "So," Dean suddenly had a nauseous thought occur to him, "This…_Jimmy_, he…sees everything you see? Even when you're..." Dean's eyes shifted back and forth, unable to resettle on Castiel, "Keeping an eye on me?" Coz imagining Cas stealing looks when Dean and Sasha were getting intimate was kind of funny and kinky since he was an _angel_ and got all flustered if Dean tried to bring it up. But Mr. Tax Account, Jimmy Novak, was a whole other story.

With a creased brow and total lack of understanding of Dean's actual meaning, Castiel responded, "Of course. It is really only fearsome battles I find necessary to shield him from. Why do you ask?"

Dean so wasn't going to explain this out loud. "No reason," he shrugged.

"So…he can hear and see and…understand everything that's happening right now?" interrupted Iain's still shy and slightly squeaky, pre-pubescent boy voice, despite being older than Sam—and Dean currently.

Once again, Castiel turned to regard Iain with fond patience. "Yes. It is a great sacrifice he makes in allowing me use of his body, a great testament to his faith. When the war is over, should we be victorious, he will be greatly rewarded and allowed to return home. But it is a risk, as my death would also mean his."

Something sour dripped down into the pit of Dean's stomach thinking of Castiel's _death_. How did a person function without their guardian angel? He couldn't allow that to happen, not to Castiel, and especially not when innocent Jimmy was stuck in there too. But there was another thought plaguing him. "He got…family waiting for him?" Dean asked.

The way Castiel's expression dropped, a youthfulness back that seemed so rare when Castiel usually shown with such experience and age, had Dean wondering if he was seeing Jimmy's reaction to that question instead of the angel's.

"Never mind," Dean spoke up quickly, thinking better of asking that particular question, "I actually wanted to ask you something, Cas, before you bamfed out on me again without warning."

Head tilting curiously once more, Castiel nodded, apparently understanding perfectly the term 'bamf' which Sam hadn't when he first heard it, but of course Dean Winchester's guardian angel had pop culture references in spades.

"What are we actually preparing for here?" Dean asked, "Everyone's starting to arrive, all these…soldiers, I guess, for this war, and we have no idea what we're going to be facing. Is it just Solrin leading a bunch of real as life demons, no human meat suits necessary, or are we talking every evil thing under the sun?"

Castiel's lips pursed tightly, his brow furrowing again with a troubled expression.

"Guess that answers that," Dean sighed, dragging a hand back through his hair, "So we prepare for…everything? How are we supposed to do this?" Dean didn't necessarily expect an answer to that question, but he couldn't help noticing the way the angel's expression shifted once more, falling into place with that sad, disappointed look that spoke of all the ways he wanted to reprimand Dean for staying an incubus, but wouldn't. Dean was thankful Castiel didn't say anything in regards to that actually but instead merely shook his head.

"You will have reinforcements of all that is good in this world, Dean, just as Solrin commands the very opposite. Not a matter of species, of course, but of choice. Until then, you can only prepare those with you now as you see…fit. Do not be surprised to discover later that creatures you have on your side are on the other side also. Even Solrin, who is human, is evidence of that. Choice is how this war will be won, Dean, only choice." He looked at Dean squarely again as he said that, his eyes shimmering, pleading with him.

Dean said the only thing he could. "You'll know my choice soon enough. Trust me, Cas. I know what I'm doing." And because he honestly believed that, believed in himself and his ability to make at least this choice even if he still doubted the choices ahead of him, Dean was able to smile assuredly at Castiel untainted by doubt.

The angel's head cocked further, his eyes narrowing slightly, only to soften, his expression blank but perhaps wanting to express more, and if that was as much as Dean could hope for, he'd take it. "I have great faith in you, Dean," Castiel said, which seemed to be the anthem of the hour. Dean didn't argue this time, because from Cas he believed that faith almost as much as he did from Sasha.

"Uhh…n-nice to…meet you," Iain jumped in, realizing that Castiel was about to go, and thrusting his hand out to shake that of, well, _Jimmy_ but with Castiel as driver.

Castiel stared at Iain's hand for a moment, almost as if he didn't know what it was, or at least didn't know what he was supposed to do with it, but then maybe he was just so surprised that someone would extend this gesture to him. Because then he did take Iain's hand, Castiel's other hand coming up as well to gently hold Iain's between both of his. He smiled. "Thank you," he said, then his mouth twitched and he added, "And if I might say, I would not terribly mind it if you cursed slightly less from time to time." He looked at Dean. "You either." And then with a gasp from Iain, Castiel was suddenly gone, fluttered away on wings Dean had only ever seen as shadows.

Dean let Iain have a few moments before smacking him on the back. "Don't listen to him, man. Sometimes the only way to accurately describe a situation is with a big, loud '_fuck'_. You know what I mean?" he winked, fitting an arm around Iain's shoulders and leading him to the van to finally get the last of those groceries.

A nervous, disbelieving laugh replied, "Yeah. I hear ya. And, Dean, I gotta say, since I met you, my life has definitely become way more interesting."

"Interesting?" Dean repeated skeptically.

"_Fucking_ unbelievable," Iain grinned.

That was more like it. Dean patted Iain on the back again, grabbed up a few bags of groceries, "And to think…you ain't seen nothin' yet."

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Dean only relayed the information of possible demon sleeper soldiers to the people he most believed couldn't be possessed, which in the end was only Sasha, Sam, Sarah, and Jo—the other people beside's himself who had protection tattoos against possession. Dean hated to leave Bobby and Ellen amongst the suspects, but they couldn't afford to be too trusting right now. Iain was only exempt because he had not only been in Castiel's presence but _touched_ him. If Iain had been a demon in disguise, the angel surely would have felt something when they touched. In the meantime, they would have to keep a closer eye on everyone else.

After all of that was settled and his closest friends were now thoroughly paranoid—_awesome_—Dean was soon back to manual labor and whirling about the madness of the Roadhouse, watching those two twitchy hunters especially, though so far there wasn't any real evidence to suspect them or anyone else.

Since the previous day, Dean hadn't had much time to think about how far along he was in his incubus studies, not until the twins were stealing him again late after dinner to force a little more training on him. They insisted that while he was already more than efficient with everything else, he still needed a few more feeding tests before it would be safe for him to be with Sasha. Dean gave himself over to them gladly.

He was a little worried at first that they would have him wandering about the Roadhouse, looking for random couples hooking up and getting out some of their pre-apocalypse energies, but thankfully, there were other ways to practice besides 'hotel runs'.

The twins had Dean sit up on the roof feeling the pulse of emotions from everyone inside the Roadhouse flowing up into him, feeding specifically off the affection swirling about the people that loved him. When he was focusing solely on that, it shocked Dean how much of it there was. He could pinpoint each individual, weed through all of their other emotions right to the little pocket marked 'love for Dean Winchester'. At least that's how he liked to joke about it.

Sasha was thinking heavily on Dean, of course, that particular pocket of emotion—love for Dean—at the forefront, but it was even more true for Sam. It floored Dean a little to feel just how much all of Sam's current emotions were focused on him. Dean didn't know where Sam was, he could feel him not see him, and he was up on the roof to boot, but whatever Sam was doing, he was haunted by Dean, by guilt, regret, sorrow, and fear wrapping around that strong pulse of love.

Sam was frustrated, and maybe motivated by a few selfish things he didn't know how to explain fully just like Dean had been—motivated by a desire to not lose Dean again. How could Dean be angry about that? He still didn't know how to deal with it.

There were large differences in feeding from affection instead of the way Dean really needed, really _wanted_, but the threshold was still there. Dean knew he could keep from crossing it as long as he recognized it, and recognizing it was easy now. After last night he already knew that the real finale was much better than what that damn threshold tempted him with, so he didn't worry about possibly hurting Sasha anymore. It was his belief in that that assured the twins.

They were pushing him back inside the Roadhouse before long, smiling secretively, only _not_ so secretively because Dean knew exactly what they were thinking.

He was thinking it too.

_Sasha_.

Oh, Dean was plagued with plenty of other thoughts, the apocalypse being only too obvious a distraction, Sam as the brotherly paradox, trepidation that there really were sleeper demons amongst their recruits, and so many other things too. Part of Dean just wanted to sleep, prepare for what he would have to do tomorrow and how dangerous it might be, but he owed tonight to him and Sasha, he really did.

So when the twins released him and he snuck up to his and Sasha's room—thank God they still had a room to themselves—he was pleased to hear the shower running, the door almost fully closed but left just enough open for light to spill out. Sasha was here, not still trapped in the library where Dean would have had to track him down, the Roadhouse finally starting to quiet for the night.

Dean was far from content as he kicked back on the bed to wait out Sasha's shower, but he was certain of his decision. Ula's words had helped more than she would ever know, Iain's too, Bobby for how he trusted Dean without reprimand, and Sasha for never doubting to begin with that Dean knew how to make the right decision on his own. It wasn't as if Dean had _completely_ lied about why he wanted to stay an incubus, being with Sasha mattered to him more than anything, but it still meant something special that Sasha forgave him for having used this as a way to avoid his destiny.

Even though Sam had been the harshest, even harsher than Iain's little outburst, it was definitely Dean's brother that made sure he had to stop and actually consider that the others weren't all blowing smoke when they said they believed in him. Dean didn't need Sam to convince him of the right decision, that wasn't what Sam had been doing, and considering how stubborn Dean was, it wouldn't have worked anyway. But Sam, even in his pissy, demanding way, had been the one person who Dean couldn't ignore when he said he wished Dean had more faith in himself.

Dean had to believe in himself now more than ever.

As Dean thought about that, wondering how he was going to explain everything to Sasha—his eyes lazily closed, his hands behind his head on the pillow—he thought maybe he had stumbled upon the lesson Castiel wanted him to learn, and maybe the Trickster had intended the same thing. It would be just like the bastard, after all.

All those heavy thoughts must have gotten Dean to doze off because suddenly he could feel a large, soft hand dragging up his denim covered thigh, and then another hand slipping up under his T-shirt. The hands were cool, familiar. Dean felt weight on the bed as a figure climbed up the mattress to straddle his hips. Only when similarly cool lips pressed to the pulse point on his neck, Dean humming at how it made him shiver, did he suddenly realize that the familiarity of this wasn't right. Not right at all.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he pushed up to get away, not at all successful, but managing only to slide his body against the form of _Malak_ above him.

"Get off me!" Dean hissed, hands quickly moving to push at Malak's shoulders. He was male again, blonde, black suit and all, and it just made Dean so angry. Not only were his decisions important, but it seemed that every time he made one, Malak was right there to gloat.

"I can't delve into your mind as I once could, Dean," Malak said as though he _were_ reading Dean's mind, "But I do know how you think, remember? You'll be giving yourself over to me before you know it. Mmm," he hummed, licked his lips, red on black eyes flashing and far too close for Dean's liking, like every other part of Malak was right now—too close, "Then, Dean, when you choose me," he glanced briefly at the bathroom door where Dean could still hear the water running, "I'll get a taste of that boy too."

"Like _Hell_ you will!" Dean pushed at Malak with all his incubus strength. The bastard didn't budge. "Get off! You're never touching him, not through me or any other way either. You're not going to win! I know what I'm doing."

"Oh do you now?" Malak said tauntingly, his breath cool like his skin as it struck Dean's face, his thighs tightening around Dean's legs to hold him still.

Dean really wasn't a fan of Mr. Grabby-Hands Prince of Darkness. He sneered, "You think you're making some kinda point like this, is that it? You know I haven't seen you in a skirt in a while. And that's not me saying I'd like to see you in drag either. What, not feeling womanly fresh lately?" Dean didn't exactly want to stall, because that might mean Sasha would come out of the bathroom while Malak was still here, and that just spelled disaster in every which way. But he couldn't play into Malak's hands, not again.

Of course the asshole just had to grin back at him. "You gave me the impression, Dean, that you preferred this form," Malak said, the hand that Dean had almost forgotten was slipped up under his shirt stroking back down to Dean's ribs and making him shudder, "All those comments about Michael's little _whore_ of a fae. Though I suppose that's why you like her, isn't it, because without her and her demon love affair all those millennia ago, dear Sasha would never have existed."

Actually, Dean had forgotten all about that, but he did owe something to the fae, Gwen, that Sasha was here with him now. It was a morbid thing that one man's happiness had to come from such a grieving story of love lost, or maybe even love that never was.

"Well, I'll tell you something, Dean, I didn't choose her form lightly. I am all I am now, no limits, no censors. If you've been missing a woman's touch…" Malak trailed, grinned, rippled then and was suddenly the very form Dean had been remembering, like Gwen but fiercer, long wavy red hair, black dress, yellow on black eyes, "Why didn't you just say so?" she purred in a low female voice.

Dean dug his nails into her shoulders as he glared up at this other Malak. It was a very different experience to have the female version atop him, lighter in principle but really not, holding him with equal power so that Dean still couldn't move. Only now the spread legs holding Dean between strong thighs were mostly bare, clad only in that short skirt, while longer painted nails were attached to the hand under Dean's shirt, trailing across his stomach.

A woman's touch. Right.

"I don't really care what you look like," Dean snarled, wondering for a brief moment why he wasn't vamping out yet into his incubus form, but maybe he just knew deep down that it wouldn't change anything when Malak was physically stronger regardless. Dean had to remember that she, he, whichever form couldn't hurt him, not until he was human again.

"Ah, but Dean, you must miss this a little," she spoke close beside his ear, smooth face brushing his cheek the way the male version had done the night before, "How it feels to have a woman's body against yours. You prefer women, don't you? Always did in the past. I thought perhaps your tastes had changed, but perhaps not. Does Sasha no longer…" she pressed her body tight to his, the legs straddling him making their groins connect obscenely beneath her skirt, "…satisfy you?"

Fire burned in Dean's chest. Nothing had ever made Dean as incensed as this demon, _nothing_. His hands were trapped on her shoulders, so he held them tightly and instead of pushing, this time he pulled, brought Malak down to him even more fully and crashed his lips to hers. Only when they were like this, their lips locked, could Dean feel Malak's emotions, and he felt the very moment her focus slipped.

It was almost too easy then to ram a knee up into her stomach, tossing her from the bed moments later. He wiped at his mouth as he sat up and glared at where Malak was seething on the floor of the bedroom.

"Sorry to disappoint you, _Lucy_," Dean said with a hard gaze, "But you don't compare to Sasha, whether guy, or chick, or freakin' howler monkey. Not even close. And you don't scare me either. Not enough for me to ever let you win." That was the truth, because there were things about Malak that terrified Dean, so deeply, but it didn't matter. It was like he had told Sam so long ago now. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid of the things they faced, but that he couldn't let fear keep him from what he had to do. He wished he had remembered that sooner.

Malak was still seething the same way she had—well, _he_ had—when Dean refused the demon in the Impala, only this time there was no growing darkness being sucked into Malak's body. She knew there was nothing she could do, and now she knew that Dean knew it too. "You are brave and foolish, Dean," she said, rising to her feet, her beauty marred by anger, "I would offer kingdoms at your feet, all the world, and yet you continue to deny me. I could have been more lenient, but now…" as if lightening struck and flashed into the room, Dean saw that vision of rows upon rows of fangs shimmering across Malak's face, "I will make you regret this so deeply, you will be _begging_ me before the end."

Sulfer. Dean smelled it strongly as Malak disappeared, leaving behind a trail of smoke and stench like she had opened a gate straight to Hell, which was probably fairly accurate. It made Dean cough, choke a little on that smell he had always hated, that anyone in their right mind hated whether they knew it meant demon or not. But Dean would not be afraid, not when he knew he had Malak worried.

He was feeling a little good now actually, having stood up to Malak without help from Castiel or anyone else. He felt more certain of his choice, wondering if he really was worthy of all this, what everyone thought of as his destiny. He still didn't know what that really meant, but he wasn't going to hide from it anymore, not because he was afraid, not because Malak had beaten him before.

Dean Winchester was stronger than that, all on his own.

The bathroom door creaked open and Dean jumped a little, pleasantly surprised to see a damp, black-haired man coming out in a towel he hadn't even tied around himself but was carrying limply like he knew he should be modest but didn't really care to be. Dean grinned when that towel slipped from Sasha's fingers, him being just as pleasantly startled to find Dean waiting for him on the bed.

"Someone sure looks pleased about something," Sasha snorted, about to bend down and snatch up his lost towel before thinking better of it. He stepped over it instead and walked assuredly to the edge of the bed, parts of his skin still painted in water, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his stubble not yet shaved away and a like dark trail leading down between his legs instead of tattoos.

Dean groaned at the sight. "Feeling…pretty fantastic actually," Dean said as he swept his eyes over that body that just _unraveled_ him. Sasha didn't need to know about Malak's visit, only that Dean was confident and sure. "I finished my lessons," he said, almost managing to sound conversational, if his voice wasn't already husky.

Color flushed to Sasha's pale skin clear down his chest. It was strange seeing the anti-possession tattoo without a scar running through it. "I figured," Sasha chuckled, eyeing Dean hungrily. Yes, that was hunger, as clear as it had ever been in Sasha's eyes before. Incubus or no, Sasha had been needing this too, that was obvious.

But Dean wasn't about to make the same mistake he made once before. He held out a hand to Sasha, still kicked back on the bed himself, fully clothed. "Come here," he said, allowing his expression to turn serious for a moment.

Sasha immediately noticed the change. "Dean…?" he asked as he took that hand and allowed Dean to pull him onto the bed. Dean pulled Sasha right to him, all that naked skin lined up along his own clothed form, both half lying and half sitting up. Their embrace was already intimate, but Dean had something important to tell Sasha first.

"I want to tell the hunters about the fae, about everyone. Tomorrow," Dean began, one hand on Sasha's back, the other rubbing up and down his bicep, "After the rest of the sex squad gets here, and a few more hunters we're expecting tomorrow morning. That way everyone will know the truth and can make their own decision. We might lose some people. Might even have some trouble. But I think…me being like this," he glanced down his incubus although human-looking body, "…it might help. It'll at least help me make a good point, since even some of the regular hunters think I'm the freakin' Messiah thanks to the talk going around." Dean tried to laugh at that but he didn't really find it funny right now.

Sasha was smiling though, and reached over to grab the hand moving rhythmically up and down his arm. "And then afterwards…you'll call the Trickster," he said, not asking, not having to ask at all, because he knew, somehow always just knew.

It pained Dean how much he loved this man for finally trusting him so much that Sasha didn't waver in siding with Dean's decision at all, even though Dean still couldn't help thinking at least a little that Sasha was more than he ever deserved. "Yeah," he said, not needing to explain the whys to Sasha, because he probably knew that too, "Doesn't mean I don't plan to work like mad to find a way to get you out of your deal, baby, you know that. I still want this. I want _you_."

"I know," Sasha smiled sadly, believing Dean's intentions but still looking like he had accepted in life that some things would never be his, including a happy ending, "And it doesn't mean you don't want to try for a little _sex_ before we switch back either…does it?" he grinned to banish that sorrow, licking his lips and looking at Dean heatedly, his naked body so touchably soft and close.

There were so many reasons why tonight, being together like this in a way they would never know again, could turn out filled with sadness dancing back and forth between them, like that night not long ago when Dean was healing Sasha, and the incubus—for he had still been an incubus then—had nearly taken too much from Dean.

Dean didn't want that now. He wanted what they once had, hard bodies meeting unashamed and without worry, fiercely loving each other and sharing their love through skin. They deserved that much before this was over. They deserved more.

"Come here," Dean said again, even though Sasha couldn't really be more 'there', as in right on top of Dean for how they coiled together, legs intertwined, arms tight around each other so they could kiss.

Sasha knew just how to make Dean ache for more, licking long strokes inside Dean's mouth and then pulling back, forcing Dean to lean forward in order to catch him. Sasha allowed himself to be caught a few times, but then he was doing it again, and this time he put a finger to Dean's lips to still him. "There's something I've been wanting to do for a long time, if you're up for it. You trust me right?" Sasha's blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

Well, they were certainly off to a good start. "With my life and my loins," Dean smirked, "Bring it on."

A low laugh rumbled out of Sasha, their bodies still close so that the vibrations warmed Dean's chest, and several other areas. "Good," Sasha said, and then he was suddenly uncoiling himself from Dean and scrambling off the bed, "Just give me a second to find them. You can take off your clothes in the mean time." He crouched facing away from Dean in front of his duffle, giving Dean one hell of a view of pale, smooth, tattoo-less back, Sasha's slim waist and hips, and the far too inviting curve of Sasha's ass.

It was torture, is what it was. "Find what?' Dean asked, rightfully wary, even though he was off the bed seconds later, pulling off his socks. Dean could practically see that Sasha was grinning, even though his back was to Dean.

"You'll know soon enough," Sasha peered back over his shoulder, and yep, that was definitely a grin, damn devious looking too, "Keep undressing and lie on the bed. I'll be right with you," he said coyly.

Now Dean was getting annoyed, and _really_ turned on, a pulse of heat sent straight to his groin just from how nonchalant Sasha was being about some secret sex-play he had planned. "Aww, don't you want a striptease?" Dean decided to play along, "I can do my Jamie Lee Curtis, _True Lies_ impression," he waggled an eyebrow, hand snaking up his T-shirt to show off his tight abs.

A shudder ran visibly down Sasha's spine. "Complete with falling off the bedpost?" he asked hopefully, "Coz that's gotta be one of the hottest thing's ever caught on film."

Dean couldn't have agreed more. Nothing like innocent suburban wife and mother turned impromptu stripper, only her klutziness had made it even hotter, especially with how she got right back onto that bedpost like she hadn't even fallen. "Sure thing, babe," Dean trailed his hand along the bed as he walked to the end of it, letting his fingers graze slowly up the bedpost once he got there, "If you tell me what you're looking for," he added.

"No deal," Sasha turned back to the duffle, rummaging again, "I know you, Dean. And I know better."

"Better than what?"

"Better than to let you con me, that's what. I'll take that striptease as a rain check. Now get on the bed."

Foiled as he was, that was an order Dean did not need asked of him more than once. He was damn curious and still a little annoyed, but he'd listen. For now. He chucked his shirt, kicked off his pants, his shorts, and hopped back onto the bed. He kept forgetting about his tattoos, not used to seeing them on his own body, but rather Sasha's. He found himself tracing the lines lazily as he lay back and waited for Sasha to find whatever he was looking for.

The anticipation of wanting to be with Sasha, be with Sasha like this before it was taken away from them, and the way those markings turned Dean on even if they were on _his_ body instead of Sasha's, had Dean hardening with sudden urgency. He gave his dick a few quick, mindless strokes to still the pressure.

"Better hurry…or I might just start without you," he teased the still crouched Sasha.

A snort replied, and then Sasha was making a triumphant noise and telling Dean to close his eyes. "I know you'll love this, but it might take a little convincing first. So just…trust me and let me do this," Sasha asked, refusing to reveal what he had found in his duffle until Dean complied and closed his eyes.

Dean considered peaking when he heard Sasha approaching the bed but figured he'd just go with it since this was sort of a special occasion, and Sasha was so unbelievably trusting of him lately, just like Dean wanted. He didn't want to do anything to spoil this. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep his body from tensing when he felt soft cloth cover his eyes as Sasha started to tie something around his head.

A blindfold? Dean didn't protest initially, but he couldn't help it after the blindfold was secure and Sasha snatched up one of his arms to tie a soft cloth around his wrist too.

"Uhhh…hang on here," Dean started dissenting before he could stop himself, tugging his hand away, "Bondage? Coz I…thought I mentioned once I didn't really like the idea of being tied up. To date that has only ever been a bad experience for me, usually coupled with psychos trying to kill my brother. Or me. Or _both_. So…"

"Dean," Sasha began placatingly, "I'm not about to leave you tied up just so I can run across the hall to kill Sam. Or you," he laughed, "I can't believe you've never done this with sex before."

"Sure I have," Dean protested, really wanting to take the blindfold off now and trying not to rip his arm away too harshly when Sasha grabbed his wrist again, "I've tied up plenty of chicks, or done the blindfold thing. But, ya know…not the other way around. Kinky chicks like that I could usually talk my way into doing other things instead, like…" actually, Dean probably didn't want to tell Sasha about all of those 'likes' because some of them still made him blush. "Just…let's maybe think of something else. Or just the blindfold. I could handle just the blindfold," he tried.

Sasha took Dean's wrist gently this time, but firm enough that he wouldn't let Dean go when he tried to tear it away again. "You said you trusted me, so trust me. You really don't know what you're missing," he said softly, his weight on one side of the bed making it dip just slightly, "I'm not into the hardcore pain equals pleasure bullshit, Dean, you know that. This isn't about that. This is about putting complete trust in someone else, giving yourself over to me and knowing that I only want to make you feel good. Is that really something that scares you?" His voice was humored not offended, which Dean decided to take as a good thing, coz really, he was being a baby right now and he knew it, as bad as when he couldn't bring himself to step foot on a plane.

He struggled to switch gears for Sasha's sake and let his wrist go limp in Sasha's hold. "Geez, man," Dean mustered a smile, "Where are the cuffs if you wanna tie me up? Scarves are for chicks, you big _girl_."

Laughter bubbled out of Sasha, relieved and very pleased that Dean was still willing to play along, as he began once again to tie a scarf around Dean's wrist, and then tie the other end to the bedpost, stretching Dean's arm up behind him. "Handcuffs cut into the skin. Scarves don't. Wouldn't want to hurt those delicate wrists of yours, Dean," he teased back.

"I'm pretty sure I could get out of this if I really wanted to," Dean threatened.

Sasha just laughed, took Dean's other wrist and tied it to the opposite bedpost. Then his weight left the side of the bed. "Well, I'm gonna run downstairs for a midnight snack," he said cheerfully.

"Not even fucking funny," Dean said warningly. He was pretty sure he would break both bedposts if Sasha really tried to pull that.

"Kidding," Sasha chuckled, climbing back onto the bed along Dean's left side, trying very valiantly, it seemed, not to touch him, "Of course I'm kidding. You're going to love this, Dean." He slithered up against Dean's side, his breath dusting Dean's ear as he whispered, "I'll have you begging for it by the end," like the most terrible tease, so promising, but despite the dangerous edge to his tone, not threatening at all. Not like Malak, even though the words were so similar.

Dean shivered in anticipation even though Sasha's hadn't even touched him yet. It wasn't so bad really, the sensory deprivation. He couldn't see, his arms were tied spread eagle to either bedpost, but he had full range of his bottom half, his mouth, the places that really mattered, and he did trust Sasha, so much.

Sasha was quiet beside him though, not really touching him, just that closeness, the feel of Sasha's body heat, the way the bed dipped on that side again. Dean didn't know what Sasha was doing, couldn't see him, but he imagined Sasha was casting his gaze over every part of Dean's bare skin. This was the first time either of them had been fully naked with the other since they switched.

Did it pain Sasha, Dean wondered, to see Dean like that, an incubus, the markings clear and imprinted along his hips? Dean quickly shook that thought off. He didn't want this to be about grieving. They had had enough of that.

"You're so god damn _sexy_," Sasha growled, almost sounding like his old self, his voice rumbling so low, as the tips of his fingers began to trail very lightly up Dean's left leg, "Every last bit of you, Dean. And every last bit of you…" that light touch became the harsh drag of fingernails up to Dean's inner thigh, "…is _mine_."

Oh this was going to kill Dean, kill him fucking _dead_ by the end of it. He quaked as Sasha's touch became light again, dusting up over his hips, straight up his torso past his ribs. Then he started to trail back down on the other side. Even though Dean was prepared for it this time, he still trembled when Sasha got to his thighs, the nails digging in suddenly deeper again right on the edge of grazing Dean's throbbing erection that was starting to get far too hard to not be attended to _right the fuck now_.

"I haven't even started yet, Dean," Sasha said breathily, as if he could read Dean's thoughts, or maybe he could see it on Dean's face, how he was already wound so tightly.

It was the strangest thing because Dean could already feel it—he was _feeding_. He felt his own pleasure from this, sure, but it was Sasha's pleasure, pleasure just from having Dean like this, bound and wantonly under his thrall, that set Sasha on fire and had Dean reeling from the echo of it. Dean wanted to reach out and touch in return, find the proof between his lover's legs, but he couldn't, and really he didn't have to because he could _feel_ it. He had Sasha so turned on just by agreeing to this that feeding from it tasted like _honey_.

As Sasha's hands continued lazy trails along Dean's body, always growing harsher and more firm when passing close to Dean's hips and thighs, but never quite touching Dean where he wanted, Dean found himself trembling more consistently. Then Sasha was leaning in close, licking his tongue along the rim of Dean's ear, his breath hot and shuddery. Dean turned his head to swipe at Sasha's jaw, maybe get a good bite of the soft sinew of Sasha's neck, but almost immediately Sasha was pulling away with a tsking noise.

"You touch when I tell you to touch," Sasha reprimanded playfully, "And keep those legs still or I'll tie them to the bedposts too."

Dean hadn't realized it but he had been squirming pretty impressively, legs constantly moving about and hips jerking. How the hell was he supposed to stay still when Sasha kept teasing around his hips and thighs without actually touching him where he needed to be touched? Dean could feel how wet he was already, a trickle of pre-cum sliding down his length that he imagined Sasha lapping up with a long, slow swipe of his tongue. He moaned at the thought.

"What do you want, Dean?" Sasha asked all hushed and seductive in reply.

And Sasha said this wouldn't be torture. Right.

Dean tried to shift towards Sasha, towards that nearby body so he could…something, maybe even hump his fucking leg, just _something_ so he'd have a little friction.

"Touch me, damn it," he growled, "_Really_ touch me. What are you waiting for?" But Sasha's body pulled away from Dean just enough so he couldn't reach anything no matter how much he shifted Sasha's direction. "God damn, fucking sonuvabitch…" Dean grumbled, meaning to get out a few more choice curses before a firm finger was on his lips again.

"Shh…Dean, you'll get what you want," Sasha promised, his body still too far away, but his lips suddenly just _there_, replacing Sasha's finger and kissing Dean with bruising ferocity, Sasha's tongue cloying for Dean's with flits and swirls that made Dean's mind think instantly of how those movements would feel somewhere much lower on his body.

"Sasha…" Dean mewled when Sasha's kiss continue down his jaw and neck, hot and wet and clamping on every few nips. All the while, Sasha continued trailing his fingers, low along the markings on Dean's hips, nails scraping up his thighs again, until Dean was whimpering for any kind of touch _between his legs_. "_Please_," he finally moaned, hips arching fully off the bed and slamming back down impatiently. It would be so easy to rip the scarves or even break off the freakin' bedposts, but Dean couldn't deny he was enjoying this.

Sasha was too, and that's what made it even more surreal for Dean, because he could feel the constant flow of sexual energy growing, feel all of Sasha's emotions and pleasure in having Dean spread before him, trusting and—for the most part—compliant. Dean understood why Sasha wanted this now, while they were still switched, and Dean didn't want to break the spell. But god damn, he really did want Sasha to touch him.

"Please," he tried again, "I'll fucking call you Master for chrissake, just _touch me._"

Apparently, that's what Sasha had been waiting for, because suddenly every last inch of Sasha was molded to Dean's side, touching him all down the length of his body. Sasha's equally hot, hard, and weeping erection slid across Dean's hip as the skillful _human_ hunter straddled Dean's left thigh and bucked against it, his mouth twisting to suck one of Dean's nipples into his mouth while those same trailing fingers started at Dean's navel and went straight down. Heaven help Dean, because they didn't stop this time at Dean's hips, but kept on, slow, so god damn _slow_, until finally they got to the base of Dean's cock, feathered around to the underside and trailed lightly all the way up to the tip.

Dean shuddered at how this was even more torturous, because it was what he wanted but not enough, not nearly enough. Sasha's thumb circled Dean's tip, spreading the pre-cum in constant circles, but no more than that, not grabbing Dean and pumping hard like he desperately needed.

Once again, Sasha's hips bucked forward, his erection sliding hot across Dean's thigh. Dean strained against his bonds, trying to somehow get to Sasha, get closer, but all he could do was twist his hips halfway, which only resulted in Sasha's hand and cock leaving Dean's skin. _God damn it._

"You want me, Dean?" Sasha's voice was ragged and breathless despite how well he was controlling himself otherwise, "You must…want me pretty bad by now…don't you?"

Hell, Dean would settle for a quick handjob at this point because at least then he might stop shaking. So yeah, he wanted Sasha in the worst possibly way, right the god damn _now_. A little incapable of speech at the moment, he only managed a strangled whimper.

Sasha chuckled darkly. "Prove it," he hissed by Dean's ear, and then he was climbing onto Dean's body, which was definitely better than just humping his thigh, definitely better. Only Sasha sat up on Dean's chest too high for Dean to buck up into anything. A little reckless grinding would be good about now, anything really. But Sasha stayed sitting on Dean's chest, his dick hot against Dean's collarbone, his hand reaching back to…_oh_. Sasha grabbed Dean's dick and squeezed.

_Fuck_ yeah.

Dean's hips jerked up into Sasha's hold, wanting more, as much as possible, but Sasha kept his strokes tight and agonizingly slow, gathering the wetness with his thumb again, only this time spreading it down over all of Dean, making him wonderfully slick.

What made it even hotter was that Sasha kept scooting further up Dean's chest, having to extend his reach to still pump Dean's cock, but bringing Sasha's own length that much closer to where Dean could finally get at it. Dean assumed that was the point, and because he was so turned on right now he really, really wanted to taste Sasha.

He started trying to reach for it, stretching his neck off the bed. A swipe of his tongue was all it took to finally find salt and Sasha immediately moaned, completely caught off guard. Maybe the scooting had been unintentional on Sasha's part, after all, but he certainly had intentions now.

Scooting that much further up Dean's chest, his body heavy and making Dean breathless in a way he didn't mind at all, Sasha brought himself to Dean's lips, moaning again when Dean sucked him in eagerly, bobbing hot and fast to show Sasha just the kind of rhythm he wanted from Sasha's hand. If Sasha had wanted to drag this out further, he abandoned that now, pumping Dean in synch to how Dean was swallowing him down. Dean's moans caught in his throat, vibrating around Sasha's cock, but Sasha's little cries and whimpers were beautifully audible.

Sasha couldn't hold back all that well since he was sitting on top of Dean, all his weight pressing down, his dick practically forced down Dean's throat, so Dean had to keep a constant rhythm, swallowing Sasha back, licking along the underside of the shaft. Dean knew he was working Sasha expertly when the moans stopped short and Sasha's hand on Dean squeezed almost too tightly.

Then it was all so sudden, Sasha's release down Dean's throat, the threshold not even having appeared as Sasha's orgasm filled Dean with energy like he had never felt before. It put to shame feeding off of affection, even the amazing rush from feeding off of Sam and Sarah. Dean managed to swallow as Sasha came, but he had to pull his head to the side and gasp for air afterwards, buzzed and trembling from the whole thing.

"That…wasn't s'pposed to…happen," Sasha huffed in a blissed out voice, probably grinning wide with heavy-lidded eyes.

Still breathing through the affects of the sexual energy filling him, Dean couldn't help grinning too. "Never…underestimate me, baby. Even when bound," he managed.

Sasha laughed, his hand giving Dean a loving tug. That reminded Dean that despite how incredible that had just felt, how easy it was too because it had happened so naturally, feeding from Sasha and not hurting him, that he hadn't actually gotten off yet.

He was so hard, in fact, that when Sasha gave another swift pull, Dean actually yelped.

"Better take care of that, huh?" Sasha breathed warm on Dean's face after sliding off to the side, slipping his tongue into Dean's mouth then without warning and lapping at the remains of his own taste, "I can do that." For a few seconds, Sasha was completely gone, off the bed, away from where Dean could feel him, but Dean heard the drawer next to the bed open and close and knew that Sasha was being smart.

Dean understood fully what Sasha planned to do, and just how he was going to do it too, but it frustrated Dean to know end that he couldn't stretch and prepare Sasha himself. Then Sasha crawled up onto the bed, now on Dean's right side, and Dean could feel how Sasha's knees bumped against the side of his chest, Sasha's face close, kissing him quickly again. Sasha kept his face and body close to Dean as he reached back and stretched himself, the _noises_ he made hardening Dean further, knowing what Sasha was doing but only able to imagine the sight.

It was so damn hot to hear it and know it but not see it that Dean moaned right along with Sasha, wanting to touch, needing to touch, god damn it, he wanted to _touch_ Sasha right that second.

"Sasha…" Dean said in what he would later deny was a deep whine.

"Ugnn…ah…_Dean_…" Sasha responded, his forehead pressing into Dean's for support suddenly as he god damn _finger fucked_ himself to prepare for Dean. At this point Dean was afraid he'd lose it without Sasha even having to touch him again.

"Sasha," he said again, twisting towards Sasha, knowing that wouldn't help, but needing any kind of extra closeness, "_Hurry_…"

Just as Dean said that, a hand slick with oil began gliding up over Dean's already tightening balls, reaching his length and squeezing too hard again as it coated him. Dean needed Sasha now, now, fucking _now_, and praise be to Dave and whoever else might be up there, because Sasha was climbing back on top of Dean again, straddling him low enough this time, low on his hips so that when Dean bucked up he found just what he wanted.

He knew he had to be careful, be slow, because even though he had done fine with that first bit of feeding, he couldn't lose focus now. Besides, Sasha was human, not quite so indestructible; the last thing Dean wanted was to accidentally hurt him. So when Sasha pushed down, and damn, Dean wanted to buck all the way up into him, he grit his teeth and held back, let Sasha sheath Dean at his own pace. It was painstakingly glorious.

There was a bit back cry as Sasha settled on Dean to the hilt, and Dean feared the worst suddenly, that this was too different for Sasha when he was human, too painful. But then that hitched cry became a moan, Sasha's muscles tightening around Dean as he pleaded, "Dean, _move_," and Dean, being a loving boyfriend and all, obliged.

Part of Dean wished he could have free range of his hands, grip Sasha's hips, and help rock him up and down the way he wanted, but the constant jerking of Dean's hips did a pretty good job too, and Sasha, after adjusting, was going to _town_, hands tight on Dean's shoulders as he rode Dean hard.

In moments Sasha was gasping, "Dean…I-I…wanna see you. See your wings," he said, "Show me."

It was only too easy, letting the glamours fall away, feeling his wings spread out beneath him and falling off the sides of the bed, Dean's raptor feet hanging off the end further, his horns long and coiling and nearly colliding with the headboard on each thrust.

Dean didn't know how long he could last, rocking ceaselessly with Sasha and feeling the insane echo of everything Sasha was feeling, their combined sexual energy filling the whole damn room. But when Sasha started groping Dean's wings, trailing along them like he had trailed his fingers along the rest of Dean's body, Dean knew he had to last as long as possible.

"Fuck," Dean's head pressed hard into the pillow beneath him, "I want…I want to feed you the circuit. How do I do it?" Dean gasped. He had always wondered what it would be like—_this_, right now, flipped as they were and able to show each other how amazing they made each other feel on a whole new level.

"You…you know how. It's instinct. Just…just start slow, Dean…or you'll make me pass out," Sasha finished with a laugh. After all, he had been the one to knock Dean on his ass the first time.

Instinct. Okay. Dean felt it out, the circuit, he could feel how it flowed through them, the way the sexual energy was swirling and being transferred. It still floored him to feel it the way Sasha could feel it, like everything was doubled because he could feel what Sasha felt as well as his own pleasure. He wanted to share that with Sasha the way Sasha had shared it so many times with him.

So he believed in Sasha's words, believed he knew how to do this, and just…let the circuit open up to Sasha, small at first, through a window like how Attoinette had explained to Dean instead of opening a door.

Sasha gasped, moaned, thrust down harder, but didn't pass out. "_Dean_," Sasha called out instead.

"This is how you make me feel," Dean panted back at him, "Every damn time, like I'm caught in a god damn wildfire. You feel it, baby…? You feel what you do to me?"

Sasha keened—all the answer Dean needed.

Their activities had hardened Sasha again, the evidence squished between them as they rocked, and Dean was close now, so damn close, the shared circuit just making it all the more intense. And now, this time, Sasha getting close again too from all the new sensations, Dean saw that threshold beckoning him. He told it to _fuck off_ and held onto Sasha tighter.

Okay, so he couldn't really do any holding here, but he was certainly enjoying the ride, or rather Sasha riding him. And Sasha just kept stroking Dean's wings, scrapping his nails, touching him there along the rough but apparently very sensitive skin. Dean didn't even know what to liken the sensation to, but he suddenly understood why the merest brush of Dean's tongue or fingers along Sasha's wings had been enough to have the once redhead panting.

Dean came so suddenly then that he almost missed it, blinded by it coming out of nowhere because he had been so wrapped up in feeling what Sasha was feeling too, in sharing the circuit, in being more than one person. His orgasm wasn't even enough to bring him down from his high, because Sasha needed release again, and before Dean could even pause to think how hot it was that Sasha was so damn in need of him, the guy was scrambling off of Dean, hoisting up his hips, and pressing into Dean to fuck _him_.

Sasha wasn't being rash, he knew from experience that he wouldn't hurt Dean, and Dean was amazed by how much that was true, that it didn't hurt. At all. Even though he hadn't even been stretched the smallest bit, he just opened right up for Sasha and it was fucking fantastic. Being an incubus had some freakin' awesome perks.

It was only another minute or two before Sasha was spilling into Dean though, having been so close already—ha, Dean got him twice, and _he_ was the one who was tied up—and then they were both panting side by side on the mattress, waiting to come back down.

Dean, as a new but healthy incubus, had succeeded in feeding from Sasha, twice really, without taking too much. He could feel it, feel that Sasha was blissed out but fine, perfectly fine.

"Will you untie me now?" Dean mock-whined, wanting to hold Sasha so bad right now that it practically hurt. And his arms were getting a little sore too.

Sasha giggled, his hair tickling Dean's shoulder where it was fanned out beside him. "I guess I could do that," he said leadingly.

"_Sasha_."

"Okay, okay. But you liked that, didn't you?" he asked as he tugged down the blindfold first, and then began undoing Dean's wrists.

Dean blinked at the sudden brightness of the room, the light never having been turned off. "I take back everything I ever said. Being tied up is awesome, long as you're the one doing the tying, baby. I feel like I could run a frickin' marathon right now. _Jesus_. You feel like this every time you feed?" he looked to Sasha, the dark-haired man's sweat-sheened and beautiful face slowly focusing as Dean's eyes adjusted.

A smile flashed across Sasha's face. "Only when I feed from you, Dean," he said.

It took Dean a few minutes of being unbound, of holding Sasha close, to remember that he was in his incubus form still, wings and claws and all, but when he started to shift back Sasha was suddenly squeezing him tighter.

"Will you…stay like this tonight?" he asked in a surprisingly small voice.

Dean understood too well that sudden emotion that had been thankfully missing until now. This was something they would never have again, not like this, and despite all their hoping, it might be the last time Sasha ever got to see Dean as one of his own, as something he could have forever. Dean hated how that thought choked him, how it made him squeeze Sasha tighter too, so very much willing to stay this way even if it was a bit awkward sleeping on wings.

He knew the decision he had to make, that he would make tomorrow, and Sasha understood it too, but Dean didn't have to like it. The right thing wasn't always nice for everyone. It had to be some cosmic joke that the right thing was never nice for Dean Winchester.

tbc...later this week!

A/N: I could have just kept working on this and posted the longest chapter ever, or I could give you an extra normal chapter this week. Hope you're cool with that, folks. Next will have a bit of a cliffy, but then the biggest is definitely the end of this arc. Please review! You guys really do make the story, you know, more than some of you realize.

And if you haven't gone over to Dianna Wickham's page to read her Incubus/Ten Inch Hero crossover pairing Leven and Jensen's character Priestly, go now!

Crim


	88. Part 5: The Price

Part 5: The Price

-----

Lying on the bed with his wings draped beneath him, claws wrapped around Sasha who was curled into his chest, was just about the best way Dean could ever imagine waking up. Well, except that Sasha had been sleeping on one of Dean's wings and it was a little numb now, but Dean really couldn't care about that. Last night might have been the only time they would ever have this with Dean the incubus and Sasha human, but one day Dean would have wings again, he had to believe that.

Not wanting to open his eyes quite yet, Dean turned his face into Sasha's hair, still smelling like shampoo from his shower the night before. Dean held on tight, remembering how amazing their night had been. He never would have believed that a little bondage with him as the one being bound could be so thoroughly and epically _hot_. Not being able to see Sasha, only feel him, not being able to touch in return either but having to lie wantonly as Sasha did what he wanted—_damn_.

It was about trust, just like Sasha had said, about knowing that power-play with the person you loved was more about them doing something for you than doing something for themselves, even though they were the one seemingly in control. It wouldn't have been that way with Malak, that was for damn sure.

Damn it. Dean really didn't want to think about Malak right now, or about how Malak had threatened him after his—well, _her_—strategic groping of Dean's very much _not_ willing body. Malak had said she would make him beg by the end, a threat, a dangerous promise, and yet when Sasha said such similar words later, it had meant something completely opposite, instilling a completely different reaction in Dean.

The comparison had Dean opening his eyes just so he could check, be absolutely sure that Malak's threat hadn't been carried out that very night by pretending to be Sasha. It was a silly thought, of course, because a content, black-haired Sasha was in Dean's arms sleeping, not a blonde bastard or redheaded harpy. Dean would have known the difference. Here on Earth, no longer in Hell, Dean would have known the difference.

Looking down the length of Sasha's body, covered only partially by sheets they had hastily pulled up over them, Dean was disturbed to see fresh scratches on Sasha's arms where Dean's claws had been holding him. Dean must have done that in the night while they were sleeping. He was afraid to touch those scratches now, his claws ghosting over the top of them.

"You'll get better at not doing that," said a hazy, blissfully tired voice.

Dean looked over into Sasha's eyes, eyes that were open now but heavy lidded. He couldn't smile though, and in another minute, Sasha's smile had vanished too.

"Oh," Sasha sighed as if just remembering, "Guess you won't. But…don't worry about it. They don't hurt. Just scratches." He tried so valiantly to smile again, but the expression lost itself somewhere along the way, ending up so sad in the end.

End. The _end_.

Dean wished this never had to end…

"I don't wanna wake up yet," Dean said, morphing back to human ever so carefully so he could hold Sasha as tightly as he wanted without risking further scratches, no matter how superficial, "Just a little longer like this. It can't hurt to have this just a little longer…" he trailed, his face pressed to Sasha's hair, breathing in the shampoo scent more deeply, mixed with the neutral Sasha scent that had nothing to do with being an incubus, but was simply there.

"Okay, Dean," was all Sasha said in reply, his voice hitching, body intertwining with Dean's until it was impossible to tell each other's limbs apart.

It was still early, but in an hour, two at the most, they would have to get up, leave the room, go down and face what Dean had to do. The sex squad would be arriving, a few hunters that had been further away when called upon would be arriving too. And then Dean would have to let everyone know that their crusade was one for more than just humans.

When it was finally time to go downstairs and face the day, Dean and Sasha moved as slowly as possible. Before allowing Dean to start getting dressed, Sasha demanded he be allowed to map out every inch of Dean's incubus body, both human form and true form, just wanting, _needing_ to touch him. Of course Dean allowed it. And Dean did the same in return. He marveled at the tiny scar running through Sasha's eyebrow, a mark that was Dean's own scar once, passed over when they changed, something he hadn't been able to see with Sasha's hair usually covering it.

Dean admitted he missed Sasha's red hair, hoping it would lighten the mood, but Sasha had no like reply. Instead, he ran a hand over Dean's shoulder blades just as Dean was about to finally slip on a T-shirt. Dean hadn't really gotten to see his wing tattoos all that much, the way they looked when they were just marking instead of _wings_, but Sasha said they were beautiful, larger than most like they constantly wanted to sprout out of his back and be free. That made Dean long for another chance to fly with Sasha where he was the one doing the carrying, but he doubted they would get that opportunity today.

It was getting late before long as they tried to leave without really wanting to. They kissed, Sasha's back pressed to the still closed door they had been attempting to walk out of for minutes on end, their arms wrapped around each other, bodies flush, not yet ready to face the world, not yet ready to lose this. Finally, they had to.

Sasha walked ahead of Dean as they made way for the stairs and Dean wondered if it was so he could still the tears filling up his eyes before he had to face Dean again. Sasha's eyes were dry by the time they reached the bar, but Dean knew better, knew Sasha, and slipped his hand into Sasha's for a quick squeeze before joining Sam and Sarah at a table for breakfast.

Dean had no intention of telling Sam straight off that he had decided to ask the Trickster to take back the gift. Even though Sam had been part of the reason Dean began to believe in himself the way everyone else seemed to, Dean wanted Sam to prove that belief a little. Dean knew he took too long sometimes to do the right thing, maybe even most times, especially if self-worth played a factor, but he knew it without someone having to tell him, goad him, _bully_ him, or burden him with further guilt.

So he merely leaned over into Sam when he was reaching for a carton of milk, grinned up at his brother's raised eyebrows, and said, "Trust me, Sammy," like he had told Castiel, "I know what I'm doing."

After Dean had pulled back and returned to his eggs and toast—how Ellen was whipping up food with minimal help and hadn't come knocking way too early on Dean and Sasha's door for further aid, he had no idea—Sam sat blinking for a few moments. Then he looked a little guilty, shifted in his seat, and finally replied, whispering, "I know, Dean. I just wanted you to remember that too."

Maybe Sam knew then what Dean had decided, maybe he didn't, but he was letting Dean be the one to make that decision and that meant a lot coming from Sam. Dean knew he could do this. He had the best backup in the world, after all, even if he stumbled.

Waiting for the last of their known recruits was like the proverbial watched pot, more so even because Dean had that much more time to worry about his upcoming 'press conference' where he would be admitting there were demons in their midst—or at least that's how most hunters would think of it.

Well, to be honest, there might be _actual_ demons in their midst too. Dean hadn't forgotten about that. He couldn't help eyeing that twitchy hunter pair from yesterday either. A _pair_, making it almost too obvious. They had been watching everyone with wary eyes from the get-go. Still, since Dean couldn't sense anything other than what he would expect from untrusting hunters—not that he would be able to sense these demons anyway—there wasn't much he could do.

He focused instead on how well everything else had been going, how strangely smooth really the various preparations had turned out, and how well everyone was getting along. Hopefully, that would mean the bomb he was about to drop wouldn't be as devastating.

The entire Roadhouse had been fortified with every protection spell and sigil the gathered mass could come up with, weapons and sniper hideouts had been setup from various windows and vantage points, they had every possible supply they could think of, every possible weapon against the various evils they might be facing, with more on the way as other hunters and helpers arrived, and even though that one older Asian woman who read tarot so often in a corner of the Roadhouse had only come up with vague foretellings, at least there weren't any signs of impending doom. Yet.

And what was even better was that Dean knew from a very reliable source that more help was on the way, big guns kind of help—angels, pure fae, the works. There was a good chance they might actually be able to pull this off once the true reinforcements arrived.

Even Iain and his library was an asset, set up nearly to completion and filled so to the brim that after the war was over he would probably have to expand into the nearest bedroom in order to fit everything.

Dean was already starting to spread the word about wanting to gather everyone together later in the afternoon. Sam caught wind of it and was trying to ask what was going on when Sasha called to Dean from across the bar. Three very discernable heads were amongst the now familiar bustle of people. Dean smirked at Sam, patting him on the back as he said very casually, "Figure it's about time to call attention to the big ol' elephant in the room, Sammy, now that all our backup has arrived."

Of course Sam was right on Dean's heels, following him over to the main doors where Cam, Charis, and Lindsey all had duffels for the long stay. "Dean, are you serious?" Sam hissed as they sidestepped various people along the way, "That could be—"

"Really fucking dangerous," Dean agreed, "Yeah, I know. But worse if we wait and they find out some other way. Like I said, Sam," Dean grinned over his shoulder, the expression so like his usual self but he made it very apparent how serious he was, "Trust me. I got this."

It took Sam a moment to steel himself over the issue, allow himself to trust Dean the way he said he did, but then he nodded. Dean couldn't have been more pleased, because it was _Sam_, and Sam, for whatever reason, was always one of the first people Dean wanted, _needed_ on his side.

Moments later the brothers were encased in tight hugs. Well, Lindsey offered a handshake. They decided to call that good enough.

"Dude, look at _you_," Cam broke into a wide smile as he eyed Dean up and down. He was just as Dean remembered him, all bronze, tan skin, brown hair and golden eyes, his small stature clad in earth tones and jeans.

"Sasha explained everything over the phone before but…" Charis' silver eyes glittered they were stretched so much like saucers, "Is it permanent? Is everything fixed then?" She looked lovely in a burgundy sundress, Lindsey sticking out like usual with his white hair, despite trying to blend in with jeans and a black T-shirt.

Sasha had been keeping in touch with his friends, not so much while Dean was in Hell, but again since Dean had been back. They knew about Sasha's deal. He had wanted to keep it from them at first, but Shiarra convinced him that if they knew then at least they would be able to understand, maybe even help someday.

Dean really didn't want to have to bring all those issues up right now, not when he and Sasha hadn't told anyone what they were going to do and didn't really plan on telling anyone until they called for the Trickster. So Dean just smiled and took the burden from Sasha's shoulders.

"It's complicated," he said, moving quickly onto another topic, "Glad you guys were willing to come. I was gonna ask if you knew if a certain redheaded fae chick had been to see those sex demon elders of yours. You guys are considered residents of the fae plane, so…" he trailed noticing the blank stares he was getting from all three newcomers, "Right. No Gwen for you then. Maybe she's not gonna try," he looked to Sasha and Sam.

They had discussed before whether or not they should ask Charis or one of the others to pass on some sort of invitation to the incubi and succubae people to join the fight. They could be a great asset after all, even just the few they had would be an asset, but especially if they had more. Sasha had said it wouldn't be worth the effort though, even if this was the end of the world, unless of course Gwen planned to ask for them.

Apparently not.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Sasha shrugged, "I'd bet she knows as well as I do how pointless it is to talk to those people. They'd probably watch the whole world burn and not even shed a tear over it," he huffed, clearly still resentful of his banishment that seemed to be a lost cause since even his friends' efforts to get some sort of hearing, anything to give Sasha and Shiarra a chance to go home someday, had been for naught. Caught up in red tape or something like that. Judging off the description Sasha had given Dean of the elder council, it was no wonder.

Unfortunately, it seemed Sasha should have remained quiet, because Cam, Charis, and Lindsey especially had stricken looks on their faces. Then there was a stern voice speaking from behind them, "You would do well to hold your tongue about your own people, _boy_. But then…" out from around Lindsey stepped another incubus—Dean knew by _feel_ even though sight might have been enough—previously hidden by Lindsey's height, "You're not one of us anymore, are you?"

Like his first encounter with Lindsey, Dean had an instant disliking for this guy. He was just about Dean's height, maybe the smallest bit taller, with shoulder length wavy brown hair and Lindsey's same green eyes. He was strikingly beautiful, Dean could admit that, glowing with power and authority like he was ancient even though he looked that same incubus age of twenty-five. Even his clothing spoke of an older age, collared shirt, pants, a long jacket despite the heat. Who the hell was this guy?

Dean looked to Sasha for his cue, and he was greatly disturbed just how terrified Sasha looked right then, even stepping back, looking as though he wanted to drop to his knees in a bow but didn't want to draw attention, so instead Sasha bowed his head, shaking as he tried to speak.

"S-Sir…I did not see you," he said, not looking directly at the incubus as if it was against some sort of law, "We are honored to have you here. Greatly honored. I meant no disrespect—"

"Ah, but you did," the unknown incubus spoke again, stern and unflinchingly hard in his tone, "And you spoke it plainly. Do not think my presence here, young Sasha, means anything in your favor, or that I would usher others of my kind to this foolish endeavor. My grandson has spoken quite blatantly his opinion on the matter," he said with a swift glare at Lindsey, "But I am merely here to see this…_travesty_ for myself." And on the word 'travesty', not at all trying to hide his contempt, the incubus looked to _Dean_.

Peachy. "Look, buddy," Dean started right in without so much as a flinch, despite the way Lindsey shook his head in sudden horror that Dean was even speaking, "The doors to this place are open to anybody who wants to walk through them. Long as they're willing to help. You wanna start something or got some other business, maybe you better step back outside."

"_Dean_," Sasha grabbed onto Dean's arm with a vice-grip likened to his old incubus strength, "Aloysha is at the head seat of the council," he whispered harshly, "One of the oldest living incubi in existence. He could tear you apart by _snapping_."

Huh. Well, that certainly made Dean feel better. Even Sam, when Dean glanced to him, looked a little in awe of this Aloysha guy, probably able to sense just how old he actually was.

Dean vaguely remembered that Lindsey had been raised by his grandfather after the death of his parents. Now Dean knew why the white-haired incubus was such a dick.

"So, a council member come to see the Trickster's trick, huh?" Dean refused to be afraid of this guy, "Not much to see really. Just little ol' me. You wanna look around, feel free. You wanna give me trouble, give _Sasha_ trouble, the door's right behind you. There are dozens of hunters in this place, pal," he leaned in close, still ignoring Lindsey's head shakes of doom, "I could cry 'incubus' and have you dead on the ground with a _word_. Notice how I'm not. Drinks are at the bar," he said as he leaned back again, "Tell the pretty girl up there whatever you have's on me. Come on, kids," he smiled at Charis, Lindsey, and Cam who were gaping impressively, "Let's get you settled into some rooms."

Feeling pretty good about himself lately, Dean smiled at Mr. Council Member, Aloysha, incubus dick supreme, indicated for the three younger sex demons to follow him, and headed off to find a little space for Cam, Lindsey, and Charis to crash. He was extremely pleased that they all followed him, Sam too, Sasha trotting up beside him and gaping like all the rest.

Apparently, Dean liked playing with fire. He couldn't really explain why what he had just done had felt like the right thing to do, but he had no regrets. Of course he had a pretty good suspicion that he had just _shat_ all over his and Lindsey's semi-budding friendship, especially when he felt a strong hand grip his arm, and this time it wasn't Sasha.

"Don't even think of offering that drink you promised to buy me next time we met," Lindsey said low, in much the tone Dean had expected. What he didn't expect was for the tall incubus to then throw his arm over Dean's shoulders and finish, "This drink's on me," with an actual smile twitching at his lips.

It was Dean's turn to gape. "Dude, I just told off your ancient as dirt grandfather and left him at the door. Isn't this when you tear my head off for some sort of family honor thing," he glanced sideways at Lindsey.

There was a giggle from Charis, Cam and Sasha both shaking their heads with matching grins while Sam just rolled his eyes. Lindsey said, "Dean, I love my grandfather. He has accomplished more than I could ever hope to live up to. He is a great man. But if someone can bitch him out like that and come away still breathing, you don't know how rare that is."

It was the most honest and kind Lindsey had ever sounded in regards to Dean. Then he smacked Dean on the back and was practically beaming.

"Plus it was sweet as _shit_," he said, so out of character from the Lindsey Dean had met in the past that he busted out laughing.

"Hey, man, happy to oblige. Me and my baby ain't no freak show," Dean said, reaching for Sasha's hand to squeeze gently before releasing it again, a longing look cast between them that Dean thought Sasha was a little slow at sending back to him, "It is what it is. We're, umm…dealing with it. For now, we'll get ya settled, and hey, maybe your granddad will find something worth writing home about. Dave knows we could use all the help we can get."

"_Dave_ knows?" Charis repeated, taking her husband's arm since he was no longer attached to Dean.

Sometimes Dean forgot that not everyone was privy to his inside jokes. "Long story."

Getting the gang settled proved harder than they expected, so many rooms and spaces already taken, so they ended up tossing their things into the twins' room, both of whom making ear-piercing squeeing noises when they heard about how Dean had treated Aloysha.

Dean wondered whether or not Gwen _would_ be heading to the sex demon section of the fae plane. Maybe if that council guy really did respect Dean for not being afraid of him—instead of just being smart not starting anything with a room full of hunters surrounding him, which Dean thought more likely—he would get some of the sex demons to come help out the cause. One could only hope.

It was late afternoon before Dean knew it, the last of the hunters Bobby had heard from having arrived, everyone who had been out hunting those nearby disturbances back at the Roadhouse too, so it was about that time.

Everyone Dean had mentioned gathering knew it to be a casual, finally all get together in one room, kind of thing, which Dean hoped meant the hunters would be minimally armed. He told all of the supernatural amongst them the truth of what he was going to talk about so they could prepare, be ready in case things went sour fast. They understood Dean's decision, which was the most Dean could hope for from them.

Aloysha, who had decided to stick around to keep an eye on things, so he said, had merely huffed. Oh yeah, this was going to be _great_.

Dean already had most of the crew starting to get people gathered in the bar, hoping they could all somehow fit comfortably. He just had to find Sasha and Bobby, who he had lost track of some time ago. When he couldn't find them, finally heading into the kitchen and still finding nothing, he was about to try their cells or maybe try and feel them out by seeking their emotions. Then he heard voices coming from outside the slightly cracked open door leading to the outside.

Eavesdropping was becoming a habit with him; he really needed to work on that. _Later_. For right now, the sound of those voices, Bobby and Sasha for sure, were way too sorrowful for Dean to just ignore.

"…might be pissed if he knew I told you all that," Dean started to pick up from Sasha, "But I just didn't think I could tell him about this yet. Ya know?"

"Don't know if I do, to be honest," Bobby answered, "Why do you think he'd be upset you've been missing your old self? Either way this might've turned out, you would have been an incubus again eventually."

"I know. It's not…that. It's just…I always thought, when I was younger, I used to think all the time…if only I was human. Getting the chance to be one…now I just wanna be me again. It's lonely. Dean even joked about it, but…it is. I used to be able to feel everyone around me, all the people that care about me, how they really feel, and now there's just…nothing. I thought I'd feel…I don't know. _Safe_. But I just feel empty."

There was a sadness in Sasha's voice that Dean hadn't heard in a very long time. Bobby was sensitive to that, playing Dad just like he had for Dean, something that might have been a burden to some but Bobby never thought of it as one. To him it was a great gift to have so many children, Dean knew that beyond a doubt. "Son, I gotta ask again," Bobby said, "I don't see why you don't think you can tell Dean that. He likes you just fine the way you are, that's pretty damn obvious."

"But if we can't find a way to get me out of my deal…I just…I thought maybe somehow we could find a way to make me human. Used to…think of that a lot, figured Dean would…be all over it. And now…it might be the only way we could be together, and I…" Dean could hear tears in Sasha's voice, and yet somehow he knew that Sasha wasn't allowing any to fall, "Now I don't want it. _God_, Bobby. It's so unfair, but I…I just wouldn't be me. Like this, I'm not…me. So how can I ask Dean to make that sacrifice if we _do_ fix the deal? What if he feels the same way? He told me once, more than once…that he didn't know if he wanted to change, didn't know if he could give me forever. Sometimes I think…lately…he's just telling me what I wanna hear."

Bobby was quiet for a moment. "Now…this might be going out on a limb here, but…you ever think of _asking_ him any a these things?" Dean could practically see Bobby's smirk as the older hunter said that.

Sasha chuckled humorlessly. "I will. I'm going to. We're way beyond keeping things from each other now, Bobby, and I'm glad for that. I just…wanted someone else to hear it first, I guess."

"Well…I can tell you one thing, son," Bobby began again softly, "and that's that as much as you remind me of your father sometimes, especially right now, looking so much like him, the funny thing is how much Dean reminds me of him more. Sam's the one like their father, without a doubt. But Dean…" Bobby trailed with a fond note on the end of his words, "Now, I never had the pleasure of knowing your mother, but knowing Deklin as I did, I know he's the type of man who would have done anything to be with the woman he loved. Clearly, he did. For Deklin, even if he never would have seen himself becoming an incubus before he met someone who could change his mind, he would have eventually looked at it differently, would have seen that being _him_ was being with your mother no matter what that meant. That's not a sacrifice. You're not asking Dean to sacrifice a god damn thing. He wants to be with you, just might have taken him awhile to know how much, and what he'd be willing to go through in order to be with you for as long as you both deserve. But don't go thinking there's something lesser about you for not believing you could turn around and do the same thing in the exact same way. Not all of us are built like that. 'S why we end up with the ones who are. If we're lucky."

Dean realized he was gripping the side of the counter so hard he was almost tearing off a chunk of it. He let go abruptly, taking a sharp breath. Sometimes it truly amazed him how loved he was by more than just the love of his life.

He started to back out of the kitchen, deciding he would call both of them on their cells instead of interrupting so they wouldn't know he had overheard. He couldn't help catching one last thing from Sasha though, heart in his voice.

"Thanks, Bobby."

-----

How they managed it, Dean would never know. More hunters than he could count now, some he hadn't yet met, and a fairly large crew of non-humans, himself—for the moment—included, were gathered in the bar. A few were smashed into doorways in order to still be apart of it all and actually fit, but they were all there, every last recruit.

Damn, Dean hated the spotlight, really freaking hated it, but he was the one everyone expected to lead, for whatever insane reason. Some of them, sure, they knew that he was supposed to be Heaven's little bitch-boy, but others were taking it entirely on faith. Dean supposed that was the definition of irony in this situation. He hoped it helped.

"Uh…okay!" Dean called above the mild din of people talking, stepping up on top of a chair to make sure everyone could hear and see him. This already felt like a frickin' high school assembly when everyone quieted and turned to look at him at the same time. At least Sasha and Sam were close by, the others scattered amongst the crowd. "Right…" he said with a little less yell to it, "So, uhh…don't worry, not gonna do anything lame like going around having everyone say their name, favorite food, and why they're here. We all know why we're here, and we all know it's for the same reason. Still don't know how long we got til that army's gonna be on our doorstep, but it's not long now, and we still gotta a lot of ground to cover before we'll be ready."

Almost immediately the din rose up again, barely allowing Dean to finish his sentence, not murmurs amongst themselves anymore, but questions, questions for Dean all coming at once.

"How do you know this?"

"What can we do?"

"Are the angels speaking to you now?"

"Is it true Sonji Lorin's leading them?"

"Gordon said you and your brother opened the gate. How can we trust you?"

"There aren't enough of us!"

"How do we prepare for this?"

"What do we do?"

"Enough!" called out Ellen's voice above the rest, being quite near Dean, and damn near ready to climb up on the bar if she had to. Everyone went quiet at the sound of her voice. "Now I know a good many of you, some I've known for years. Sam and Dean Winchester I've known since they were too young to remember me, and even those who never once met John Winchester sure as Hell know his name. You listen to Dean, coz this ain't just about any one of us, or any one person's question or concern. This is end-time, folks. You all know it. Been plenty of signs to prove it, the Devil's Gate opening being just a small part. So _stuff it_. And let him speak," she finished with a glare.

There wasn't a damn soul in that room, even amongst those that didn't know her, who would speak out against Ellen Harvelle.

She was keeping them all fed.

"Umm…thanks, Ellen," Dean said. She nodded for him to continue. Despite how wrong this could very potentially go, Dean knew he had to listen. "Here's the truth, everything I know," Dean began, trying to pretend that there weren't more pairs of eyes on him than there had ever been before, and most of those people so not being the type he wanted to picture naked, "Yeah, I've been getting intel from angels, least that's what they call themselves, and so far I haven't had any reason not to believe them. You've all heard that there's an army coming our way, out of some dimensional rift, I don't know what, but I've been told they'll show up out on those fields outside. And yes, Solrin, for those who know him, he's leading, got some abilities to control demons and summon creatures to him too."

There was another rumbling of low murmurs amongst those hunters that knew Solrin's name, some seeming to say that they suspected all along, of course, that there was something off about him. Dean ignored it and went on.

"Now, I've been told we're gonna be getting a little help. Actual Heavenly Host kinda help, but they're not quite ready to join us. Their numbers are thin too. Never been a shocking idea to me that Hell would be more populous, that's for damn sure."

A few agreeing huffs replied.

"But we're not alone in this. And it's not just the angels. Now I know some of you may have hunted fae, or fae related creatures in the past. Hell, a damn banshee is considered fae and I've yet to run across a nice one a them. But there are good fae out there, and they are on the side of the angels, so you can bet they're on our side too. We'll have reinforcements from them as well, once our contact gathers enough."

"Wait!" called out someone from the crowd. Dean scanned and caught sight of the guy, the husband of the young black couple. "How do you know you can trust these…fae? Just taking their word for it that they're on the same side as Heaven's army?"

Thankfully, Dean was ready for this. "No, taking _Heaven's_ word for it that the fae are on our side, because they said so, an angel and a fae in the same room telling me what's what. I'm not too inclined to think I gotta call Mike's bluff on that."

That was a slight mistake, because as soon as Dean said 'Mike' there was another uproar wondering if he actually meant the archangel himself. Even the least religious among hunters knew the lore, and to be completely honest, there were a lot more religious types than non-believers, though not all as psycho as Gabriel Kubrick.

"Listen!" Dean yelled, so Ellen wouldn't have to threaten anyone again. The crowd calmed, if a little reluctantly. "I know this is all crazy, and if you really want me to go into every detail, I will. I'll spill my whole damn life story right up until this moment having to stand before you people and explain things. But that isn't why I asked everyone together. We have reinforcements coming that are not like us. Maybe some of you can handle the idea of angels, but you better get on board with the fae idea too, because we need the help. Now that might mean a whole lot of beings and creatures being here that you're not used to seeing or even thinking of as good, but you're just gonna have to get over that, and fast. There are 'good' things on Hell's side. You better believe the opposite can be true too."

Now was Dean's chance. Now there was no going back.

"Because for all the help we're gonna be getting…there's already some here with us now." He finished his declaration clearly, ready for the uproar again, ready for the yells and questions. Instead it went dead silent. Not exactly better.

Dean could see the way everyone was looking about the bar with fearful, gauging, distrusting eyes, already paranoid. When hunters went silent it meant they were getting ready to _act_, Dean knew that from experience.

"I know what you're all thinking, and I get it, believe me, I get it," Dean went on, carefully, watching everyone as they watched everyone else, "It's a scary thought when you don't know what you're dealing with, but you gotta believe me that the not so human amongst us are still on our side. Some asked to be here. Some we asked to come. Either way we need them. And if you wanna start throwing out reasons why we shouldn't trust willing help then you better understand that Heaven is okay with this too. Coz me, they're still talking to me…" Dean swallowed, his fists clenched, his head high, "And I've been an incubus for a few days now."

That snapped every head in the room back to Dean in under a second flat. He could see that some hunters weren't nearly as minimally armed as he had hoped, could see a lot of them with hands on guns and other weapons even though they hadn't drawn them yet.

It wasn't really a surprise to Dean that the first person to speak out about what he had just revealed was one of those twitchy older hunters he didn't trust so much.

"You're one a them…and we're just s'pposed to trust all you've told us?" he said gruffly, parting a few people to get closer to where Dean was standing on his chair, hand not trying to hide that it was clutching a shotgun inside his long old leather coat, "Plenty of people here were willing to believe all this coz a you, coz of what they knew of John Winchester, and coz Singer's on your side, Ellen too. But how do we know you haven't been lying from the start just to con us?"

In any other situation, Dean would have thought that was an entirely fair argument. But not in this. "Coz I'm not the only one who's seen the angels and heard what they gotta say."

"Yeah," huffed the young black wife with the British accent, standing close beside her husband, "Way I hear it, others who've seen these supposed angels are your brother and your lover. Not the most reliable sources for something so important if you ask me," she crossed her arms, glaring.

Damn, that was a good point too. "Well, I'm sorry they don't like making public appearances, okay?" Dean snapped, "Mike's a little busy leading an _army_, if you weren't paying attention, and the fae chick is rounding up recruits. Usually, the angel giving me info comes when I'm alone. You don't wanna trust that Sam and Sasha are on the level about seeing him too, fine. They're not the only ones who have. Iain!" Dean called, looking out over the crowd for signs of the librarian.

Finally, he spotted a nervous hand rising up above the heads, and then there was Iain trying to get a little closer to where Dean was at the center, parting carefully through people.

"There," Dean said, "Iain's just a regular guy who got caught up in all this, manning the library upstairs, a lot of you know. Now, I like to think of him as a friend, maybe that's enough where you won't trust him either. But he's seen the angel too, just yesterday. You wanna think we're lying, think this is a big scam, then you can leave. But you know this is real, you know you're needed. Iain," Dean called down to the brunette who was finally close enough for Dean to actually see him, "Tell them about Cas."

Iain wasn't the type to like the spotlight any more than Dean was. His eyes were wide, his face full of apprehension as all the people in the room started focusing on him. He looked up at Dean. "Cas?" he said, brow furrowing, "Dean…I don't know what you're talking about."

"What…?" Dean's stomach plummeted, seeing complete incomprehension on Iain's face when there should be knowledge, should be memory. Why didn't Iain remember?

"Not enough of a friend to lie for you apparently," the British chick spat. The crowd was already starting to shift, that din beginning to rise again as hunters started looking amongst the people around them for scapegoats, their trust in Dean shattered. Dean wouldn't have worried if there weren't a few very obvious scapegoats to choose from.

"Wait! Everyone calm down!" Dean tried to yell, but it was already getting too loud too fast, drowning him out. He could see Ula and her friends in one corner, the tall fire elemental chick the most garishly visible, trying to sneak away, but there were hunters already watching her. Dean saw everything about to unravel, saw just how easily it would erupt into chaos. "Stop!" he cried.

Then the first hunter acted, charging Kaley, the fire fae, to which she immediately responded to defend herself, summoning a wave of flames seemingly out of nothing that quickly engulfed the hunter's clothing.

Everything slowed. And then it was all moving too fast.

_Too fast._

"Dean!" Sam called from below him, grabbing Dean's legs and knocking him from the chair just as a knife flew past, striking not Dean, thanks to Sam, but a wooden post inside the bar.

_No_. They had to calm everyone down. There were too many people in too small a space; dozens of innocents could end up seriously hurt or worse.

Dean had landed on top of Sam inside the protection of the bar, Sasha kneeling beside them to be sure they were okay. Ellen and Jo were in there with them, grabbing shotguns, cocking them in hopes of getting some of the hunters' attention, but the noise, the yells, the sounds of struggle were getting too loud. Dean couldn't hear anything but disaster.

He had almost had them. He knew he almost had them. Why hadn't Iain been able to _remember_?

_Iain_. And Bobby, and Sarah, and too many others to count. They had to get out there and help, stop this somehow before someone ended up dead.

"Sam, Sasha," Dean got up, staying crouched behind the counter as he clung to the arms of brother and lover, sharing pain-staking looks between them that communicated exactly what they needed to do. No words needed to be said. They all nodded. With weapons not drawn but ready, hoping they wouldn't have to be drawn at all, Dean, Sam, and Sasha leapt up and over the counter of the bar into the fray.

The first person Dean collided with was Lindsey, clinging to Charis' hand. "Dean!" Lindsey cried within the chaos, "My grandfather will not hesitate to kill a hunter!"

Tell Dean something he didn't know. "Just get out of here!" Dean called back, hating that he had to yell to be heard even though Lindsey was within touching distance, "Take Charis and get out! We'll try and calm things down. If you see Cam or you grandfather, or anyone you can think of, grab them and go!" With that Dean pushed Lindsey and Charis in the direction of the nearest exit, even though the way was blocked by the throng of people. One good thing was that the chaos made it easier to slip through everyone without them being able to tell who was passing by.

Dean had to start thinning the crowd, get people out, or it wouldn't matter if he started yelling for their attention again. Besides, he sort of didn't want anymore knives flying at his head. There was too much going on. He thought he saw sparks out of the corner of his eye and jokingly thought of pixie dust. Not so funny though if it meant the pixie chick had just gone _splat_.

Pushing through people, Dean searched for faces he knew well, trying to keep from being recognized, glad that a lot of the hunters seemed more intent on getting out than getting into a fight. He was moving around the outside of the bar's counter and suddenly found himself flush up against it with Iain tumbling into him.

"Iain! Dude, are you okay? What the hell happened? Don't you remem…ber…" Dean trailed, his mouth quivering and his pulse beginning to race as he got a good look at Iain's face, feeling the guy's body plastered over his a little too eagerly, while wearing a very _non_-Iain grin. "No…you can't…you can't be one of 'em…"

A wider flash of teeth responded. "Nothing like a little mob mentality, eh, Dean?" Iain said. Only it wasn't Iain, Dean knew that now, but it still didn't make any sense.

"You can't be," he shook his head, feeling the general press of Iain's body becoming a firm hold keeping him against the bar, "Unless you've been hopping hosts, Iain _touched_ Cas yesterday. If you were hiding in Iain then, Cas would have felt you."

"Ah, you'd think so," not-Iain grinned even wider, and for a moment Dean almost thought there were fangs on the guy's eyeteeth, "But you see, dear old _Cas_ is a little low on the totem pole. Swaying Iain to want to take Castiel's hand was easy, and a little touch like that on an unsuspecting angel was all I needed to ensure he wouldn't be able to sense me. Just a little veiling spell. Don't feel too bad, Dean, I'm simply out of Castiel's league. But then," Iain's brown eyes flashed to a sudden striking mottled _green_, just for a moment, long enough for Dean to see their true color and to remember who those eyes belonged to.

That nauseous sinking feeling was back with a vengeance. "Can't be," Dean breathed, thinking back to Seattle and that damn Duke of Hell, Vapula, that Sarah had finally ganked with the Colt, "You're dead."

"Dean," the demon chuckled in a low voice, "You think I'm that same fool just because we share an eye color? If every high-ranking demon had a unique color all to themselves, company meetings would look like a Pride parade," he mocked, "My color marks my rank, my place in the field."

"Another Duke," Dean surmised. Well that was just peachy. And Dean without their demon-killing gun.

No, that was a good thing. Dean couldn't let anything happen to Iain. Who knew how long this demon had been hiding in plain sight, but Iain had been completely unaware. No wonder Iain 'forgot' about meeting Castiel. That was when the demon took control. It created exactly the kind of chaos these bastards thrived off of.

"So who in Hell are you, huh? You better not even think of hurting Iain or I _swear_…" Dean threatened, pushing against the demon's hold on him. The crowd was starting to thin at least a little, enough that Dean could better pick out faces. He could see Sasha near the door, just ahead of him, helping the sex squad outside and then rushing back in again, trying to calm down hunters, get people to see reason. Sam was off to Dean's left doing the same. Dean couldn't see any of the others.

"I am Amon," the demon said, "I tell of all things past and future. And the future is not looking too bright for you, Dean. Would you like to know my specialty?" he said in a falsely sweet voice, still pressing Dean tightly against the bar.

Dean had to think fast. "Cas said there were two of you. Where's your partner?" he asked.

Meanwhile, calling out to Sam in his mind, Dean screamed, _'Sammy, one of the sleeper demons is Iain! Help me!'_

Sam's head immediately flinched towards Dean in horror.

"Now, now, Dean, why would I tell you who my partner is?" Amon said smugly, "I wouldn't want to risk you passing _that_ information onto Sam as well," he added knowingly, far too knowingly, because when Dean looked over at Sam next he saw the black British chick tackling Sam to the ground.

Instinctively, Dean tried to move, go to Sam, but Amon held him stationary. "Sam may be powerful, Dean, but I only need a moment's time for this," he said.

"For what? What do you want? Wasn't the point of this to get information?" Dean had assumed that's what the sleeper demons were for, gathering info on what the hunters were planning as their defense. Now he wasn't so certain.

Iain's voice laughed with the cruelty of Amon behind it, "Oh, I'll pass on what I've learned. Not that we have much to worry about, clearly," he cast a look at either side of them, the bar still erupted in chaos despite clearing out, most people running, probably leaving for good, "But my true mission, Dean," suddenly the demon spun, spinning Dean out with him and tossing Dean towards the doors where Sasha was still ushering people outside. Then Amon was pulling a gun from the back of Iain's cargos. "My true mission is a message from Malak."

Amon fired. _Fired_. Practically pointblank. Dean actually felt the bullet pass through him, felt the heat of it, stunned that it had all happened so fast. The bar was stunned too because the one thing that had yet to happen was a gun going off. The mob fell into a tense silence, everyone frozen, even Sam beneath the possessed female hunter who he had yet to exorcize.

For a moment Dean thought he was in shock. There wasn't any pain, no pain at all. Then he looked down at his chest where the bullet had passed through and saw the hole in his shirt, the ruined skin beneath, but the skin was healing, smoothing over. He practically laughed he was so relieved.

"Some message," Dean huffed at Amon, who had already dropped the gun to Iain's side, "Bit lacking in the punch line considering it was only _lead_."

Amon merely smiled, smiled wide enough that Dean once again thought he could see fangs. "Oh Dean," he said, so cool and confident that Dean felt a chill run down his spine and freeze right at the base, "This so wasn't about _you_."

Dread spread out from Dean like floodwater. He heard Sam gasp first, looking behind Dean, Amon looking beyond Dean as well, behind him, _behind him_ back by the doors. Slowly, Dean turned, his body already going numb, knowing what he would find.

Sasha was standing there, so perfectly aligned with where Amon had pushed Dean, it was obviously planned. Everything was moving in such slow motion, Dean almost didn't believe it, couldn't believe it—the blood seeping from Sasha's chest, Sasha's hand trying to reach for the wound, touch it, but shaking too much to do more than tremble in place. Then Sasha looked up, blue eyes disbelieving, his face pale.

"D-Dean…"

And then he was falling.

Dean was running forward before Sasha could hit the ground, ignoring the few people nearby, fumbling and getting in his way, not caring about anything or anyone but Sasha, not even paying attention as Sam finally got his act together and sent both the nameless demon and Amon back to Hell.

The remaining people in the bar went even quieter if possible, backing away from the scene, maybe because someone had been shot, maybe because they had just seen Sam Winchester exorcize two demons with his _mind_, maybe because they were starting to realize what fools they had been.

"No, no, baby, _no_…" Dean chanted as he dropped down beside Sasha and gathered the crumbled body to him, like he always did, unable to believe it could ever be real every time they came close to this, so many times, so many _fucking times_ Sasha had been close to death. Only this time he wasn't close, he wasn't sleeping, he wasn't in the process of or on the brink, he was just gone—eyes open, unblinking, his body limp, _gone_.

"Dean, I'm so sorry, I…I couldn't sense them. She caught me off guard, I…" Sam trailed, his voice far away even though he had pushed the confused huntress away from him after the demon left her, and then he was scrambling over to where Dean was holding Sasha.

It didn't matter what Sam said though. Dean wasn't listening. "Sasha…baby, come on," Dean shook the body in his arms, fruitless as it was, a body that responded lifelessly, Sasha's head lolling back and forth, his eyes still open, staring at nothing.

The shot was too clean, too aptly aimed. Sasha was dead before he even choked out Dean's name and fell, his brain just hadn't known it yet, hadn't had the truth catch up to it yet. But now it was all clear, clear and heavy in Dean's arms.

He didn't want to believe it. Not like this. It was only lead. Only _lead_. Dean was going to take it all back, Sasha would have been an incubus, that shot wouldn't have mattered, would have taken Dean, not Sasha, _Dean_.

"Please…come on, just…just snap out of it, you're…you're _not_…" Dean bit down on his tongue, couldn't speak anymore, couldn't breathe. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Something had to be wrong, had to be messed up, a dream, a damn vision, _something_.

"Dean…" Sam tried with a voice so soft Dean might not have heard it even if he had been listening. Then Sam was putting a hand on Dean's arm and it was just too much, too much.

"No!" Dean growled at his brother, knowing his eyes flashed red and not caring as he shook Sam away from him and pulled Sasha in closer, "It doesn't get to happen like this. They don't get to win. They don't get to take him away when it should have been _me_." _It should have been me. It should have been me_.

On his knees a few feet away, Iain was staring at the scene, crying at what he had done, even though it hadn't been him. Dean didn't blame Iain, but he wasn't about to offer words of comfort to his friend now. Not now. Not when he wasn't going to let this happen. Ignoring Iain, Sam, and all the gathered fools just standing there staring now, Dean tilted his head to the ceiling and howled.

"Cas!" he screamed as loud as he could, planning to pierce Heaven with his cries if he had to, just to make sure Castiel came now.

The sound of flapping was immediate. Heaven help the angel if he hadn't shown up.

There was a gasp from the gathered mass, most probably smart enough to realize this was an angel in their midst, and that they had been wrong to doubt Dean, realizing that too late now.

Castiel stood between Sam, Dean, and Sasha and where Iain was on his knees, the rest of the area having cleared impressively all around them. When Dean looked up to see Castiel's face, there was anguish there, shock, and the first signs of pity that Dean always hated.

"The fucking sleeper was in Iain the whole damn time," Dean ground out, causing Castiel's anguish to exponentially grow, realizing that he too was in part to blame for this, "You bring him back, Cas," Dean demanded, Sasha's head held to his chest, arms tight around him, "You bring him back _now_."

The signs of pity only grew as Castiel shook his head. "That is not in my power, Dean."

"Bullshit," a choked, bitter laugh spewed from Dean's lips, "_Bullshit_. A fucking demon can bring someone back to life, but an _angel_ can't?" Dean saw Sam flinch at his comparison, but Dean didn't care about bruised feelings right now.

Still standing there, looking down on them, Castiel shook his head again. "That is not giving life, Dean. That is an exchange. A perversion of life and the soul by man's own choosing. You went to Hell for that deal, it was not a gift," he looked to Sam in sympathy as he said that, apparently fine with taking the time to be sensitive even though Dean was far beyond that. "I cannot give the same life back," Castiel said.

The tears Dean felt dripping from his face surprised him, he was so numb. "You don't…get to take him. Not now. _Not now._ I was going to have the Trickster change us back, Cas. I was going to give you want you want, be what you need me to be. _Please_," he was clinging so tightly to Sasha, he could feel how the body was already growing stiff, "I'll do…anything."

While Sam was gaping at what Dean had just admitted—apparently, he hadn't figured out Dean's plan to give back the Trickster's gift after all—Castiel just looked disappointed. "You cannot make a deal with me either, Dean. I cannot give the same life back," he said again.

"No. But _I_ can."

While Castiel appeared with the sound of great wings, _Malak_ always entered like wisps of rancid smoke. Those watching seemed to understand that this new being suddenly before them was far different than the angel. It would have been strange having such a large audience if Dean cared that any of them were there.

Castiel stumbled away at Malak's arrival, actually showing his fear of the demon for a moment before managing to collect himself. They stood mere feet apart before Dean, like morbid bookends.

"You are not welcome here, demon," Castiel said, though his voice wavered when it once would have been firm, "This is not your place."

"Now, now, dear _boy_," Malak chided the angel right back, smirking wide, his form switched back to male this time since Dean had last seen him as a woman, "I do believe that is for Dean to decide. I have full rights to be here if I am merely offering a deal." He looked down at Dean as he said that, smiling. "Yes, Dean, I can give you what you want. You know I can. And you know all I ask in return."

"Dean, no," Sam dissented, grabbing Dean's arm again. Dean didn't brush him off this time, but he didn't acknowledge Sam either.

Castiel began to speak angry words at Malak in a language Dean did not recognize, but Malak merely sneered and held up a hand in warning. Castiel stopped. Dean's guardian angel really had no power here, not with this.

"Now, Dean," Malak began again, crouching in front of Dean with an expression attempting to feign sympathy, "I told you how you would regret denying me, gave ample warning in fact. Now is your chance to make up for it."

When Dean spoke, his voice sounded dead as it left him. Sasha was growing so cold already. "I can't make a deal with you. I can't give you what you want. I'm not human," he said blandly, though he knew that him being an incubus, Sasha being human, that was why Sasha was dead now, because he had thought he could still make this gift work in their favor. He had been so wrong. Malak had made sure of that, Malak had _planned_ for this. Malak knew exactly what Dean would do.

"Dean, that is not a problem at all," Malak smiled reassuringly, only reassurance from him was like the reassurance of a snake to a mongoose with its back turned, "Why, I can make you human as part of the deal, make you human _first_. Then if you choose me, I will gladly give your consort back to you. No other payment necessary."

"Dean, you can't," Sam spoke up again, squeezing Dean's arm tightly, "I've had to sit by while too many of these deals went down. Dad brought you back. You brought me back. Sasha got you out of Hell. We can't keep doing this. I know how much you love him, Dean, I love him too, but—" Sam cut off abruptly, so abruptly that Dean turned finally and looked at him. Sam was seemingly fine, but while his mouth was still moving, no sound was coming out.

"He really doesn't know when to shut up, does he?" Malak said with a bored tone, "Quiet now, Sam, the adults are talking. Now, Dean, we were about to—"

"You do not need to do this, Dean." It was Castiel now, firm despite the fear Dean could still hear in the angel's voice. Dean had felt camaraderie over that fear before, but now he didn't know what he was feeling.

Malak glared up at Castiel and then slowly stood. "I may not be able to silence _you_, angel, but do continue and I will certainly be up for trying to," he warned, his red on black eyes flashing, "This is between me and Dean." Then Malak was standing squarely before Dean, looking down at him like some magnanimous answer to Dean's prayers.

Dean felt like maybe he was done with prayers for today. Maybe forever. The one thing he wanted out of this war, he could no longer have.

He felt how Sam was still holding his arm tight, squeezing it to communicate some further warning and pleading even though he couldn't speak, felt Castiel's eyes watching him with their surreal blue, patient but panicked, and felt Malak's eyes too, waiting, believing he knew the answer Dean would give, the answer Malak had set Dean up to give, because there was no other answer in Dean anymore.

No one was speaking, the bar gone quiet, and Dean was thankful for it, because he didn't want to hear anymore. He shifted Sasha in his arms, Sam's hand falling away, and looked into that pale, dead face, those dull blue eyes devoid of any spark. There was blood all over Dean, something he was too used to in his life. He still felt numb, he was still crying, he could feel Sasha stiff and cold in his arms.

Clenching his eyes tight a moment, Dean tried to breathe, tried to remember how. So many times he had almost lost Sasha, but this time it was real. Sasha was gone and he would never come back, dead because he was human, because Dean made his decision too late. Dean knew that the only thing he ever wanted was lying in his arms.

Looking down at Sasha again, Dean spoke very softly, "You can't bring him back for me, Cas, even if you wanted to, you couldn't just snap your fingers and he'd wake up like nothing happened. You said so yourself." Dean glanced up briefly, saw the anguish having returned to Castiel's face, and banishing all trace of remaining fear in its wake. Dean looked back to Sasha, reached out, "Make me human instead, Cas," he closed Sasha's eyes with trembling fingers, "I have a job to do."

Malak's reaction to this decision was palpable. "Dean," the demon tried.

"You heard what I said," Dean looked up at Malak lifelessly, all his life having left him when Sasha did, "Get the fuck away from me. I'm not gonna let you win. He'd never forgive me if I let you win."

Then as swiftly as he had appeared, Malak vanished in an angry swirl of smoke, like the trail of a cigarette.

The next moment Dean felt Sam's hand on his arm again, and Castiel was walking closer, crouching down where Malak had been before, only the angel was smiling in a way the demon never could.

"I am grateful for your choice, Dean," he said.

_God_, Dean wanted to stay numb but he could feel his tears now, feel the pain, so blinding. "Don't be grateful, Cas," he choked out.

"But I am," the angel insisted, "Before, Dean, I did not have the power to reverse this. But now, because of these circumstances and your willingly sacrifice…I can." Castiel reached out, reached towards Dean's forehead with just two fingers that he gently pressed there. Nothing happened at first, but then Castiel reached his other hand the same way to touch Sasha's forehead, and before Dean could question why, he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

tbc...

A/N: watching the show...no time for notes...end of arc next chapter and worse cliffy ever. Love you!

Crim


	89. Part 6: Weak and Powerless

_Little angel go away  
Come again some other day  
The devil has my ear today  
I'll never hear a word you say  
He promised I would find a little solace and some peace of mind  
Whatever just as long as I don't feel so..._

-A Perfect Circle

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Part 6: Weak and Powerless

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Dean Winchester had known pain, soreness, _agony_ only too well in his life. He had passed out only to wake up gritting his teeth more times than he cared to remember. The last time that happened he actually got to wake up feeling pretty good, having just become an incubus. In a way he had been waking up in Sasha's body that day, a body that at the time was alive and freshly fed—_electric_. Right now wasn't nearly as nice. He was human again and had an ache in his chest like he had been shot pointblank but magically hadn't died.

That was the cruel humor of it, because Dean _had_ been shot, and even though the wound healed because he had been an incubus still when the bullet ripped through him, his once again human body had the pleasure of feeling the ache anyway.

In laymen's terms, Dean felt like shit.

Then his mind was catching up to his body, reminding him that the worst of what had happened was not him getting shot, but where the bullet had gone after it passed through him. Into _Sasha_.

It had gone into Sasha and Sasha was dead now, _dead_. It had all been Malak's plan to force Dean's decision, make it so Dean had to choose the bastard if he ever wanted to see Sasha breathing again, only Dean hadn't given in. Knowing he would never again touch the man he loved, never feel his breath, his heat, or take in that wonderful Sasha scent, Dean had made the decision he knew Sasha would have wanted of him. He said no. He told Malak no, asked Castiel to make him human so he could fulfill his destiny, and left Sasha to stay dead.

Dean didn't want to wake up, didn't want to open his eyes, even though he was conscious finally and had to. He didn't want to live if Sasha was dead. Of course he knew his decision to stay on Heaven's side instead of Malak's would be pretty damn moot if he let himself die now, but he just wanted to stay asleep a little longer, where his dreams had been surprisingly sweet, filled with a Sasha who _lived_ and who stood beside him until the end.

It felt like the good part of an hour that Dean just laid there, awake but not wanting to admit it, though it was probably only a few minutes that just seemed to take forever to pass. Finally, Dean squinted enough to start letting in some light, pleased it was dim in the room, whatever room he happened to be in, probably the bedroom, his and _Sasha's_ bedroom, which was one of the last places he wanted to be.

He was turned onto his side slightly, facing where there was a chair leaned back by the closet, only Dean could see that the chair had been scooted closer to the bed, right next to it, and someone was sitting there. Dean didn't even have to wait for his vision to clear before he could tell who it was. The trench coat was a pretty good giveaway.

"Don't tell me…you already got orders for me," Dean croaked Castiel's direction, not moving because he just didn't have the will to want to, not yet.

Castiel, sitting casually with his arms leaned forward to rest on his thighs, the way he often sat when unguarded around Dean, had the nerve to smile back at him as if the important part of the world Dean needed to save wasn't already gone. "Hello, Dean," Castiel said, "I am glad to see you awake. It was not an easy transition, even though you gave yourself over willingly. You will feel better after some rest. And no, no orders yet. Time is short as you know, but…" as if there was something beyond Dean to focus on, Castiel's gaze drifted, "I don't think it will hurt anything if you take a little time to be together."

Dean's mind was still moving a little sluggishly, still half unconscious maybe, because he didn't initially hear that last part. Then he was blinking slowly, certain he had heard Castiel wrong. "Together…?" he repeated, so sore he didn't really want to roll over but, damn it, now he had to, had to see if Cas just meant Sam or some of the others and that he would merely find them all standing on the other side of the bed, or if Cas meant something, _someone_ else.

So Dean rolled, his body immediately bumping into a solid form beside him, one that was sitting up just slightly and watching Dean the way Castiel had been watching him. The sight of the smile and blue eyes on _this_ person meant so much more right now than the angel's.

_Sasha_. Beautiful, redheaded, and _alive_, Sasha was lying next to Dean, leaned back against the headboard. His eyes were not staring blankly as they had been when Dean last looked at them, they were vibrant and shimmering. And Sasha's hair, it was _red_, red the way Dean had first loved it. Sasha was glowing like he was infused with light and life, looking positively glorious in a blue T-shirt and jeans.

Dean instantly lost all train of thought except for those on what was right in front of him. "Sasha…?" he managed, pushing up no matter how much it ached and reaching out towards Sasha's face, afraid to actually touch, afraid this was all another part of his sweet dreams, "Is this…real…?" he asked of Castiel softly, though he couldn't look away, couldn't risk even blinking for fear of Sasha not really being there.

"It is very real, Dean," said Castiel amused from behind him.

Taking Dean's hand that was still only hovering, not yet touching him, Sasha pressed Dean's palm to his cheek so Dean could feel the warmth, the _life_ honestly flowing through him. "I'm real, Dean," he said, his voice low and gentle, caressing the words and Dean's name like no one else could.

Dean lifted his other hand so he could hold Sasha's face, feel him in his fingers, in his skin—_skin on skin_. "How…? You were already dead. Even if Cas switched us…reversed what the Trickster did, you…you were already gone." Dean had known that for certain because it had been the hardest part of making the right choice, knowing there was no 'mostly dead' or 'almost dead' involved, just dead, just _gone_.

But Sasha was still smiling, still there in front of Dean, real and warm beneath Dean's hands, as Castiel spoke, "True, but not so much gone that I could not…help things along a little. His incubus body did the rest. It was only lead, after all," he said as an afterthought that was so full of snark, so like Dean actually in its offhandedness that Dean laughed, _laughed_ and pulled Sasha's head toward his own until their foreheads were touching.

"Hey," he said in a shaky voice that he didn't feel the least self-conscious about, "You're all like a big Crayola crayon straight from the box again," he laughed, allowing his hands on either side of Sasha's face to push up into the soft strands of hair, silky and red and perfect.

Sasha laughed too, eyes closing blissfully and then opening again to glow at Dean surreally the way Dean remembered from when they first met, and could admit he had missed along with every other part of Sasha, not just the incubus parts, but _him_, the man, incubus, whichever that Dean had been so certain he had lost. "Yeah, full sex demon," Sasha said, "Put back together and everything. But what about you, Dean? Are you alright?" he added with concern, one hand reached out to touch Dean's chest where the bullet had gone through and was now healed.

It was just too funny, making Dean laugh all over again—Sasha being concerned about _him_. "You _died_," Dean said like it must not have sunk in enough for Sasha to really get it, "Died as in dead, baby, gone for good, knew I'd never see you again, and you're asking if _I'm_ okay?"

A crooked, shameful smile responded, Sasha's eyes lowing, his lashes fluttering, and then they flicked back up to Dean's face and Dean was willingly lost in a sea of blue. "I feel great. You're the one who has to heal slowly. Good thing those incubus genes did most of the work beforehand. I'm good, Dean," Sasha's hand on Dean's chest clutched and twisted into his shirt, "You have no idea how good."

There was something of hope, of lightness and pure joy in the way Sasha said those words. Dean knew there was something important left unsaid. He could tell by the way Sasha glanced past him to Castiel, as if asking permission.

Dean looked back over his shoulder too, even though it meant his hands had to slip from Sasha's face to his shoulders. Castiel had yet to lose that quirk of a smile, wider than Dean was used to, pleased despite everything that was still not okay with the world, the apocalypse on their doorstep. It seemed that Castiel was yet another person in Dean's life whose personal world was better as long as Dean was okay. Dean still wasn't used to that.

"Sasha was dead, Dean, wholly dead," Castiel agreed, "I merely gave a small push, what little I was capable of to help Sasha's incubus healing save him. But he was still dead. And you should know that _death_ is the final payment of any Devil deal." His head tilted just so, hinting rather than curious. _Hinting_ at what those words really meant.

Heat flushed to Dean's face as he came to understand, his throat tightening, head whipping back around to see Sasha grinning madly at him with damp eyes. "I'm dead, Dean," Sasha said like it was wonderful instead of morbid, "Or was for two whole minutes. Malak can't hold power over a dead man." The hand Sasha still had twisted in Dean's shirt tugged Dean back in close, their foreheads pressing tight again. "I'm free."

_Free_.

It was clear Sasha meant to kiss Dean then but this news, the realization of it had Dean moving in first. He kissed Sasha so sudden and firm, they fell back onto the bed, toppling sideways. Sasha giggled up into Dean's mouth before sucking him in, tongues tangling like it was life, this moment together, Dean half on top of Sasha and pressing him into the pillows.

They stayed like that probably longer than they should have considering they weren't alone but Dean figured Castiel had probably seen a lot worse. He hoped Jimmy would understand.

"Damn, Cas, why didn't you tell me about this loophole?" Dean spoke into Sasha's mouth even though he was speaking to Castiel, unable to stop nibbling on those soft, full lips, "If you woulda told me, I wouldn't have even had to _think_ about Malak's offer."

"You considered it?" Sasha pulled back enough to avoid Dean's continued succession of kisses, gaping up at Dean.

Oh no, they were so not having this argument. "You were _dead_," Dean said plainly, "Let's think back to when I was dead, and then ask me if I considered making a deal. Okay?" Even though it was a fair argument, and a bit of a low blow, Dean smiled as he said it so that Sasha was soon smiling again too.

Yeah, they were idiots half the time, but their idiocy had gotten them this far. Now they just had to hope it would get them through the rapidly approaching apocalypse.

"Shit," Dean pulled fully away and sat up, memory and truth assaulting him, "Everyone went nuts and took off. How many people do we have left?" he asked, the magic between him and Sasha broken for now. Much as Dean would love to take more than the few minutes Castiel suggested he have with Sasha—Hell, he'd love to take a few _hours_—he had a responsibility now, more than ever before. And the demons had done a pretty good job of screwing that up.

"First of all," Castiel stood from his chair, looking, Dean thought, a little flustered from Sasha and Dean's mini-makeout session right there in front of him, "Had I told you that Sasha coming back like this would reset the deal he made, I never would have had the power to switch the two of you and help bring him back at all. You gave me that power, Dean. You know more than most how important choice is, and it was choice, your choice, a truly selfless sacrifice, that gave me the ability to do what I did. As for those you had enlisted…" he looked to Sasha, making Dean turn back to the incubus as well.

Incubus. _The_ incubus.

_Dean's_ incubus.

Sasha was still glowing, so beautiful that it honestly took Dean's breath away no matter how Danielle Steele, cheesy romance novel that sounded. "Everyone came back, Dean. Everyone," Sasha said, "Every last person who ditched, human or otherwise, is back in the Roadhouse. The ones who saw what happened, who saw Castiel and Malak and…what happened to me, to _us_…they called the ones that left and got them to come back. It's tense still, yeah, but…they believe in us, Dean, in _you_. You still have your army waiting outside those doors for you to lead them," he smiled.

And holy shit, was that a sobering, frightening thought—_Dean's army_. Dean swore right then that if Sam made any DA, Dumbledore comments that Dean was going to stab him in the face purely on principle. "Wow," Dean gasped just thinking how miraculous it was that they hadn't lost a single soul after the worst possible scenario played out exactly the way the demons wanted.

Well, not _exactly_.

"Guess see is believing, eh, Cas?" Dean chuckled as he glanced back at the angel.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Faith is preferable," he said rather seriously, "But to believe after learning fact is still believing. Please understand, Dean, it was your sacrifice that swayed them, not me, and not Malak's presence either, much as they could all feel, even the humans, what he was. Those sleeper demons were only the first sign of scouts as Malak's army draws closer. We may not be able to hold them back, Dean. More will get through. You must be watchful."

"Cas," Dean scooted towards the edge of the bed so he could smack the angel good-naturedly on his—_Jimmy's_—shoulder and get him to stop looking so pensive when Dean preferred the smile, "I have everything to live for. I'm gonna be watchful like you've never seen, cling so damn hard to life to make sure this works out and that we win that you're head'll spin. Because then…" Dean looked back at Sasha who was lounging so casually, casual and _alive_, that Dean felt his cheeks starting to hurt he was smiling so wide, "Then everything will be okay. Well. Til the next Big Bad, I guess," Dean shrugged. He didn't mind his life being about that, _for_ others, as long as he got to share that life with the people he loved.

The sudden feel of cool skin on his hand almost made Dean jump, his head flinching back to Castiel, who was lifting Dean's right hand palm-up. Dean was confused at first but more transfixed than anything as Castiel brought his hand all the way up to dry lips and pressed a kiss to the center of Dean's palm. It sent shockwaves pulsing through Dean's body. Then Castiel leaned forward, still holding Dean's hand, and pressed another kiss to his forehead.

Dean didn't say a word the whole time, understanding somehow that this meant more than gratitude or a sign for luck, it was benediction.

"You, Dean," Castiel whispered into the top of Dean's hair, "Are a good man. Thank you."

Suddenly, Dean didn't feel so much like teasing Iain anymore about gasping when the angel had left the other day while he was still touching him, because to have Cas in contact with Dean's skin one second and then just gone the next, Dean would swear he felt _feathers_. "Cas…" he breathed into the space Castiel had been.

"Don't make me jealous now, I just came back to life," Sasha said with a mock-pout in his tone, "That makes you, me, and Sam tied now, doesn't it?" He spoke close beside Dean's ear, having crawled across the bed to be right up against Dean's back, settling in with his legs straddling Dean and hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Dean sunk back against Sasha gladly. "Yep. Let's try not to go for another record on that one, okay? I prefer you alive and kicking. And I prefer _you_. Nobody else even compares."

"Right back atcha," Sasha said.

"Good. And hey, you been out there at all? Know how Iain's doing? He looked…really wrecked when he saw what that demon made him do to you."

"Yeah," Sasha's voice lowered, "He avoided me pretty bad the little I was out there. It'll take time, I think. Oh, and I told Sam he could be in here when you woke up, figured he'd want to be, but…he said you'd be pissed if you didn't get a little time with me all to yourself before things got nuts again."

Damn, Dean loved his brother. "Smart man," he said as he clung to the arms Sasha wrapped around him. Part of Dean still thought he was going to wake up, any second now, wake up and Sasha would still be gone, but he trusted in Cas and had _faith_ that this was not a dream. It was just so damn remarkable and wonderful and _right_ that it felt like one.

As far as Dean had ever been able to tell, sacrifice rarely worked out in favor of the Winchesters. But this time Dean had made the right choice despite the heartache it caused him, despite everything, and he had been rewarded, _blessed_. For the first time, he truly felt like he could do this, and he wanted to, he wanted to make the world right again.

"I'll have to talk to Iain eventually," he said.

"Yeah."

"And everyone else."

"Yeah."

"And…lead the army against the apocalypse."

Sasha laughed, the sound being by far one of the more glorious things Dean had the pleasure of hearing in his life. "Yep, that you will," Sasha hugged Dean tight, almost too tight, and Dean knew it was entirely intentional.

Dean almost missed not being able to feel Sasha's emotions right then, that connectedness he had had while he was an incubus, but then he realized he still _could_ feel Sasha, in his own way, because they would always be connected, always. And now, one day when all of this was over, when Dean was ready instead of forced into it, Sasha could initiate him. Sasha _could_. That made all the difference.

"Dean…" Sasha whispered, his face pressing to Dean's, still holding Dean in that backwards, intimate hug on the bed, "Thank you for this, for what you did. Not because it worked out, and I'm here, _we're_ here, but because…because I knew you could do it, Dean, I knew it, you just had to believe finally that you could make the right choice and beat Malak for good. I'm so proud of you."

A jolt ran down Dean's spine at those words, making him shiver deeply, a shockwave just like he had felt when Castiel kissed his palm. He heard his breath hitch as he rode out the aftermath.

"Dean?"

"I…I'm good, just…" Dean closed his eyes, seeing images of his father flash through his mind at the best and worst times in their lives, "Never really heard that…too often. But it's not all over yet," he said more firmly, "I haven't beaten Malak for good. I'm human again and he's not gonna stop trying to get me on his side. Things are gonna get pretty hairy from here."

"I know. But now we can get through it together," Sasha breathed against the side of Dean's neck, his mere presence a comfort, and those words, and the truth of them. Parts of this Dean had to do alone, _decide_ alone, but Sasha and the others that Dean cared about most were with him and that made everything seem easier, every last danger and frightening unknown on the horizon.

Sasha and Dean stayed in their room for as long as they felt they could get away with before finally venturing out, not having sought anything more intimate than holding each other, a few lazy kisses, because that was enough for now.

Sam, Sarah, Jo, Ellen, and Bobby were all camped right outside the room when they left it, making sure the rabble stayed away, which Dean all too soon realized was rabble wanting to tell him that they were with him all the way. It wasn't everyday, he supposed, that you actually got to see the whole 'get thee behind me, Satan' crap actually work. Those two older hunters he hadn't trusted before were actually some of the most devoted to him now.

Dean wondered if he could have a heart attack from too many close calls, the damn yoyo effect of losing everything and somehow managing to get it all back. Sure, Dean was grateful, but he was almost certain it was starting to mess with his blood pressure.

After a sort of forced and awkward—as far as Dean was concerned—gathering of everyone, which had Dean a little wary of knives flying toward his head again, the masses were assuaged enough to go about their business and let Dean have a few minutes to breathe.

They were going to get right back into things and discuss how to better keep a lookout for more sleepers in the future, but Dean just wanted two minutes to jump through the shower and help wake himself up. He was still feeling a little sluggish being human again, not that he was about to complain.

He had habitually left the main door open a crack as he walked through his and Sasha's room to fish out a clean outfit from his duffle, really looking forward to that shower, when he heard someone enter and shut the ajar door. "Hey, babe, figured you'd join me?" Dean grinned as he turned back around, only to be met by the sight of someone _other_ than Sasha. Dean dropped his armful of clothes and grabbed the gun off the nightstand, aiming it swiftly at _Danny_, Ula's shapeshifter friend.

"Was that an offer, coz I don't think you're quite my type, Dean," Danny grinned.

_Fuck_. "Please tell me you're not another god damn demon in disguise," Dean grit out.

"Me? Oh no," he said as he walked confidently into the room, nonplussed by having a gun pointed at him, apparently, "I just figured this was a good way to keep an eye on how my _gift_ turned out for you. Not too shabby, huh?" he winked, and in that same moment shifted, but not the way a shapeshifter did it, ripping off skin for a new form, he shifted the way Sasha might shift between human and incubus until the man Dean was looking at wasn't Danny anymore but the Trickster.

Dean dropped the gun. "You gotta be fucking kidding me," he groaned, "Were you just pretending to be this Danny guy or did Ula make the wrong kinda friend way back when?" Either way, Dean felt pretty stupid for not guessing the truth. Hell, Danny even had a certain similarity to the Trickster's original look, just a little more polished maybe, like he had put himself through airbrushing.

The Trickster continued to grin as he stood before Dean, utterly at ease. "Don't blame Ula. She's a sweet girl. Figured she could use the camaraderie. You remember she got caught up with that family in Maine because hunters were after her, right? Well," his grin went crooked as he looked to the side, "They were being such poor sports I figured they could use a good _lesson_."

Well that figured. Dean couldn't rightly be angry either since Ula deserved the rescue, not that Dean wouldn't have preferred a different hero to have come to her aid. "Fine, fine, so you're an upstanding guy when you feel like it. But now you're trying to boast about that gift of yours like you're the reason things turned out okay? Switching me and Sasha almost cost us everything," he glared.

"And yet," the Trickster moved about the room, clearly pleased with himself, "Here you are now, human like they need you to be, actually confident for a change, Sasha's out of his deal, and all your followers _want_ to follow you. I see why you're angry with me, Dean," he had the nerve to snark.

Of course every comeback that sprang to mind went dry on Dean's tongue. The Trickster wasn't wrong. "You…planned for all that?" he asked skeptically.

The Trickster leaned back against the wall by the closet, the bed between them. "Amazing really how the simplest things can help a man see what he's worth. I told you I didn't want to see this world fall to Malak and I meant it," he said with surprising seriousness, "But you were bound to screw it all up, kiddo, going about it as you were. Now you know better. Now you know you can do this. And ya know," he smirked a little again, "I'm still available if you want the extra help."

Well, it would be pretty stupid for Dean to hold grudges right now. Besides, he didn't really have any ill feelings toward the Trickster, or any reason not to trust him, though he doubted the guy would ever be honest straight to his face from the get-go about _anything_. Still, Dean set the gun back on the nightstand. "You wanna help…I'm not gonna tell you to leave," he said.

Why this meant so much to the Trickster, Dean had no idea, but the guy grinned wide as ever at Dean's admission. "Happy to help, Dean-O," he said, "I'll probably stay incognito awhile, if you don't mind. Don't want to disappoint Ula, sweet thing that she is. But when the time comes, I'll do what I can. Now, I don't want you getting your hopes up or anything," he pushed from the wall, heading around the bed again, "When the demons get through the barrier out on those fields, it's gonna be a whole other world out there. My abilities might not be as…_potent_ as usual."

Dean snorted. "What, you get stage fright or something?" Dean joked.

"Such a funny guy," the Trickster deadpanned, "No, it's not that. Just…different rules. I'll do what I can though, you got my word on that. You be careful now," he said, walking back toward the door and shifting into Danny again just as his hand grabbed the knob. He glanced back at Dean with a smile. "And hey, maybe you could keep this between us. Help me keep low-profile. I love getting to make an entrance," he waggled an eyebrow.

That was understatement.

Thankfully, Dean managed to take his shower after the Trickster left, change, freshen up, feeling supremely grateful to the demi-god in all honesty even though he hadn't actually thanked him outright, and probably never would. It had been a bold and harsh way to prove a point, but then that was sort of the Trickster's MO, and besides, Dean couldn't deny that at the moment everything had turned out for the better.

He just hoped it stayed that way.

-----

After a solid week of preparing the troops, as Jo kept calling them, and making sure the Roadhouse was so damn solid, there was no way any new spies would get past their barriers, the researchers amongst the crew started to pick up on strange signs and occurrences happening nearby. Then further out too. Then all over the country. And by day seven, oceans weren't much of a border anymore either.

Some of the signs were almost expected: crops starting to rot, cattle death, lightening storms. All the usual demon crap. But then there was the phone lines starting to flicker and fail, television and radio signals getting lost too, cars just plain stopping in the middle of highways, cutting people off from each other and making travel almost impossible. Those in the Roadhouse didn't have plans for leaving anyway, but it was a concern, the chaos happening out there where they couldn't really help. They did what they could for the nearby towns, but didn't dare venture too far. Soon the only thing keeping the Roadhouse's electricity going was that pixie girl, Serileth.

Time was short, the demons fast on the approach, and Dean was still waiting to hear from Gwen, Cas, anyone about backup before the storm hit. Even Lindsey's grandfather, Aloysha, dick extraordinaire, had been swayed after witnessing what happened with Dean, Malak, Castiel, and Sasha. He had left almost immediately to sway the council to send some sex demon help, just as Dean had hoped, but they hadn't heard from him since. They were starting to wonder if help could even reach them.

To top off all the outer bad and the fact that the sun hadn't shown itself in four days, everything wasn't fine and dandy internally either. Fights would break out between hunters and their non-human help, despite the current truce, fights Dean usually had to break up, ensuring both sides that they could trust each other, damn it, they had to. Dean was certain it was getting worse because of the general unease in the air as the world kept changing around them.

Even worse than that, at least to Dean personally, was that Iain refused to talk to him for days, kept avoiding him, avoiding all of them, and pretty impressively since he lived in the library half the time but always seemed to be gone when Dean, Sasha, or Sam went in there to find him. Finally, Dean caught up to Iain and had to actually corner the guy in a hallway to keep him there long enough to talk.

By the time Dean had a couple beers in Iain, and had finished the tale of Meg-possessed Sam, followed by Meg-possessed Sasha, not to mention the original heartache of YED-possessed _Dad_, Iain was starting to come around. Dean made a comment about how maybe they could hook Iain up with Jimmy after this was all over if he didn't have a wife or something, and Iain laughed so long and hard over that, blushing furiously, that things gradually shifted to normal.

When the phones went down for good, as in all landlines and all cell phone towers, Dean started to worry about Leven. It took Sam a full day to reach out with his mind and tap into the kid's, something he said he doubted he could do at all, but maybe because he had used his powers on Leven before and might have left a trace he could more easily pinpoint. It also helped keep Sam's powers sharp.

As soon as Sam stopped laughing at whatever Leven was going on about in their mental connection, he told Dean that Leven and Wade were fine and that they had gotten out of the city to a small, quieter place before everything started getting scary. Dean still worried, worried about the whole damn world, but he was at Ground Zero, he supposed, and that was where things would get _really_ scary.

Then there was what Dean could only consider a bitter sweet development when Shiarra finally arrived, days later than she had said, and not alone. The incubus that Shiarra had taken Adrian to was with her, another deceptively young looking and gorgeous guy, his skin a deep black and head shaved smooth. He wasn't so bad, kind of cool really, nice, and had one of those deep, hypnotizing voices that made anyone feel like they wanted to curl up and take a nap. Dean liked him.

The bitter part was that Adrian was with them too.

Dean almost didn't recognize the kid, clean now and healthy, wearing something Shiarra had obviously dressed him in because Adrian looked a bit uncomfortable in slacks and a button down, more the modern punk type if Dean remembered that ragged sweatshirt with the safety-pin closure.

He looked good though, which was…good. _Healthy_, Dean thought again, not wanting to say 'good' when this was a kid he was talking about, even if he was eighteen. He did indeed have brown hair, not some other color that had simply been caked in dirt, long enough that it showed a slight curl. His eyes, now that they weren't red with frenzy, were a pale blue, summer storm blue, and just as sad. He was bigger than Leven, to use a reference point around the same age, maybe just a little less dancer thin and instead slightly muscled, his face pale, pretty, _filled with guilt_.

Maybe a little too late Dean realized he had been staring stone-faced at the kid while greeting Shiarra, Arthur—the dark-skinned incubus—and Adrian at the main doors of the Roadhouse with Sasha. Dean didn't have any reason to dislike the kid. Okay, so he had plenty of _reason_, but all totally unfounded considering Adrian wasn't in his right mind at the time and hadn't actually initiated anything. That was where Sasha came in, sacrificing himself to save a young incubus' life, something they had addressed and that Dean was so totally over, he swore.

"Goodness, it's so unfortunate we missed seeing your stripes, darling," Shiarra said as she leaned into Dean and kissed his cheek, a gesture once reserved only for Sasha, as far as Dean could tell, at least that immediate and wholeheartedly given, "I'm sure you were magnificent as an incubus. It was ridiculous trying to reach the place, almost as if the roads were taking a cue from those staircases in Harry Potter and moving about at whim. I daresay it may be the end of the world," she joked with a raised eyebrow, staying lighthearted, Dean thought, for everyone else's sake since he knew she had to be worried.

"I'm just glad you're safe, Shi," Sasha hugged her tight, even though they had already greeted each other and exchanged affections, "With the phones all down, not knowing if you were okay…" he trailed, squeezing Shiarra even more firmly.

The succubus gave a slight grunt as air was forced from her lungs. "Darling, know your own strength. You're not human anymore. And I do hope you have all intention of explaining how that happened, by the way," she said with a warning clip to her tone, just in case Sasha tried to hide the truth from her.

"I'll tell you everything you missed, but you're going to hate hearing about it," Sasha replied honestly. Dean sort of hoped he didn't have to be in the room for that, mainly because he anticipated several glares thrown his way even after the story reached its end.

Then Sasha was shaking hands with Arthur, congenially like acquaintances who didn't really know what to say to each other, their time together having only encompassed Arthur helping Sasha the way he had been _helping_ Adrian, another detail Dean would rather not think about.

And then Sasha was taking the kid's hand, his smile sympathetic of Adrian's guilt-ridden face. "You look great, Adrian. Everything's been going alright?" he asked.

"Y-Yeah," Adrian stammered, so tense he looked like he was in physical _pain_ when he accepted Sasha's hand and shook it stiffly, his eyes darting to Dean, obviously able to see the claiming Sasha-pheromones and mark emblazoned on Dean's body, "I'm…good. I'm sorry…sorry I'm here," he pulled his hand back from Sasha quickly after another glance at Dean.

Dean wasn't _trying_ to look pissed and unapproachable, honest.

Sasha caught on fast to why Adrian was becoming increasingly more agitated and gave Dean one of his puppy looks of doom, the one that said 'please don't blame someone else for something _I_ did'. It worked every time, forcing a reassuring smile from Dean as he tried to shake off the urge to throttle Adrian on principle for touching _his_ baby. Dean never was very good at sharing. Except with Sam.

And boy did that make his mind go to a very wrong place.

"I had initially planned to have Adrian hearth home after we were finished," Shiarra sighed, "But all this…why, I don't even know what to call it…_evil_ in the air makes it impossible to travel that way. We couldn't just leave him, and Arthur had already more than willingly agreed to come help, so…here we all are."

"I…got to talk to my dad…before the phones went. He knows I'm okay," Adrian added.

Sasha smiled warmly at the kid. "Don't worry. You don't have to fight. There are plenty of other ways to be helpful here. I know it's scary, but we can keep you safe. The Roadhouse is probably the safest place in the world right now, even if we are at Hell's door. We'll find a place for you. Right, Dean?" Sasha purposely included Dean in the decision, probably to ease the tension and ensure Adrian that Dean was not secretly plotting his demise.

Because he wasn't. _Really_. "Yeah…I'm sure Ellen or, hell, even Iain could use some non-combat hands around here. Not many places to sleep, but we'll find some. Better start busting out tents on the front lawn," he tried to joke, falling flat though since he couldn't actually look the kid in the eye, "Well," he moved on, "Gotta get back to work. We'll catch up later," he said to Shi before casting Sasha an apologetic look and taking off back through the bar.

He expected Sasha might call out or come after him, maybe even Shiarra would, but he did not expect the timid but insistent grip of _Adrian's_ hand on his arm to be what stopped him. The kid had followed Dean a good ways from the others, and looked like he might break down in tears he was so distraught when Dean turned to look at him. "I'm sorry," Adrian said, ripping his hand back immediately like he'd been burned.

Damn it. "Kid, don't be sorry. You have nothin' to be sorry for, okay?" Dean didn't want to have this discussion right now, or _ever_.

"But I know, I mean…" Adrian stumbled, searching for words, "Shiarra told me everything, and…and I _am_ sorry. There's nothing worse…nothing lower than…than taking someone else's mate. It's _law_. Not that I…" he blushed furiously, eyes darting about the floor like it was supremely interesting, "Not that I took him away or anything, but…but I'm sorry, so sorry. I think…I think hunting is one of the noblest things our kind could ever do. That Sasha can…help people…and still be one of us, it's…" finally Adrian looked up at Dean, really looked at him, and Dean recognized the devotion there, the hero-worship for Sasha that Dean saw too often on Leven's face toward him, "It makes me feel like maybe I could make up for what I did. Not just to you, but...for all the others too." All the others I _killed_, Dean heard as clearly as if the kid had actually said it.

It damn near broke his heart.

And reminded him glaringly of Leven. _Again_.

"I hear you," he said, honestly feeling sympathy now instead of resentment, "And you really don't need to apologize. Tell ya what," Dean glanced over and saw that Sasha was keeping an eye on them not at all covertly, "You help out whatever way is best for you, learn whatever you can from the hunters here, see what you think of it, and…maybe after this is all over I might know someone about your age I bet you'd really hit it off with. Trusting we survive, of course. How 'bout it?" Dean knew that Leven's ears were burning somewhere.

Adrian's storm cloud eyes gaped at Dean, but soon they softened almost as if he was finally calm, as calm as Dean had yet seen him, and then his lips gave a slight twitch. "This…guy my age," he started coyly, "He cute? Maybe a little punk? Coz that's sorta my type."

"_And_ he sings," Dean raised an eyebrow suggestively, which he somehow knew would peak Adrian's interest even more.

Dean deserved a Nobel prize for his benevolence right then, getting Adrian on his good side, being nice to the kid, possibly finding a hook up for Leven that would no doubt cause Wade to come hunt him down in the night at some point, but hey, Leven said he'd love a young incubus' number. If they survived the apocalypse, Dean figured the two kids deserved each other.

Somehow, he managed to actually get back to work after the bitter sweet awkwardness of what they believed to be their last smaller batch of arrivals. They were still waiting to hear about the actual backup, as in super-powered angelic, fae, and sex demon backup, but there was still no word, over a week since Dean had become human again.

Dean was getting antsy, and struggling not to show it front of those who didn't know him well so they wouldn't start doubting his ability to lead. But even though he believed in himself, he also believed that they needed more help than they had.

Since he hadn't been hiding his anxiety towards the people that _did_ know him well, Sam started getting on his case fairly quickly. "Dean, you need to take a breath one of these days, sit down and let everyone do their jobs without you hovering around like the demons are suddenly going to start laying siege without warning," Sam finally cornered Dean in the main upstairs hallway.

The problem was that unexpected siege lying could very well happen. "I'm fine, Sam. I've been sleeping and eating just like I'm supposed to and even taking the time to _shit_ on occasion. Besides, I'm not…hovering." At least not all the time, and certainly not intentionally.

Sam eyed Dean skeptically though, which soon had Dean sighing in defeat.

"I suppose…I could use a drink," Dean admitted, which was a luxury he hadn't been allowing himself nearly as often as he had the right to. It was the freakin' apocalypse. He should have gotten trashed at least once by now.

But then Dean started to get a little worried because Sam was looking way too devious. "Glad to hear it. Coz I'm kidnapping you for the rest of the night," Sam grinned, snatching up Dean's wrist and tugging him down the hallway.

"What!" Dean struggled on instinct, "What the hell, man? There's like a million things to get done, and—"

"Dean. _Don't fight me_," Sam commanded without even looking back at Dean as he mojoed him.

God damn it. Dean's muscles relaxed and he continued walking along with Sam like it was perfectly normal for his brother to be leading him by the hand down the hall. "That is so cheating," Dean grumbled, pleased he could at least still complain verbally if not physically struggle. He had ceased to be bothered by Sam's abilities when used in ways meant to be helpful, but it still annoyed him. What did Sam think he was up to? And why was he leading Dean to his and Sarah's bedroom…?

As soon as they were inside the room, Sam released Dean and he felt the hold of Sam's mojo fall away too. Dean totally had it in him to bolt, but then he spotted Sasha and Sarah sitting out on the flat bit of roof just outside Sam's bedroom window that was of course open and inviting for Sam and Dean to go out and join them too.

A grin teased at the corner's of Dean's mouth. This was obviously meant to remind Dean of the last time they did this, New Years, only months ago but it felt like so much longer, having stolen bottles of wine from Ellen, just Dean and Sam and Sasha, enjoying each other's company under the stars. Dean didn't mind having Sarah as an addition, but he was pleased there was no one else, not even Jo, keeping the gathering intimate.

"You guys all planned this?" Dean asked, still grinning despite himself as he climbed out before Sam onto the roof. It was late anyway. Well, late enough, time being a little harder to keep track of visually since the sun stopped showing its face days ago.

Sasha had a pilfered bottle just like Dean knew he would, smiling wide and scooting over so Dean could sit beside him. "Sam's idea. We just really loved the sound of it. We sprung for glasses this time," Sasha said as he poured a liberal amount of ruby-colored wine into a glass and handed it to Dean.

"Damn, baby, you're getting all high-tech on me," Dean dripped sarcasm as he accepted it, and immediately took a long, pleasing gulp. There was a bit of fiz to the wine, almost like champagne. "Tasty," he hummed, "Any particular occasion?" Dean snuggled in close beside Sasha and looked across at where Sam and Sarah were snuggling in kind.

"Just a deserved break," Sam said, "Figured we'd need it. Especially since we're supposed to lead this army, _you_ especially," he raised his glass to Dean.

Looking down at the lawn of the Roadhouse, Dean hadn't been wrong about the need to set up tents, which now littered the whole perimeter, giving everyone a little more breathing space inside the building. Dean saw Ula and her friends—including the disguised Trickster—putting together a bonfire as they set up a tent for themselves, having felt rather cramped inside anyway, and having fae amongst them that seemed to prefer the outdoors.

Ula spotted Dean and the others up on the roof and waved.

"Hard to believe," Dean said as he waved back. He was exhausted, he could admit it, and the wine warmed his chest wonderfully. Wholly content, he threw Sam a grateful smile. "You could have just told me about the wine and good company instead of hitting me with the mojo," he said.

Sam's dimples were showing as he grinned, "But it was so much more fun this way."

"Bitch," Dean mumbled into his glass.

"Jerk."

"_Guys_," Sasha laughed, joined by Sarah's giggles.

"I swear you two are hopeless sometimes," Sarah added as she laid her head on Sam's shoulder, smiling blissfully.

Just seeing Sam and Sarah like that, comfortably content and together just like how Dean and Sasha were, filled Dean with a bit of that peace he had been chasing around the Roadhouse for the past week and consistently missing. Nothing made Dean happier than seeing _Sam_ happy.

"Anything to toast to?" Sarah asked, all of them with fairly full wine glasses, night on the approach but warm because of Summer.

Dean thought about that. "I don't know. Here's to backup?" he joked, unable to shake his unease over lack of same.

"Love and peace?" Sasha chuckled into Dean's neck.

"How about…" Sam began, maybe a little somberly even, "To a happy ending?"

A happy ending. The hope for that settled around them like a warm blanket that Dean tangibly felt almost as if it was already there. "Yeah," he said, "I like that. To a happy ending. No matter what that means." He raised his glass, then Sasha, Sam, and Sarah did the same, and they clinked all together before taking long, satisfying drinks. Dean had to hand it to his brother; he had definitely made Dean feel better. "Now if we just knew when that damn help was coming I'd feel a whole lot more confident," he couldn't help adding.

"_Well_. You try gallivanting across the fae lands for weeks on end before having to trudge through supernatural static just to get here," sounded an irritated female voice that did not belong to Sarah, "_Then_ you can complain," the voice finished just as Dean found his wine suddenly snatched from his fingers and brought to the newcomer's lips.

"_Gwen_?" Dean gaped, staring up at the rather bedraggled looking fae who had appeared literally out of thin air with red hair tied back into a curly mess, wearing willowy and somewhat see-through fabrics that did not fit well as modern clothing, "Where the Hell did you come from?" That whole bamfing in and out thing really got on Dean's nerves sometimes. Of course fae that popped in out of nowhere just to down the rest of _his_ glass of wine annoyed him far more.

"I'd summon you another but I'm a bit spent," Gwen said, thrusting the empty glass back into Dean's hand. She was standing between the two couples on the roof like a, well, windblown fairy. All she was missing were the torn up butterfly wings. "Honestly," she huffed, plopping down right where she had been standing into a cross-legged position, "That whole ordeal was thoroughly unpleasant, let me tell you."

Dean was still gaping, all of them were really, because Gwen just came across so strangely _human_, and of course Sarah hadn't had the pleasure last time of meeting her. "So…should I take that to mean the fae _aren't_ coming? Or did you just come from a really bitching party before popping in?"

Almost on cue, because Dean had had to hear Sasha gush about how lucky he was to have met the mother of his kind, Dean felt Sasha's hand squeezing his bicep hard in warning. The incubus then spoke to Gwen in that strange fae-tongue, Gaelic whatever, with reverent concern.

A true smile wormed its way onto Gwen's face upon hearing the language, which Dean could admit sounded even sexier than Latin did when it passed Sasha's lips, and that was saying something.

"Please, my dear, no need for such formality, much as it honors me," Gwen waved a hand, kicking her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her palms, "I'm quite alright, just winded. And not to worry, Dean," she said reassuringly, "My brethren may be stubborn, but as I said, they are more than willing to take their place among those who will help save the world. It's just a bit complicated, you see. Instant travel, teleporting and whatnot, takes a certain finesse and level of power, of course, but also open pathways. This…_infection_," she looked about at the dark world with a sneer, "Is more than just signs of what's to come. It's keeping the channels between worlds harder to get through. I'm afraid it will take some time yet for the fae to reach you. I barely made it at all. But they are coming. The incubi and succubae too," she smiled, "Aloysha sends his regards. Bit of prat, that one. Well done there, Dean."

This was all coming a little fast, and right when Dean had been so worried. Okay, so they had to wait a little because the fae side couldn't all bamf their way in, coming instead on foot, or through the air, whatever. At least they were coming. "Thanks, Gwen, we need the help. Or we will," he said with a glance down at the lawn again, "Does this mean you're sticking around to lend a hand?" he asked hopefully. Gwen was ancient, he knew that much, and clearly one of the more powerful fae in existence.

She sighed regretfully. "I wish I could, but not yet. I need to help lead everyone here. You don't know what it's like out there, and that's a good thing. There's a sort of eye of the storm about this place, being so close to the center of everything, but the further out you get, the more static you run into, enough to mess any fae's sense of direction. I'll bring them all as soon as I can. Humans are having a much easier time with all this, amazingly. You are quite resilient," she said as she stretched and then began to get up.

"Wait, just like that, you're leaving?" Sam questioned. Much as he had been playing the leader in their little bit of hooky right now, Sam was worried too, couldn't help himself.

Gwen, looking a bit better from a moment's rest, and flush in the cheeks from downing Dean's wine, smiled serenely down at Sam. "I have complete faith in you all to hold firm until I get back to you. I'm afraid I can't say how Mike's side is doing. Haven't heard anything in a few days now. Hard to get messages through. I'm sure they're doing fine though. You just take care of each other. She's lovely, by the way," Gwen winked in regards to Sarah, who looked startled to suddenly be referenced. Then Gwen was looking at Sasha. "And Sasha, love, so glad you're back to yourself. What eye I could keep on you missed that recessive gene we share," she reached down, cupping his face for just a moment, fingers teasing the strands of his _red_ hair, so like hers, and then she was gone.

"Well, ain't someone a favorite great-great-great-great-great…_great_," Dean could have gone on forever like that until Sasha jabbed him in the side, "Great-grandson," Dean finished with a grin.

Sasha didn't try to deny that he sort of liked that, probably because Gwen had a few things in common with Sasha's mother, like sass, red hair, and one hell of a body. Not that Dean was looking too closely at the…see-through fabrics or anything.

Dean still didn't understand what exactly he was going to be expected to do in this whole leading the troops deal, or why it was so important he be human, though he knew it was and was so over complaining. So while they were still doomed to play the waiting game for now, he decided to enjoy himself and the knowledge that they were not alone. "Fill me up, Sammy," Dean held his glass out to Sam, who had the bottle now, and who complied happily, "And we better have at least two more bottles around somewhere or you are so going down to steal another."

-----

A few more days passed, waiting on the fae, on the sex demons, on any word from Castiel about the angels. It was hard to take too much comfort in help being on the way when they all knew the end was just as swiftly approaching.

Dean was in the library with Iain and _Adrian_ of all people, trying to work out the best tactic for surrounding the Roadhouse in a giant pentagram, sort of ala Samuel Colt and the Devil's Gate. Wally was in Dean's lap, purring contently as a chimera, because at this point it no longer mattered if she pretended to be a cat, when Jo bolted into the room.

"Dean!" she called out of breath, "You gotta come downstairs! Something's happening! Sam says it's…_bad_," she finished dauntingly, which couldn't be anything but truly awful considering Sam could freakin' sense bad from a mile away.

"Shit," Dean cursed as he passed Wally to Iain, on his feet in seconds, "Come on then!"

They raced down the stairs, Iain and Adrian following more hesitantly, all of the Roadhouse seemingly bustling and making it difficult to even move through everyone until the other people started realizing that _Dean_ was the one trying to get through.

By the time Dean reached where Sam and Sasha were standing at the open main doors into the Roadhouse, it was obvious that everyone—_everyone_—was out and about and alert to what was happening. "What is it?" Dean asked his brother as soon as he came up next to him, "Why's everyone so freaked? What hap…pened…?" Dean could barely get the last of his question out, staring out the door the way Sam and Sasha were, the way everyone was, some people looking out windows, others out on the lawn.

"Dean…" Sam said like a breath, "Are we really seeing this?"

Every last inch of Dean wished he could say no.

But he could see everything, and he knew it was real, knew it was really happening. The land beyond the Roadhouse was changing, shifting and moving, some of it falling away to deep cavernous drop-offs, other parts struggling to reach the sky as high cliffs. Those watching could see it all like eons of landmass changes over time happening in the span of minutes.

It looked exactly like Dean's dreams, his recent dreams of the battle ahead, fruitless but inevitable, creatures of all kinds fighting and him leading their side of the fray.

Dean took two steps until he was just outside the doorway, able to see further, more clearly. He could see so far, as if the Roadhouse were on the highest peak looking down on the changing land, but at the farthest point there was only blackness. Dean couldn't see any demons, any creatures advancing, not yet, and yet he knew they were coming, knew they were almost ready to break forth into the real world.

"I was worried why Malak hadn't come to me since that day, or tried to send any more spies like Cas thought he would," Dean said as he stared, awestruck and frozen to the spot as Sam and Sasha came up on either side of him, "He didn't have time for any of that. He was making sure his army got here before the rest of _ours_."

"But how?" Sasha shook his head, "How could the demons get past the angels? There should be angels coming through too, ahead of the demons. Right?" He looked to Dean, looked past Dean to Sam, even looked a ways ahead of them where Bobby had been standing and was starting to walk over to them.

Dean could really use his guardian angel about now. He hadn't wanted to summon Castiel, even after so long, because he didn't want to risk that Cas was needed where he was, on the battlefield. But now Dean needed him, he needed to know what was happening.

He squeezed his eyes shut and—

"_Dean_."

Dean's eyes sprung back open. He hadn't even gotten to the praying part, but that was Castiel's voice, and there right in front of him was the angel himself, wearing Jimmy like always and looking especially rumpled and tired, his blue eyes wild, urgent. "Cas," Dean stepped toward the angel, ignoring the surrounding recruits who gasped and stood around them in awe at the angel's arrival, "What's going on? Is it happening now? Can the angels help us? We can get everyone ready but we need—"

"Dean," Castiel cut Dean off a second time, this time more than just thoughts, "I am sorry. Malak's army, led by Solrin, had been advancing steadily, overtaking us. Our soldiers remain, we have managed to survive well, but the demons have moved past our ranks. _All_ our ranks. They will reach you before we can offer any aid. Only I can appear this way, directly to you because you are _you_, Dean, and my charge. I am sorry," he said again, "Help is not coming."

Those words clanged in Dean's head.

_Help is not coming._

"What of the fae?" Castiel went on, "Has Gwen come to you? Surely, they must be near—" This time it was Dean who cut Castiel off, merely by shaking his head, distraught.

"No, Cas, no fae either. Gwen came, but…they're still far away. They're having the same trouble popping in, they have to come the long way. I don't know how close they are, if it would even be today. _Jesus_," Dean scraped a hand back through his hair, pacing in place, "We really have no one else? This is it?" Looking around, though their numbers were impressive, having so many hunters and several non-humans with impressive abilities, it wasn't enough, Dean knew that.

"There is still me," Castiel said assuredly, looking to Dean with steadfast resolve, even to Sam, Sasha, and Bobby who were huddled in close, "I may be only one, but I am still a warrior of God, happy to serve you, Dean. I will not abandon you in this late hour."

It made Dean crack a smile to hear how Castiel said all that so formally, so heartfelt, but even one angel wouldn't shift the odds in their favor. Even the Trickster, powerful as he was, had admitted he would be stunted. It just wasn't enough, none of it. Malak knew exactly what he was doing, always had several aces up his or her sleeves just in case things went wrong. This was the trump, plowing his army ahead so that even if the angels behind them and the fae on the way might eventually win, Dean and his forces would be long dead by then.

Dean couldn't allow that.

He thought of what Dave had told him in that diner so long ago now, thought of how easy it had been then to follow that advice no matter how little faith he had in himself.

_Malak can't have power over you if you choose them instead._

It was almost as if Dean could hear those words speaking right to him in Dave's comfortable drawl. Dean knew what he had to do. The others came first, they were what was important, they were who Dean had faith in. He had to believe that what he was about to do was the right thing and that everyone would fight their hardest and prove him right. He knew they would, believed in it more strongly than he had ever believed in himself.

"No, Cas," Dean put his hands on both the angel's borrowed shoulders, "Go back to Mike, fight like mad and get help to us as fast as you can. _That's_ how you're gonna help us, being there, not here. Okay?" He could see immediate turmoil in Castiel's eyes, wanting to dissent, to question, but Dean was firm, and soon the angel was nodding.

"I will bring you your help, Dean, I swear to you. Please…protect each other," he looked to each of them, and then blinked away.

Oh, Dean would make sure everyone was protected. He had to.

Swiftly, he turned to Sam, Sasha, and Bobby, knowing that the others nearby were waiting on baited breath to hear his orders as the first war cries sounded in the distance to warn of the approaching horde. Dean only spared the briefest glance, but it was enough to solidify his decision. That blackness he had been able to see in the distance was not merely darkness, but Solrin and his army on the approach, endless it seemed in multitude that they had appeared as shadow.

"Sammy, guys," Dean pulled his gaze from that awful sight, forcing his friends to look at him, "Everyone knows what they're supposed to do to get the Roadhouse ready, they know where their marks are, how they're supposed to prepare for an attack. Now they need to do it. Sam, you help get the last of the wards up. Bobby, start telling the hunters to get to their posts, stocking up on weapons, as many on each person as they can carry. And baby," Dean looked too long, too longingly at Sasha, that he was afraid for a moment he might give himself away, "Sasha, get everyone who can fly and work magic up on the roof. Keep watch. I'm counting on you to let us know when it's go-time. Okay?"

Something shimmered across Sasha's face like suspicion. "What about you, Dean? What are you going to do?"

Dean held his expression like stone, knowing he couldn't afford for them to doubt him. "I'm going up to grab the Colt. Those are real demons out there, no hosts to worry about. I'll tell Iain to get all those who can't fight front line to fortify themselves in the safest place, ready to lockdown if it comes to it. Just go," he looked to each of them again, "I'll be back before you even miss me. Go!" he shouted once more and then he was running, moving past them back inside the Roadhouse toward the stairs.

He ran through chaos, but it was organized chaos, everyone already knowing to get to their posts, get weapons, get ready. Dean was thankful for that because it would keep them occupied, help keep the fear down, keep away the thoughts that there was no way they could beat the entire army of Hell with just their small fortress.

Iain and Adrian had been close enough to the main doors to have heard what Dean wanted of them, only leaving him his last task. He raced for his and Sasha's bedroom, knowing time was too short, knowing the army would reach them faster than they could possibly imagine. The Colt was kept in a safe in the bedroom, just in case any wise guys thought to try and snatch it. But Dean wasn't going for the Colt.

He reached the room, shut the door behind him, and stared for a moment as he clung to the knob, feeling doubt flicker through him, knowing he could walk right back out that door again and forget this insane idea. But no. He had to trust this. He knew it was right. He had already called for _him_ silently the moment he came into the room.

"You'll slaughter all of them, won't you?" Dean whispered.

There was a small, haughty huff of air, letting Dean know that it was _her_ instead. "Of course, Dean. This is a war. And I'm afraid you're piddly little army is no match for mine."

Slowly, Dean turned to face _Malak_, hating her smile, her red hair like Sasha's, like Gwen's, those damn yellow on black eyes that harkened back to Azazel so much more right now than ever before. "If I'm…if I'm _you_ then I can send them back to Hell?" Dean asked carefully, knowing the weight of his words.

Malak honestly glowed at hearing him say that. "Oh yes. You can do whatever you like, Dean. You could kill the whole lot of them, if that's what you want."

"Maybe _you're_ what I want," Dean said steadily, eyes locked on hers.

She actually made a sound like an honest to God—well maybe not _God_—moan. "Why, Dean, I thought you were above making deals for yourself," she mocked him.

"This isn't for me. It's for them," Dean gestured back towards the door. He hated having to do this, having to please Malak so thoroughly by doing this, but he had to. "You said to me more than once that you wouldn't let anything happen to the people I love. You _swear_ you won't hurt anyone inside these walls, that Sammy and Sasha and the others will be safe?"

Now Malak was honestly intrigued. Her gold heels dug into the carpet as she walked closer, the snug black dress alluring as she moved, her mouth smiling but serious. "That will be up to you, Dean. As I've told you, the power will be yours. I've never lied about that. We will be one, but you will be in complete control. So by all means, mold the world as you see fit," she finished grandly, still mocking him, Dean knew, still taunting him with how she had forced him into this choice. Or so she thought.

"Yeah," Dean huffed, "I'll be in control. With you _poisoning_ me from the inside to do things the way you want."

Malak cocked her hip, one hand curved to rest on it, only mere feet from Dean now. "Well, if you'd rather watch all the people here die…" she said warningly.

"No. I know what I have to do. But before I give you what you want, you have to promise me something, promise me or the whole thing's off."

Now Malak was _really_ intrigued. "Anything," she said, and Dean knew she meant that.

"Good," he said, moving back to the door swiftly and turning the lock. Then he looked back at Malak, looked over every inch of her, never forgetting that he hated this demon more than anything else in the whole damn world. "Let's make a deal."

------

THE END...of arc 11, TBC right here with ARC 12: Destiny

-----

A/N: Yay, got it up before Thursday. Did you see THAT coming, folks? Next arc is a doozie and THE END of the main story with lots of surprises in store. If anyone can guess why Dean thinks this is the right course of action, you're truly remarkable. Much love!

Crimson


	90. ARC 12: Destiny, PART 1: What Sam Saw

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLUEEYESGREEN!

Ha! I totally made it. It was difficult and consumed much of my time, but as promised here is the next chapter in time to celebrate the birth of my dear good friend, who really should still be living with me to weasel out spoilers, but then...my husband would probably complain. ;-) So much love, my dear! I swear I'll send that picture CD one of these days. This chapter is obviously dedicated to Blueeyesgreen for all her wonderfulness, who I hope is having a great birthday even without me there to celebrate with her.

The following chapters will not be read in Dean's POV, because...it would give the game away. Enjoy!

-----

ARC 12: Destiny, PART 1: What Sam Saw

-----

Sam was pleased to have been given the task of gathering the more supernaturally inclined of their crew, as he had discovered that they were the most easily organized, maybe more used to working together while hunters often worked solitary.

Half of them were for Sasha to take up to the roof, the flyers and long range spell casters—which sounded far too Dungeons and Dragons for Sam not to crack a small smile, no matter how serious this was—but the other half stayed with him to put up the wards they couldn't hold indefinitely but that would be very helpful as final protection for the Roadhouse. He was able to complete it all fairly fast actually, the dark line of Solrin and his demon army more visible but still far off in the distance on that jagged, surreal terrain.

It had been far too many minutes without word from Dean, maybe longer than mere minutes, and Sam had just enough time standing around waiting to feel worried about it when Sasha came running over to him.

Sam had been outside the main doors with a line of helpers along the perimeter. He turned to Sasha with a wary expression. "Is everyone in position on the roof?" he asked. He understood that Sasha, like Sam himself, was nervous and a bit of a wreck, but what needed to get done was most important right now.

In response to the question, Sasha nodded dismissively, like it was hardly as important as what he had to say. "Where's Dean?" he said as he gripped Sam's forearm tightly, "It's been almost a half hour. We're ready, as ready as we can be, just sitting around _waiting_. But I don't think Dean was going up to get the Colt. _Sam_—" Sasha started in with great stress on Sam's name, but Sam didn't hear if the incubus said anything immediately after that. He was too busy pitching to the side as a pulse of sudden energy struck him hard.

Sam soon realized that the only thing keeping him upright was Sasha's grip on his arm, and the new grip of Sasha's other arm curled around Sam's waist. Everything around Sam was blurry and spinning, as if he had been hit by some sort of shockwave. No one else seemed effected, but Sam knew something was wrong, very wrong, _deadly_ wrong. And he also knew without a doubt that it had something to do with Dean.

Trying to surface from his nausea, not quite back to himself after that strange pulse and having to block out the rapid words Sasha was spitting at him in concern, Sam focused on the one thing that mattered: getting upstairs _to Dean_.

"Something's wrong," he managed to say to Sasha, and then he was pushing out of the incubus' hold and running haphazardly, more like stumbling toward the main stairs and up them, pushing past anyone who got in his way. Sam knew Sasha was right on his heels, he just prayed everyone else stayed at their posts.

"Sam!" Sasha called after him, soon right beside him since Sasha had no trouble keeping up with Sam's long strides. He also seemed to know exactly where Sam was headed.

They reached Sasha and Dean's bedroom, Sam unable to comment more than casting Sasha a worried look. He tried the knob, shaken to his core to find it locked, to find that Dean had locked them out, seen reason to _lock them out_ when the world was ending all around them. "Dean!" Sam pounded once on the door before stepping back and kicking hard enough to send the whole thing flying off its hinges into the room.

Then it hit him, as potent as he had felt downstairs, a shockwave, a soul-deep pulse from inside the room that spoke to Sam of _wrong_, of dark and evil and everything going straight to Hell with _Dean_ at its center. And there he was inside the room, deep inside back by the wall, facing it, staring down looking at his hands like he barely recognized them as his own.

Sasha was too impatient, maybe hadn't felt it yet, maybe couldn't, but Sam knew the truth too well to just let Sasha walk into this unprepared. As soon as Sasha took his first few steps further into the room, calling out for Dean naively, Sam stopped him, pulled him back, held on _tight_. He shook his head when Sasha looked to him questioningly. He shook his head because this couldn't be what he thought, what he felt, what he knew to be true, but it was.

That wasn't his brother inside the room. Not anymore.

"Dean…" Sam choked out mournfully.

The figure of Dean cocked its head just slightly, as if Sam's voice was what finally caught his attention, even though the door was a fine mess in front of the bed.

From behind Dean looked perfectly normal, still wearing jeans, a flannel, and a T-shirt underneath. But when he turned, smirk already on his face, amusement and satisfaction lighting up every part of him, Sam felt his heart stop in his chest to see the _red on black _eyes that were now his brother's eyes.

"Sammy…" Dean's voice said like a hiss, like he was hungry for the name and so pleased to say it.

Sam couldn't move, couldn't believe this, any of this. "No…" he breathed, "_No_. This isn't happening. I can't believe you'd do this, Dean. _Why_?" Sam was trembling with disbelief and horror, Sasha too, trembling in Sam's hold as the incubus stared right along with Sam, shocked into silence.

Turning more fully, slowly and rigid like he didn't quite know how to control his body, Dean gave a delirious laugh as if it was all a big joke. "Why?" he repeated, like maybe he didn't understand the word, looking at his own hands again, fascinated, "Had to…save everyone, Sammy. Had to…buy us some time. Now we got all the time in the world." He closed his eyes, breathed in as if something in the air was wonderfully sweet, and exhaled into a wider grin. Those awful eyes centered on Sam as Dean flexed his fingers into fists and out again. "What's wrong? It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to worry anymore," Dean said as he began to walk assuredly toward them.

Instinctively, Sam pulled Sasha back, guarding him from Dean—guarding him _from Dean_—and blocking the doorway. "What are you planning to do?" Sam tried to stay calm, keep control, "You tricked Dean into this somehow and now…what? Now you can wipe us out faster from the inside, no one the wiser til it's too late?" That had to be it. Dean fell for some sort of trap and now they were screwed. But how could Dean have done that? Sam had believed so strongly that Dean knew what he was doing, that he could get through this. How could he have given Malak what he wanted?

"Dean…" Sasha finally spoke brokenly from behind Sam, "Please tell me you didn't. Tell me this is a lie. How…how could you do this to us? Why would you do this?"

"Sasha," Dean suckled on the incubus' name with the same pleasure he had said Sam's, looking to Sasha with dark longing as he continued toward them steadily, "Weren't you listening, baby? I had to buy us time, see? Malak's army would have killed everyone without backup to help us. Now it won't matter. Now I can send them away. I had to save everyone, don't you understand? But I'm still me," he said, looking back to Sam, his expression so dark and strange that Sam shivered down to his toes, his stomach sick with the image of Dean not Dean, "I'm still me," Dean insisted, "Not Malak. _I'm_ in control. _Me_. I'll show you."

Sam flinched as Dean walked right up to them, intent on leaving, and even though Sam had had no intention of letting Dean out of the room, he couldn't seem to stop himself from moving out of Dean's path, shifting away to avoid contact, anything to avoid having to touch his brother that wasn't his brother. Dean walked right past them, leaving Sam and Sasha smushed in the doorway, paralyzed somehow and unable to do anything.

Dean cocked his head at them, pausing outside the room. "It's okay. Really. I'll show you," he said again, and reaching up with his right hand toward his neck, he tightened what was suddenly a red tie, surrounded by Malak's black suit, tailored to Dean perfectly as it took the place of his layers and jeans. Dean released another delirious laugh before heading down the hallway.

The first thing Sam thought of once Dean was out of sight was that he had to get the Colt. He even released Sasha and turned back inside the room to find it, not really thinking, not really _capable_ of thinking unless he wanted to risk totally shutting down from having to face this, from having to accept this was real.

Then it was Sasha's turn to stop him, grabbing his arm and holding him still.

"Sam, no. Even if we could…the Colt didn't hurt Malak before. He's more powerful now. _They_ are. Like that. You can feel it, can't you?" Sasha sounded as numb as Sam was forcing himself to feel, more so, like if he let one drop of emotion in it would break him into fragments.

Of course Sam knew the Colt wouldn't work. Nothing would work now. Nothing could stop Malak if he was one with Dean, all his power in Hell let loose on Earth. There was nothing they could do. Sam could feel it more than anyone else would even be able to scratch the surface, feel it the way he had when Malak first appeared to them, that chilling sense of a living demon without a host. Only now that demon was _Dean_.

But even if there was nothing to be done, without having to discuss it or even say a word to each other, Sam and Sasha bolted out of the room to follow after Dean anyway.

It made sense, an awful kind of sense really why Dean would do what he did. They had stood no chance, not for all their planning and protection. Sheer numbers was enough to ensure that. So Dean had made a deal, the only option he saw, in the hopes that he could save everyone even if it cost more in the end. It made Sam so angry, because it was the same damn pattern all over again, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out how it was worth it, even if he understood, even if in the same circumstance he might have done the same thing.

Sasha was surprisingly stone-faced as they ran, despite how his voice had trembled before and how Sam knew the incubus had to be feeling. It helped Sam maintain the same, because he had to, _they had to_. They had to find a way out of this, a way to salvage this, a way to_ save Dean._

Again.

Clad in Malak's black suit and red tie, Dean was moving deliberately slowly down the stairs when they caught up to him, every last person in the Roadhouse taking notice of the change, and knowing exactly what it meant. Most of them had seen Malak, knew that suit, those eyes, and those that hadn't seen him had been told. They were all just as paralyzed as Sam and Sasha had been in the room, merely parting, backing away to give Dean room as he descended the stairs and continued through the bar toward the front doors.

Sam and Sasha slowed to a walk behind him, waiting for him to make some sort of move, not knowing what they could possibly do regardless. Even Ellen and Bobby with the core of their hunters were just standing there staring in disbelief that this could actually be happening, that Dean was no longer Dean, something they all knew he would have had to have chosen.

When Dean reached the doors, open as they were to look out on the battlefield that was waiting, he stopped inside the frame between being outside and in. With a tilt of his head behind him, for just a moment Dean's new eyes caught both Sam and Sasha in his gaze, his smile wicked as he raised a hand into the air, said, "It's all gonna be okay," and snapped his fingers.

The shockwave this time was palpable to everyone, hotter somehow, and nearly strong enough to topple Sam over, not to mention a few others. It pulsed out of Dean in all directions but mostly forward, rapidly flying across the land toward Solrin's approaching army. It was visible, a _visible_ shockwave moving across the land like heat waves rippling on the horizon. When it struck the army, even though the demons were still far off, Sam could see all too vividly how it banished them faster than blinking, erasing them clear off the map.

"You see?" Dean called out loudly, meaning for everyone to hear him apparently, but then he lowered his voice again, facing Sam and Sasha as he walked back inside, "Do you understand why I had to do this? Everyone's safe now. It'll be okay now. It's all going to be—" Dean jerked, cut off as an arrow pierced him in the heart, seemingly out of nowhere. Their recruits were armed with all sorts of weapons, everything they could think of that they could either make or tip with iron. Of course it didn't matter what the head of the arrow that struck Dean was made of; it couldn't faze him now.

He looked down at it, at the arrow sticking _out of his chest_, and laughed. He didn't even bother pulling it out, just snapped off the end while the rest of it melted, falling away like ash and disappearing, just like Sam vaguely remembered of the Palo Santo stakes they had used on Vapula in Seattle.

"Someone…has an itchy trigger finger," Dean said with a slowly widening smile, looking about the bar eerily intent as he searched for whoever had fired at him. He just looked so wrong that way, the expression, the eyes, the damn _suit_. "Are we going to have a problem? I just saved all of your lives," he said.

That's when it erupted. Much like weeks ago when chaos overtook the bar while Dean had been trying to say his peace about hunters and non-humans working together, everything was suddenly moving too fast, too much noise, too many people, and most of them were yelling and gunning right for Dean. No one cared that the demons were gone. They only saw Malak's eyes, _Malak's_ influence radiating off of Dean, and leaving them no choice but to act.

It was pure, immediate anarchy, and Sam could do nothing but stand there, watching as Dean was shot, stabbed, hit with words of exorcism, _everything_ and a million things more, as the crowd swarmed and Dean merely remained still, allowing all of it. It would have been horrifying to witness if Sam didn't know the worst was still coming. He felt Sasha grab his wrist and then move down to lace fingers and honestly hold his hand, gripping so tight it made Sam cringe.

There was no point in moving, in trying to intervene. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo inside with them were some of the few who also understood that. The sex demons that started landing just outside, having leapt from the roof, knew too, and Sarah who had been out there, and Ula, those who really knew what Malak was and what this meant. But the others attacked.

And then the others were gone.

It happened so fast, Sam had barely even blinked and there was just empty space, just Dean still standing where he had been before only no longer surrounded, amazingly perfect and unmarred from all the ways he had been attacked. There was nothing in existence that Sam knew of that could stop what Dean was now.

"Never liked crowds anyway," Dean said, straightening his tie again, though even that hadn't been disturbed. Sam supposed he should be happy there wasn't any blood, but it still made him nauseous wondering what had become of them all. "What?" Dean shrugged, almost normally as if some part of him was still Dean, looking around the room at those he had allowed to remain as they stared at him, horrified.

Sam took quick stock of who was left. There was him and Sasha, of course, Sarah, all of Sasha's old friends, even Shiarra, that Arthur guy and the kid Adrian, Ellen, Bobby, Jo, Ula, though none of her friends were with her, not even Danny who Dean had confessed to Sam was actually the Trickster. Finally, there was Iain, who Sam had to admit looked the most terrified out of everyone. Sam supposed he mourned the Trickster's loss the most because he was the one who might have been able to offer the most help.

"What's wrong with everyone?" Dean narrowed his gaze even though he was still smiling, still moving like his body didn't quite fit, laughter in his voice that sounded wrong, just _wrong_, "No one wants to listen to me, huh? You don't care that I just sent all those demons back to Hell so they wouldn't _rip_ you into tiny little pieces?"

"What…what did you do to all those people?" Shiarra braved the communal silence, outside with Sarah, Ula, and the other sex demons that had been up on the roof. Lindsey was holding Charis behind him, Cam looking wide-eyed, the twins clinging to each other, and Adrian was trying to hide behind Arthur and Shiarra like he thought he would be the obvious next target, which Sam hoped wasn't true.

Then something changed, and Sam felt his first wave of doubt begin lapping at him like water. That awful smirk fell away from Dean's face, and even though his eyes remained red on black, everything else about him suddenly looked and _felt_ like Dean.

He tugged at the lapels of his suit coat, in an instant holding onto the edges of flannel instead as the suit disappeared in favor of the clothing Dean had been wearing before.

"Come on," Dean said pleadingly, actually _pleadingly_, "It was just a joke. Okay, maybe a bad joke," he tried to smile easy, like his old self would have, but upon seeing that his smile wasn't easing anyone, he stressed, "It's _me_. You know I'd never be able to live in one of those monkey suits."

Even the simple wit, offhanded, casual, was just so _Dean_, but none of them could say anything, only stare, each of them holding back, afraid to get too close to Dean or let Dean get too close to them.

Dean looked heartbroken. "Guys…come on," he said again, "I sent the demons back to Hell. I sent the recruits back _home_. I didn't hurt anyone. I was just playing it all big because…because I figured that was the only way to know who was really with me." He turned slowly to look at all of them, surrounding him more or less but far from a threat to him, his movements more natural now, but how could Sam be sure that wasn't just part of the act. "You guys are with me, right? I did what I had to do, what I knew was the right thing. I didn't…_betray_ you," he centered his gaze on Sasha again, on Sam, "I'm in control. It's okay. I promise it's gonna be okay."

The irony was that the more Dean said that the less Sam believed him.

"Bobby," Dean turned suddenly to Bobby by the bar with Ellen and Jo where they had been positioned in front of windows, "Call one of the hunters I sent away. Call that Rufus guy. Or Jackson. Or Isaac. They're _fine_."

He kept his eyes on Bobby, waiting, urging him, until the older hunter started to comply, taking out his cell and dialing a number.

Bobby's expression remained cold as the phone rang but then broke into surprise, hearing the frantic voice of whomever he had called coming through the other end of the line.

"Jackson, calm down," Bobby started in, "Just stop yapping your trap for a couple seconds, will ya? Jackson. _Creedy_," he finally said with true authority, using the man's surname and apparently finally being successful in getting him to shut up, "You alright? I'm talking general, you idjit, I know what happened," he snapped, eyes locked hard on Dean as he spoke, "Good. That's…good. Just do me a favor then, will ya? Get as many folks as you can on the phone that you remember being here, make sure they're alright. Let me know if you find anyone's whose…not. _No_," he said with sudden deadly seriousness, "We're handling it." And then he hung up.

"Handling it, huh?" Dean smiled crookedly, disappointed, "Do you really think you need to _handle_ something, Bobby? I know I lied, I went behind your backs to do this, but I had to or you never would have let me. It was the right thing. Just look at me," he brought his hands to his chest as if his body was proof enough that he was still Dean.

It was Sasha who broke the silence this time. "All I see…is Malak. And those damn _eyes_," he spat, the hand he had been clutching Sam's with having fallen away to form a tight fist, "I'd trust you in a second, Dean. Trust your decisions, your choices. But how can I trust _this_…when I know that bastard is inside of you?"

Dean managed to scoff and look hurt at the same time. "My eyes? That's what's bothering you? _You_? Yeah, you're really one to try and say that a freakin' eye color means I gotta be evil. It's true Malak's…in me, all his power, all his memories, everything. But this is _me_ talking, _me_ making new choices and decisions that you can still trust. I sent the others away because we don't need them anymore. The demon army is gone, remember?"

"Gone," Sarah repeated, the first from outside to dare walk into the Roadhouse, having to get very close to Dean in order to walk around him and reach Sam, "Sent back to Hell. But not killed?" she asked. Sam gladly accepted her hand when she slipped it into his, coming up on his other side while Sasha remained on the other.

A laugh erupted out of Dean like what Sarah had said was the most inconsequential thing. "So I should have killed them all? So sorry I decided they might be more use to us someday _alive_," he replied.

"You're not Dean," Jo jumped in as soon as those words left Dean's lips, her arms crossed firmly, standing beside her mother, "Dean would never say that, never think some demon jackasses could be of _use_. Dean would say 'kill 'em all,'" she spat angrily, but still with a touch of fear at having spoken, and at how Dean might react.

But Dean didn't get angry in return, just kept looking disappointed and sorrowful at all of them. "None of you are willing to give me a chance, even with what I did, even knowing I didn't hurt any of those people?" He shook his head, turned toward the still open door, making Ula and the sex demons still outside flinch. "The power I have, the things I can do now, I'll show you that you don't have to be afraid of me."

Sam couldn't see what Dean was doing, if he closed his eyes or what his expression looked like, but Dean didn't raise a hand this time or even twitch, just stood facing the outside until that darkness that had blanketed everything for so many days was broken by the first rays of sunlight. Sam didn't even know what time it was, so hard to keep track lately, but maybe late afternoon by the way the sun was hanging in the sky as it shown brilliantly.

It was more than just the sun, Sam soon realized. The land was starting to shift too, to return to the way it should look, covered in grass, with trees, and god damn dandelions, and flat land instead of insane cliffs and drop-offs. Of course that was also when Sam noticed a lone figure heading toward them from where the army of demons had been, closer than should be possible and not banished with the rest. Sam could see white hair glowing in the renewed sunlight and knew without having to ask that it was Solrin, allowed to remain with them, which didn't help in Sam's trusting of Dean one bit.

He hadn't noticed that the lights were off inside the Roadhouse, used to darkness, the power having gone when Ula's friend Serileth, the pixie, was sent away with the others. But with another snap of Dean's fingers the power surged to life, everything returning to the way it had been before the signs began, before the end started calling to them with a promise of evil yet to come.

Dean looked out at all of them again after he had done his supposed miracles, hoping it would get at least some of them to see his side. "I got this," Dean smiled, "See? Everything's gonna be fine."

They all just stood still, watching him, waiting for the proof that it was a lie, that Dean wasn't Dean and Malak was controlling everything. There was hesitation though, Sam knew. He could feel it strongly in himself, wanting to believe that his brother was still his brother. He could feel Dean, but he could still feel that awful darkness, that sense of _demon_. But then maybe Sam had no right to judge Dean on that considering there was demon in him too, and in Sasha, and in so many of those left behind.

He still stiffened when Solrin reached the Roadhouse, Ula and the sex demons parting for him fearfully, not knowing him or knowing what to make of him. Solrin looked so out of place, a black eyepatch over his demon eye, shirtless without caring that his scars were visible, and in just plain black pants, barefoot even. He was carrying a sword that looked fitting for the man who had been leading Hell's army, but when he stepped through the doors of the Roadhouse and beheld Dean, the sword clattered to the ground, and he soon followed it, dropping to his knees and bowing low.

Sam had the sudden urge to tear Solrin into pieces.

"I knew," he gasped into the floor, prostrate before Dean, "I knew from the moment I saw your light, glorious and beautiful, that you would lead the world to its future. I will serve you however you see fit to use me," he finished as he looked up, his pale green eye shimmering with devotion and reverence for this changed, new Dean.

Dean was still half facing those inside the building, so Sam could see the way his lips curled into a satisfied smile. He turned to Solrin, walked to him, lifted him by the chin with a gentle hand until they were both standing again. "No bowing, Sol. I'm nothing to bow to. We're all in this together. I'm just glad you're with me," he said, moving his hands to Solrin's shoulders and squeezing like they were the best of friends.

It didn't surprise Sam at all that Solrin's smile of gratitude flickered when he looked past Dean to see Sam and Sasha, and then back through the doors to see Ula and the sex demons he had walked through. "You surround yourself with strange friends," he said, obviously still seeing that 'darkness' he wouldn't shut up about when last they saw him.

"Don't worry about them," Dean said sternly, "They'll see reason. They'll understand. Then you will too. You did a good job, Sol. Malak was pretty brutal, asked you to be pretty brutal too to make sure I'd make the right choice. Now I have. Now I know what I have to do."

The dread that had been building within Sam—already so fucking present but still _building_—rose to new heights upon hearing those words, knowing they had to mean something awful no matter what Dean tried to say in his defense.

That he would trust Solrin, trust in Malak's plan, Malak's god damn 'ends justify the means' mentality, and think this was the right thing, sickened Sam so deeply. And yet he was also torn, not knowing what could possibly fix this, but not able to believe trusting Dean was right either.

Because it couldn't be, could it? Choosing Malak, that couldn't be right.

Then, just as Sam was thinking that, Dean turned to look at him, released Solrin and turned around fully to look right at Sam. His eyes were beseeching, hopeful and loving even, and somehow they spoke of _Dean_ even through that awful color.

Sam hesitated. Sam doubted. Dean couldn't be right. This couldn't be right…

"Dean, what has happened?" broke in a voice suddenly that did not belong to any of those Dean had allowed remain in the Roadhouse. Sam felt an instant shock of panic as he recognized who the voice belonged to, turning around to stare at the center of the room where _Castiel_ had just appeared.

His doubts fell away as he watched realization strike the angel slowly. Maybe Castiel didn't trust his eyes at first, didn't trust the sense of _demon_, of _evil_ that he had to be able to feel from Dean. But when Castiel could no longer fool himself into thinking otherwise, his borrowed blue eyes widened with horror more outstanding than Sam had ever seen.

The angel backed away like lightning, like his life depended on it, nearly running as he tripped over his feet to get further away from where Dean was standing. He flickered, jolting in and out of visibility like he was trying to teleport away but something was stopping him. Not something, Sam thought, his heart and brief belief in Dean sinking further and further. _Someone_.

"Cas," Dean said, a hiss like when he had first said 'Sammy' upstairs.

Sam could only stare at Castiel as Dean moved swiftly past everyone to reach the angel. Dean was Dean, but Dean was also Malak, and the knowledge of that, the fear of it shown on Castiel's face like a child gripped in nightmares.

"Why so scared, pretty angel? I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean said, so unlike Dean, so clearly something else again that Sam reached over and grabbed Sasha's arm for support, Sarah still holding his other hand, "No, I wouldn't hurt you, Cas. But ya see, the thing is…I don't need you anymore."

"Dean…" the angel gasped as if weeping, though there were no tears on his host's face. He stood frozen after his initially frantic backing away, unable to leave, unable to fight or defend himself and only too aware of it. "What have you done to yourself?"

With Dean having moved further into the bar, everyone else began moving too. The sex demons came inside along with Ula, and Ellen, Jo, and Bobby left their window posts that no longer held significance. Sam, Sarah, and Sasha stayed where they were, looking on, but Sam could see Iain, the only one of them on the other side of the bar, looking like he had half a mind to throw himself in front of the angel like a shield.

'_Iain, no,'_ Sam sent a warning, knowing that look too well, and how Iain had learned martyrdom from the best, maybe already having it strongly within him. Sacrifice wouldn't help now. Force, power, that wasn't how they were going to get out of this, if there was a way out at all.

"What were you gonna do?" Dean circled Castiel, a hunter and his prey, but not the right kind of prey, not this time, not with Dean looking all wrong again, "Blink out of here to go warn Mike and the others like I'm something that needs to be stopped? You weren't even gonna hear me out. Well that's a shame, Cas, coz that makes you as bad as all those others I sent away. Not much else I can do then…is there?" He stopped his circling right in front of the angel, close, _breath mingling_ kind of close.

It wounded Sam how mournful, how apologetic Castiel looked, not pitying, his eyes filled only with regret of all the things he hadn't done to prevent this. If Sam ever doubted that Castiel was part of the family, he knew it now. Which was probably why he called out, hands tearing from contact with Sasha and Sarah the moment Dean touched Castiel's forehead with the butt of his palm and the angel started screaming.

Light so bright and blinding it was almost painful to look at began to shine from Castiel's eyes and mouth, an inner light, a glimpse of Castiel's true form as it was burned out of the body he had been possessing merely by Dean's touch. The light grew and grew until Castiel's screams finally started to fade, the light fading too, and then Dean was pulling his hand away, a lifeless body left to fall limply to the floor at his feet.

Iain was done listening to Sam's warnings. He sprinted forward as the body crumbled, falling with it to try and soften the landing, quickly gathering the body to him like it was the most precious thing he had ever touched. "What…what did you do?!" he cried out as he clung, the body still limp in his arms, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Dean?! How could you do that?!"

Sam was still closest to Dean other than Iain, but he couldn't bring himself to move any further, missing when he was a few steps back and Sasha and Sarah had been able to touch him, _ground him_. Now he stood bare as he witnessed this, Dean looking down at two broken bodies really, not just the one, as if none of it mattered. As if he hadn't just, _god_, Sam didn't even know what to call it. Angel exorcism?

He wanted to tackle Dean right then, pin him to the ground, demand that he be _Dean_ and not this thing that was just some awful parody. He wanted his brother back. Now. He wanted there to be some option, some way for them to fix this, but every possibility that came to Sam was too easily shot down because he knew nothing would work. Attacking would do nothing. Dissenting would mean nothing. But how could he just stand by as witness?

The others were feeling just as he was, Sam could feel it, _feel it_ as everyone began to move slowly forward, meaning to surround Dean maybe, to act in some way, even if it was fruitless. It _was_ fruitless. Sam knew too well, and he looked panicked around him to tell everyone to stop, stay still, just _stop_, but Dean's voice sounded first.

"I would think very carefully about what you are planning to do," he said with an eerie chill to his tone, low and warning with barely any movement other than one of those red on black eyes flicking up while it had before been gazing downward.

Everyone stopped, frozen. Then Solrin moved forward, close to Dean's side, casting a warning glare of his own at all involved, daring them to make any kind of move that wasn't veneration.

Dean returned his gaze to Iain and the body. "What do you think happened, Iain? Do you think I killed him? Of course I didn't. I said I wouldn't hurt him. I just sent him packing North so he won't be able to come visit for awhile and get in the way. Castiel's fine."

"And what about Jimmy?" Iain spat back accusingly, apparently not afraid of Dean enough to stop him from defending a man he had never actually met.

With another huff of that strange, elated laugh, Dean shook his head. It was almost as if on cue then that the body Sam had feared was empty now gave a sudden jerk, a gasp, and Jimmy started coughing, eyes fluttering with consciousness. "See," Dean said, "Jimmy's fine. Don't be so melodramatic, man. I'm not the bad guy." He went so far as to lean over and pat Iain's shoulder, who because of the man in his arms, couldn't flinch away, much as his expression said he wished he could have.

Iain's attention went to Jimmy then, the suit and trench coat-clad man struggling to wake up and figure out what had happened to him.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean, who turned out to them all, daring to look and even feel like Dean again when Sam knew it wasn't that simple, knew there was too much _other_ in Dean for anything else to matter.

"Castiel would have tried to interfere. So I sent him away. No one got hurt," he said as explanation.

"Interfere with what?" Bobby asked, his expression and tone hard as ever.

Dean turned to him with a smile that Sam thought was meant to be reassuring but just looked ominous. "I can't just sit on this power and do nothing, Bobby. Do you have any idea the things I can do now?"

"What are you…planning to do?" asked _Ula_ of all people, her voice small but audible enough considering the intense silence from everyone else, so many of them afraid to even breathe for fear of what Dean might do to them, whether it truly hurt or killed them or not. An angel's screams were a hard thing to forget, after all.

"What I'm _planning_ is to be a hunter," Dean said, and like before for a moment there was nothing but serious intent that Sam could honestly believe was Dean, even if clouded and swayed into something that was so very much not, "I can rid the world of every damn monster out there in one fell swoop," he said with a look at Sam, begging for understanding, "I can make it so no one has to dedicate their lives to this crap or lose family the way we did ever again. I can do that. I can save the world just like everyone thought I would. I can do _better_," Dean began to move about the bar as he spoke, and for a brief, morbid moment Sam almost started laughing.

He couldn't help thinking that Dean _would_ be laughing right now and would have been unable to keep his mouth shut if the circumstances were different and the man talking was someone else, because, after all, Dean had to be a villain now if he was going to start monologuing.

"Defeating Malak, what would that have gotten us?" Dean went on, "Maybe right back where we were to begin with, still living this life til we're 50, if we even lived that long. But like this, I can change that." His eyes flashed with power as they passed over the bar, filled with wild intent. "If I hadn't done what I did, every single person in this place would be dead by now."

"And it doesn't bother you to have the thing responsible for that inside of you?" Sasha stepped up next to Sam, his expression impressively hard just like Bobby's, _harder_, "Inside you…changing you into something you're not. I know this isn't you, Dean. You can't actually want to make a crusade out of this. You know it can't lead to anything good."

Sam wished he could read emotions right then, wished he could read more than just that pulse of darkness and some faint sense of Dean coming from his brother, but he could only speculate what this was like for Sasha. It pained Sam that he was still doubting, still torn, but the way Dean looked at the incubus after Sasha spoke, vivid signs of love and _disappointment_ flashing over Dean's face, Sam knew there was enough of Dean in there that he honestly wanted them all to understand. He didn't want to be alone in this.

And damn that was too unfair.

"You just don't understand," Dean said, looking so much like he wanted to go to Sasha, touch Sasha, but was refraining _for Sasha's sake_, something that once again made Sam so angry he couldn't even move, because this should be more black and white but it wasn't, "You don't understand," Dean said again, "But you will." He turned to Solrin, his one true supporter, and wasn't _that_ just too fucking wrong to contemplate, and then he was saying something about needing time to think, telling Solrin to "Keep an eye on everyone," and heading for the stairs.

There was no way in Hell Sam was acknowledging Solrin as his keeper. He glared right back at the _former_ hunter and went to help Iain with Jimmy, Sasha right there with him too.

The…well, actually Sam didn't know much of anything about Jimmy, Castiel's vessel, other than what Dean had told him which was…that his name was Jimmy and he was Castiel's vessel. He could easily sympathize with the man though, seeing that spooked look, his whole countenance so _human_ since Castiel was usually so…not.

Iain was helping Jimmy sit upright while the man continued to cough and gasp for air like he was coming up from deep water or swimming his way out of the longest sleep. "Ca...Castiel…" Jimmy gasped, pawing at his chest, down his stomach, like he was looking for the missing angel that had left a large whole inside of him when he left.

"He's gone," said Iain, his knees still up against Jimmy's side, an arm around the man's waist to steady him.

Jimmy's breathing began to slow, his coughing under control and something like recognition passing through his blue eyes, eyes that didn't look quite as brilliant anymore when he looked at Sam, Sasha, and finally back to Iain. "I know," he nodded, reminding Sam that Jimmy was aware of what happened while Castiel was in control, "It was…awful. Dean…?" he asked.

Pain and concern marred Iain's otherwise gentle look. He shook his head, not knowing what to say. Sam didn't know either. Sasha, when Sam looked to him, just seemed hollow, _blank_. It wasn't like Sasha, who Sam had grown so used to being emotional and impulsive, in some ways like Dean, and in others ways far more intense, more uncontrolled. This didn't bode well if Sasha was bottling it all in rather than being strong and held together.

Sam told Iain to get Jimmy some water, hinted that maybe _everyone_ should go to the kitchen and get something to eat, help calm themselves down, which the remaining group acknowledged eagerly. Then Sam stood up and walked to Solrin.

"Sasha and I are going up to talk to Dean. You're supposed to keep an eye on things? Keep an eye on _them_," he pointed to the others already heading for the kitchen, Iain carefully helping Jimmy to his feet with added support from Sarah, "It's not as if we can hurt him," Sam tried to sound nonchalant and not filled with quite as much _hate_ as he actually was, unable to forget that this guy would have just as happily killed him and Sasha to get Dean to see the 'light' sooner.

Rather than wait to see if Solrin would try and protest, Sam turned away, grabbed Sasha's arm, and headed immediately for the stairs. No, this wasn't black and white, not even a little, it was just one huge mess of grey, but the problem was Sam knew that whatever good was left in Dean the dark part was bound to catch up the longer Dean and Malak were one. So even though Sam had no idea how they could even begin, he knew they had to find some way to get the two of them separate again.

First, he had to take care of Sasha. Sam wasn't an idiot, he knew why Sasha was acting stony and cold as if this wasn't eating him alive as much as Sam knew it had to be. Collected was one thing; this was something else. This would only come back to bite them in the end. Right now they couldn't afford for anyone to be a ticking time bomb.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Sam grabbed Sasha by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the nearest wall. "You think I don't know what you're doing?" he practically snarled, all his patience used up on keeping himself from stupidly attacking Dean, "Shutting down is not going to help us. I need you on the ball here, Sasha. Snap the fuck out of it!"

The incubus looked startled. Then his eyes narrowed and he snarled right back, "So what am I supposed to do? Start screaming? Cry on your shoulder? Coz I'm sure that would help so much more." He pushed hard at Sam's chest, knocking him back a step. "I don't know what to do. And you don't either. How can we just…go through the motions when nothing we do can possibly fix this? I can't…stand it," his expression, his wall of emotion was finally started to fracture, "I can't stand…knowing there's nothing I can do, knowing Dean didn't die or leave me, he's just out of reach like he's under glass and I can't…touch him anymore. I…" Sasha's voice cracked, his expression utterly broken now, but before any screaming or crying could commence, Sam swooped in and pulled Sasha tight against him.

"We can fix this. And we're going to," Sam said with far more confidence than he felt, maybe to help convince himself, _definitely_ to help convince Sasha, "We're going to because Dean's counting on us. All this, the whole mess…I was mad at Dean at first, so damn mad, but I've been thinking and…and you know what I figured out?" He pulled back enough to look at Sasha, to see that haunted face close before him.

Sasha's eyes glittered with understanding. "Dean would never have done this if he didn't have a plan," he finished what Sam had meant to say, because that was exactly what Sam believed, because he had faith in his brother and he wasn't about to stop now.

"That's right. And maybe that plan is us. Maybe Dean's counting on us to figure something out and fix this on our own. I don't know what that plan was before Malak…took him," Sam said with a grimace, "I don't know if it's just Malak in there messing with us, if it's Dean somehow being completely honest and in control, or if Dean just thinks he's in control and Malak's still swaying him. But when Dean made his decision, he couldn't have known how it would turn out either, which means he would have planned for us to be just as doubtful. We just have to figure this out. Somehow there's a way for us to fix this. Now are you with me?" Sam moved his hands to Sasha's shoulders, squeezing hard, looking into the bright blue eyes of a man he had long ago already counted as family.

Bolstered by Sam's firm resolve, Sasha nodded, "Okay, Sam. I'm with you. We're gonna get Dean back."

"Yes, we are. And there's one way to start," Sam glanced down the hallway, knowing Dean was in one of the rooms. The idea of facing him was daunting, so like and unlike himself, but they had to if they were going to have any chance of figuring this out and fixing it.

Sam would have complained that their protection tattoos were useless if Malak could possess Dean at all, but then this wasn't possession, Malak wasn't any normal demon, and, after all, Dean had chosen it. Choice made all the difference in this war. Every time.

They found Dean in the library, snatching up books from the shelves and flipping through them like he was speed-reading, a wild grin on his face. He turned as they entered, smiling wider to see the both of them.

"It's crazy," he said, like they were picking right up on a conversation they had already been having, nothing estranged between them, "All the things I know, that I know and…_remember_…you wouldn't believe. Everything in these books," he flipped through another one, "It's already in my head. All the ways to kill these creatures, to find them. Guys, I tell ya, it's gonna be easy once we start. _Cake_. Shit, I can…I can even remember things about the freakin' Roman Empire before it fell," he laughed, closing his eyes as if he could see it all, centuries behind his eyelids, "It's like I was really there, watching it all happen. All these things I remember…it'd blow your minds."

As in control as Sasha may have been, the incubus apparently couldn't resist commenting, "Like what it was like torturing you in Hell?"

Sam flinched, quickly casting Sasha a warning look. They had to stay on Dean's good side, figure out everything they could about what had happened, how, _why_. That was what was important.

Thankfully, Dean didn't seem all that upset. His smile went crooked, a huff of air like a short laugh leaving him. He set down the book in his hands and started to come around the sofa closer to them.

"I get it, okay?" he said with a sympathetic look at Sasha, honest and heartfelt, those damn red on black eyes somehow not enough to mar that small bit of _Dean_ leaking through, "It's not like I forgive him. But you gotta see the bigger picture here, baby. Sometimes the ends really do justify the means. And I know you hate that," Dean turned his gaze to Sam, almost reading his mind, but Sam was thankful that he didn't think Dean, even with Malak's powers, could do that, "I don't like it either. But I don't have to like it to know that I can make things better now. Can't you guys believe that this is me? I'm just trying to be smart with the power I've been given, do as much as I can with it. Does that have to be bad?"

Sam really hated how much sense Dean was making.

In some ways Sam knew he could dismiss the ways Dean had been frightening, because even the scary, dark version of Dean hadn't actually hurt anyone. It would be easy to believe in Dean really. Too easy.

"Dean…" Sam tried to begin, hating the way Dean's name sounded leaving his lips when he didn't fully believe Dean was who he was talking to, "When you sent most of the people away…why did you send Ula's friends and not her? Why the Trickster? If you only want to get rid of the evil supernatural creatures like you've been saying then they might have helped us." There. That didn't necessarily set Sam against Dean.

Something flickered across Dean's face though, something Sam couldn't quite decipher. "The Trickster's unpredictable," he said, "This is safer. Ula's our friend, of course I didn't send her away. But those others, that pixie and salamander chick? They were part of the crowd that attacked me. I got why most of them wouldn't be able to understand, that's why I sent them all home. But you guys," he lit up again, so happy to just have them with him, "You guys didn't. You knew I was still me. You gotta still know that, right?"

Whatever part of Dean was still honestly _Dean_, Sam didn't have the heart to tell him that the reason they hadn't attacked wasn't because they trusted and believed in him, but because they knew brute force wouldn't accomplish anything. If they had had the Colt and knew it would work, someone would have fired it.

"Here," Dean stepped right up to them, up to Sasha, reaching for the incubus' hands, who instinctively flinched back. Dean frowned. "Sasha…baby, come on, look," he said, taking Sasha's hands anyway and closing his eyes hard a moment before opening them to reveal _green_ instead of red on black. It was cruel how much it made Dean seem entirely himself again. "I'm still me. Malak didn't lie to me. He didn't have to. He still gets to be all-powerful and apart of this even with me in control. That's all he wanted. He doesn't care how it gets done, just so long as he's along for the ride. I can make the world better like this. A better world _for us_," he kept hold of Sasha's hands with one of his own but reached up with the other to touch Sasha's face.

This time Sasha didn't flinch, but his expression looked like he was already mourning the loss of Dean. "For us? How can you say that when I can't change you? _Again_? When…you let yourself become something else?"

Damn it. Sasha was not helping, too close to erupting if he tried to bottle his emotions up and too honest when he let his emotions out. But again, when Sam was prepared to be worried, to have to defend Sasha, Dean surprised him, merely smiled and said, "It's not like that at all. I'm more like you right now than you think. I won't age like this. I can't be hurt. I can't even be touched. We can be together just like we wanted."

There was so much sincerity in how Dean said that that Sasha was soon leaning into his touch, damp blue eyes showing signs that he was close to believing Dean, wanting the promises Dean was giving, wanting this to be okay, to be right.

Sam spoke up quickly.

"What about the fae, Dean? They're still on their way. And the angels? Michael's not just going to head back to Heaven and let you do what you want. We're going to have a lot of enemies."

"Let me worry about that," Dean said, holding Sasha's cheek a moment more before sliding his fingers away and turning to Sam, "Once they see that I'm only using this power to do something good, they'll join us too."

"And what about the ones who won't?" It was easy to read between the lines Dean was purposely leaving out. Sam had to show that he would listen to Dean but that he would still test him, still question him.

"Dean…" Sasha said, filled with need, _needing_ Dean, but also still on Sam's side, needing an explanation before he would willingly join Dean in this. Sam was thankful, at least, for that.

"You really think I'm gonna hurt someone, don't you? I can't stand you guys not trusting me, not you," Dean shook his head, "Please, just give me a chance, a few days, _one_, and if you actually have any reason to doubt me afterwards then you can decide if I'm full of shit or not. Just one day, that's all I'm asking here. _Please_."

Dean's green eyes, normal and _green_, were portals straight to his soul, but for all the _Dean_ that Sam saw in there, there were also swirls and shadows of Malak. And yet, looking at Dean, hearing him make such understandable requests of them, even saying 'please', Sam found himself wondering if maybe it was okay to concede on this, maybe this could be the right thing without them interfering.

A strangled howl interrupted Sam's thoughts then, followed by a succession of terrified hisses erupting from the other side of the library. Sam's attention was immediately drawn to the noises where he saw Wally huddled beneath a chair, just her head sticking out, spitting and making awful noises toward Dean, worse than she had when he first got back from Hell and carried the faint scent of Malak.

Sasha went over to her, gathered her up in his arms to still her, but it was obvious she would not be consoled, struggling and burying herself in the crook of Sasha's arm when the incubus tried to walk back over to Sam and Dean. She paused in her frantic noises only long enough to touch her tiny human hands to Sasha's face, pleading in some way, before hissing again out at Dean and curling into a tight ball of fluff within Sasha's arms.

It was simple, silly even, but it was enough to make everything clear again, stopping Sam's doubts in their tracks. He looked at Dean with a calculating stare, a request in his eyes for answers, for an explanation for Wally's behavior, though of course Sam already knew. Malak had infected Dean again, but so much more so, deep and penetrating to the core.

Shaking his head as if none of it mattered, as if Wally was nothing but a nuisance, Dean merely sneered, "You'll understand. I'll make sure of it. I'll prove to you that what I'm doing is right. _I'm_ right. Lighten up, Sammy. We have so much work to do," he finished with a smile, smacking Sam on the back, his touch making Sam shudder despite himself, and then Dean was heading out the door, leaving them all over again.

Wally was shaking when Sam looked back to Sasha still holding her. Sasha was shaking a little too, his expression revealing that he was still so much in need of Dean but pained, shattered because as much as Dean seemed right, seemed like himself at times, he wasn't. If Dean had had a plan when he chose Malak, he didn't remember it anymore, or at least didn't care. Sam had to figure out what that plan was, figure out how Dean had hoped for them to stop this.

Because right now he wasn't sure if they could.

-----

The hours dragged by, Dean not really doing anything but walking the grounds and the rooms of the Roadhouse like he was deep in thought, preparing for his grand assault on the world's evil, whatever that meant. Sam tried to keep everyone calm, distracted, getting the Roadhouse resettled without quite so many people around and moving everyone into their own rooms.

He was pleased when night fell and Dean still hadn't done anything substantial, because then they could sleep on this, get the rest they needed and prepare for tomorrow. Apparently _tomorrow_ was the day Dean planned to prove to them that he was doing the right thing. That couldn't have worried Sam more.

When most of the Roadhouse was asleep, even Solrin in one of the rooms, and Iain having taken it upon himself to take care of Jimmy, giving him a change of clothes and choosing the room next to his for the salesman—it having been revealed he was _not_ an accountant—Sam got as many as he dared to meet with him in the downstairs back lounge. They knew Dean was around, but they had to take the risk.

Sasha, Sarah, Bobby and Shiarra were all that had managed to sneak away unnoticed, but it was enough. The first thing Sam told them all was what he had discovered earlier that evening.

"So we all know that no one's been able to get a call out since Bobby called Creedy this afternoon. Dean must have been…helping that along so he could prove he hadn't hurt anyone. The power's up here, but it doesn't seem to be working anywhere else. I got a hold of Leven again, only person I knew I could contact. I didn't tell him what had happened, just asked if anything had changed. He said it was all the same. No power. No sun. Nothing."

"But we saw the sun here," Shiarra spoke up, sitting on the couch next to Bobby and actually holding his hand in a tight grip, "Dean changed everything, even the land. We have electricity," she gestured to the one lamp they had dared turn on, "What does it mean if that's not true further off?"

"We don't know, Shi," Sasha reached over the back of the couch from where he was standing, mostly pacing, and squeezed her shoulder, "Could mean Dean has us in some sort of shield to keep the fae and angels out, could mean he's planning something a lot worse than he's letting on, or it might even mean we've been quarantined. Sam thinks Dean was moving around all day because he was trying to figure it all out. For all we know the fae and angels could already be trying to fight this."

Sarah was sitting in one of the chairs, Sam leaning against her armrest. He cherished more than ever before having that perfect someone in his life again who could make everything easier merely by offering touch. Sarah ran a hand up his back and he felt calmer, surer. "So what do we do?" she asked.

"Sasha and I tried to get details from Dean about what he's planning, about what happened when he joined with Malak, trying to see if there might be some way to reverse this. So far…Dean hasn't been too forthcoming. We know he did this to save everyone, so he says. We know he thinks he can save the whole world somehow by getting rid of all the evil. But how, by what means, he won't say. He wants us to be with him, I know that, and he won't admit anything to us until we are. He wants us to trust him, and…damn it, sometimes I almost do," Sam admitted. Even after Wally, after Dean's colder stares, what he had done to Castiel and to so many others, Sam still found himself being reeled in when Dean looked at him for a moment as just _Dean_.

"You know what they say," Bobby said solemnly, "The Adversary is charming and charismatic. That's Dean all right. Hard to not want to follow him. We just gotta hang on to the knowledge that this can't be right. Solrin is devout, sure, but that doesn't soothe me one bit, I can tell ya that. The Devil can't be a savior, just doesn't make sense. I know it's still Dean in there too, but…we gotta think of a way through this. I believe you boys are right that Dean must have had some kinda plan. He was willing to live without you, son," Bobby looked up at Sasha with gentle eyes, "Even though Malak offered to give you back, he told the bastard to shove it. I just can't believe he'd do another deal, no matter the risks, instead of trying to go out fighting."

"Maybe I did it…because I decided to finally stop being a god damn fool."

Everyone's heads whipped to the entrance, Sasha stumbling back since he was the closest to where Dean was now standing. Sam had been prepared for this, almost expected it, so he rose immediately to approach Dean and not leave Sasha standing there all alone.

"Everyone else is asleep," Dean went on, his eyes green like they had been all day, but just a cover, Sam knew, not the truth, "Isn't that where you all should be? Getting _rest_. Long day and all. Tomorrow will be long too, I can promise you that." He looked at Sasha, plastered to the back of the couch, and held out a hand. "Come on, babe, let's go to bed. Just coz I don't need sleep anymore doesn't mean I don't still like it," he grinned.

Sasha looked back at Dean utterly shocked. "I'm not coming to bed with you," he said like that should have been obvious.

Dean's mouth twitched just slightly but he remained otherwise unfazed. "Come on now, don't be like that. What have I done to make you guys not trust me," he let his hand drop, "Have I done a single thing that's bad, evil, wrong?"

No one could deny that he hadn't. "Yet," said Bobby, finishing all their thoughts.

Sighing with that same disappointment, but not anger so far, never anger, Dean said, "I'll only do what I have to. No one's going to get hurt. Why won't you just give me the benefit of the doubt here? I'm going to make everything better for everyone. Look," he stepped up to Sasha, Sam quickly moving to stand closer to the incubus in case Dean was about to do something Sam would have to—_try to_—stop, "I was going to wait on this, let you come to trust me again on your own, but…I can _make_ you understand," he said to Sasha as if it wasn't a threat, "I can show you." His eyes flashed red on black again, his expression intent and menacing even though his voice was gentle and his steps slow.

Startled, Sasha pressed further back against the couch. "Dean…" he shook with sudden terror, staring as Dean began to raise a hand and reach for Sasha's forehead.

"Let me get you back to your true potential," Dean said, "Then you'll understand."

"What are you talking about?!" Sasha nearly yelled.

Dean's hand paused in the air. Sam was ready to act, tackle Dean if he had to, no matter how in vain the act might be. He'd do anything to make sure Dean didn't hurt Sasha, knowing his brother would never forgive himself once they…_if_ they managed to save him. "You remember how you felt in the cave in Colorado?" Dean explained, "How good you felt? I can give that back to you, Sasha. I can give you _more_. Where do you think that power came from, huh? It was _Malak_. Let me," Dean advanced his hand again, "Let me show you."

"_Dean_," Sasha turned his head away, shaking now, "Please…don't." Sam had never heard Sasha sound quite so afraid, but he completely understood why. The cave, yes, Sam could admit that it had made them both feel amazingly good, powerful, invulnerable, but they had hated it, hated where those feelings came from, what it had made them become. They couldn't be that again.

"Dean," Sam stepped forward, his simple utterance a clear warning.

Dean looked at him, his hand still suspended, and then he looked at Sasha again with deep regret and sympathy as if the problem here was simply that Sasha just didn't get it. "Okay," he said, his hand starting to lower. Then those red on black eyes flicked sudden and sharp to Sam. "_You'll_ understand," he said.

The next moment happened so fast, Sam didn't have time to react or defend himself.

Dean's hand came back up, toward _him_, toward _Sam_, and two fingers pressed firm to Sam's forehead. The rush that instantly filled him was electric, forcing a gasp from his lips that fell off into a low moan. His vision shook and he knew that his eyes were flickering from hazel, to yellow, to white, and back again. It was hot and painful and _incredible_ all at once.

By the time Dean's hand was falling away, the cries of the others barely audible to Sam as he came back to himself, he knew without a doubt, without a single _doubt_ that he had never before felt so strongly and amazingly _alive_.

tbc...

A/N: One guess as to who the next chapter's POV will be from. ;-) Do I have you all worried yet?

Crim


	91. Part 2: What Sasha Saw

Contest to be put up later of Crossover work between "Incubus" and SavingFaith's Wing 'verse. I'm thinking categories for drabbles and longer pieces, so you can do what you wish. I'll have to be clever with prizes SavingFaith and I can offer you fine folks. Will be posted here, at Livejournal--my page is awesome these days, btw, and can be accessed from my homepage--and Y!gallery. Enjoy the chapter and start thinking of fun crossover madness for those of you reading both stories. And damn, if you're not, you missed one of the hottest sex scenes between Sasha and...well, I wouldn't want to spoil it. :-)

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Part 2: What Sasha Saw

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Sam's eyes were flickering like a burnt out television, switching colors from his normal hazel, to that awful yellow, to full-on white, only to start the process all over again. It filled Sasha with terror, the suddenness of it, the way Sam's body went rigid, completely incapable of pulling away from Dean or fighting what was happening to him.

Is that what Dean had meant to do to him, Sasha wondered, only Dean had turned his attention onto Sam instead because Sasha refused? Guilt and panic flared in Sasha's chest, standing there as rigid and frozen as Sam. Sarah, Bobby, and Shiarra had all called out to Sam at some point, equally immobile, however, and resistant to try and stop Dean physically. It just took the fight right out of them when they knew they couldn't do anything even if they tried.

Then Dean was pulling his hand back from Sam's forehead, Sam's eyes no longer flickering but stationary on a single color—_yellow_. Mottled yellow filled up the irises and the whites the way they had only when Sam used his power fully and foolishly, like he had just outside the cave, trying to kill all of the demons in a single go that they needed to get rid of in order to fix Dean's deal. The crooked, blissed-out grin forming on Sam's face did not make any of this less daunting.

Sasha wished he could move away, being so close to them both, inches only, _touching_ distance, but he was paralyzed. That seemed to encompass the entirety of the last several hours—a paralyzed, useless lump of incubus following Sam's lead to keep from losing it. Only now Sam was gone. Sasha didn't need to see that strange smile on Sam's face to know that, or the way Sam and Dean smiled _at each other_, Sam's hand coming up to fist in Dean's shirt, steadying himself as he leaned into Dean like they were connected now and it was truly glorious.

"Whoa," Sam gasped out, a laugh in his voice that sounded horribly like Dean, "You big _liar_," he tugged on Dean's shirt, bringing the brothers faces mere millimeters apart, "This isn't like the cave at all. It's so much better. _Fuck_," he dropped his head back, eyes closing in seeming ecstasy, "Is this what you feel like?"

A pleased smile had wormed onto Dean's face, so very _pleased_, but before he could reply, Sarah was coming around the couch to step up next to Sam. "Sam…?" she called tentatively. Bobby and Shiarra had gotten up as well, standing there in front of the couch just watching.

Finger by finger, Sam released his hold on Dean's shirt, turning to look at Sarah with a wide smile. He moved to her with sudden urgency and she flinched, though she didn't try backing away. "It's okay," Sam said, holding up his hands placatingly and then placing them gently on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms, "I'm not hurt. I feel…great. Like everything's clear again. Like nothing's holding me back. I really think it's going to be okay, Sarah. Dean's not lying to us. It's just hard to understand right now, that's all."

"Oh, God, just _stop this_," Sasha sputtered before he even knew words were leaving him. Finally, he could move again and he backed away quickly for the wall, moving along it toward the door leading out. He couldn't just leave when the others were still in there with Sam and Dean, but he couldn't stand to be near them anymore.

This wasn't happening. Whatever Dean had done to Sam, it made the taller Winchester suddenly feel like everything was okay? That wasn't right. Sasha knew better than to think that could possibly be _right_.

"What did you do to him?" Sasha demanded, eyes hard on Dean, no matter how pained and confused Dean made his expression look, "What do you want? Why are you doing this? Just tell us! If there's nothing to be afraid of then why won't you tell us…?" Sasha's voice trailed, his back half against the wall and half along open space at the door. He clutched the doorjamb, needing something to ground him since his legs felt so limp and boneless.

"Sasha…" Dean said somberly.

"Calm down, it's okay. You just don't understand yet," Sam added, his yellow eyes vibrant, making it so hard for Sasha to look at either of them, Dean's eyes back to that red on black that he just hated, _hated_.

Motioning for Shiarra and Bobby to move around the couch, Sasha looked to Sarah then pleadingly, who still had Sam's hands on her and looked like she didn't know what to do anymore. Bobby and Shiarra had listened to Sasha and soon joined him by the door, neither Dean nor Sam having tried to stop them. Sasha didn't want to imagine Dean doing what he had done to Sam to anyone else, changing them into a goddamn Stepford demon. It sickened him to think Dean had meant to do that to him.

Sasha had no plan. He and Sam hadn't come up with any plan, other than to keep their eyes open, find out as much as they could, and hope that whatever Dean had meant for them to do to fix this would present itself. How were they supposed to do that if Dean started infecting them and changing them to his image?

"Get everyone to bed, Sammy," Dean said suddenly without taking his eyes off Sasha once, his expression cold and so very _disappointed_, "They need the sleep." Then he was moving swiftly for Sasha, and Sasha, once again, couldn't move. He feared the worst, waited for Dean's hand to come up and touch his forehead like he had done to Sam, but that isn't what happened. Dean walked up to Sasha, took his arm gently but firm, and began pulling him out of the lounge.

The others called after them as they left, all of them worried, even Sarah who had to be as torn and pained over this as Sasha was. For a few moments Sasha was utterly dumb, silent and stumbling behind Dean as Dean pulled him toward the stairs. Sasha fought to regain some sense of self-preservation, of god damn _confidence_, and finally started trying to wrench his arm free from Dean's grip. It didn't work out too well, seeing as how Dean's hand was still firmly attached to Sasha's forearm afterward.

Dean was just so much stronger this way, stronger than all of them combined probably. He was some unstoppable being now that was and was not Dean all at the same time. Sasha wanted to scream and cry, just like he knew was pointless, _useless_, like he had said to Sam, but what else could he do. He fought harder against Dean's hold because he couldn't think of anything else, yanking his arm and dragging his feet to stall Dean from pulling him wherever they were headed.

"Stop fighting me," Dean commanded in a voice that was strangely emotionless, cold like before, "I'm just taking you to our room. You need sleep too. Sleep will help clear your head."

That didn't sound reassuring. Sasha dropped as they reached the stairs, his knees caught against one of the steps like he was a child throwing a tantrum over being forced to bed early. "I'm not going to bed with you," Sasha said as he had before, the very idea of sharing a bed with this not-Dean making his skin crawl.

Before in the library when they were still figuring this new Dean out, Sasha had almost fallen for the charm, the promises, the way Dean's touch felt the same, his voice, his masked eyes, but the truth had been thrown right back in Sasha's face—Wally hissing in warning, Dean's dismissal of it. This wasn't Dean. It _wasn't_.

"Don't touch me!" Sasha yelled and jerked his head away when Dean turned to him, crouching and reaching out to take Sasha's face in his hand, "Don't you dare…do to me what you did to Sam." Sasha knew he was close to crying now, close to losing it completely, his knees stinging from striking the step. "How could you…do that? You do these awful things, passing them off as _necessary_, and expect as to understand just because no one's actually hurt? Choice is all we have, and you took that away from Sam without even blinking. You're not Dean," he shook his head with a sneer at the figure daring to wear Dean's face, "You're _not Dean_. You're just a god damn monster."

Fire flashed in the eyes looking down at him, ferocity, all the wrath of Hell about to rain down on Sasha, he was sure of it, almost welcomed it if it meant this was about to end. But then the fire was gone, and Dean was crouching down further on the steps, his expression soft, even his eyes that were still red on black remained oddly gentle. "Baby," he said, an utterance Sasha was starting to hate from all the times _this_ Dean had said it, "Don't say that. Please. Not you. I didn't take choice away from Sam. I just opened him up, _woke_ him up to what he's really capable of. He's still making his own decisions. It's just easier for him to understand now. That's all I want for you too."

Sasha flinched when Dean brushed the hair from his face, sure that Dean meant at any moment to claim him too, _change_ him. "D-Don't…" Sasha trembled, all hunched on the step, Dean above him with one hand on Sasha's face while the other still held tightly to his arm and tried to coax him to stand upright again. Sasha remained dead weight, refusing to move.

"I won't do anything to you," Dean said, as if a promise from him counted for anything anymore, "Only if you ask me to."

A huff left Sasha's lips at that. "I'd never ask you to do that to me."

"No? Maybe I can change your mind," Dean smiled, moving his hand to the back of Sasha's neck and pulling Sasha's arm to his chest where he placed Sasha's palm flat against his heart, "Let me prove I'm me," he leaned in close, "Let me show you…"

The proximity, Dean's breath on his lips, for a moment had Sasha lost, wanting to give in, and maybe he would have if it wasn't _those_ eyes looking back at him. He jerked away from Dean, "Don't touch me," and fell back, stumbling down the couple steps to the main floor and landing hard on his hip. The mild pain helped him focus, helped him remember that this wasn't Dean, it just…couldn't be.

Sighing deeply, defeatedly, Dean stood, walked slowly down those two steps and held out a hand for Sasha. "Just let me take you to bed. Things will look different after you've gotten some sleep, for everyone. I'll even sleep on the god damn floor if you want me to, just…please."

That tender tone, that willingness to compromise and sacrifice, was almost enough to sway Sasha again, but not quite, not completely. He had to pick his battles though, and if all he did was continue to push Dean, he might start getting pushed back. He needed to stay strong, stay focused. The others were counting on him now.

So he gave in, if only a little, and accepted Dean's help, though he immediately pulled his hand back after Dean hoisted him to his feet.

Rather than argue, Dean just gestured up the stairs, silently saying that he wouldn't touch Sasha if that's what Sasha wanted. It was a clever trick, being accommodating. Sasha couldn't allow himself to fall for it. He walked up the stairs ahead of Dean, not once looking back, and continued straight to their room.

_Their_ room. The mere thought made Sasha cringe.

Before he could reach for the knob, realizing finally just how tired he really was, he heard light chuckling coming from Dean. Sasha jerked his head back accusingly, "What?" not realizing until he turned that Dean wasn't even looking at him, but down the hallway at the many doors.

"You should be able to feel it too," Dean said with a small smile that Sasha thought looked disappointed again instead of mocking.

Sasha wasn't sure what Dean meant, but it didn't take much branching out to begin to feel it. The emotions from everyone behind those doors, inside those rooms, were intense, all wound up in anxiety and fear. How strong they were meant that the people feeling them couldn't possibly be sleeping. "Everyone's still awake," Sasha stated the obvious, not quite sure why that seemed to bother Dean so much.

Then Dean looked up at him, those awful eyes looking so strange with sadness lingering in them. "They're all really afraid of me," he said like he hated that truth more than anything, "I can understand why. But I don't know what else I can do to prove you all wrong. You just have to trust me."

Right, trust the thing that caused them all this pain for so many months. Sasha just sneered, unwillingly to fall prey to sympathy for the Devil. "_No_," he said, and pushed his way into the room, half-heartedly shutting the door, knowing Dean would follow even if he tried to lock it.

"Sasha…" Dean came in behind him.

"Go _fuck_ yourself. And stay the Hell away from me," Sasha snarled, heading for the bathroom.

He wasn't all that surprised when a strong hand gripped his shoulder, though the sudden spinning of the room as Dean turned him and slammed him into the wall was a bit of shock, or maybe that was just the wind being knocked from his lungs. "Why do you have to keep fighting me? _Why_?" Dean growled hot and fast into his face, his whole body suddenly very close to Sasha's, "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me, seeing you, being near you all day and not daring to _touch_ you because I knew you'd pull away?"

The desperation in those words made Sasha pause. Flashes of the past year sped through his mind, of the beginning when he was the one wading through unrequited love, waiting and hoping that Dean might one day feel the same and _let_ him touch him. "Y-Yes…" he said in answer, though he couldn't concede, he couldn't, even if the feeling of Dean's body so close always made him ache low in his gut.

Those red on black eyes were so close, Sasha turned his head away so he wouldn't have to see them. Dean must have noticed because he huffed like he couldn't believe Sasha was bothered by something so trivial. When Dean pulled Sasha's face back toward him, his eyes wore the mask of green. "I know you do. I know you know what it's like. Try to understand. Please. Let me show you. Just for one moment," he said with the hint of a smirk filling up Sasha's vision as Dean's hold on him became gentler, "One kiss to feed the addiction you've become for me."

_God_. That was low. So low that Sasha didn't think he could deny Dean's request this time. He remembered well that little workout room in Williston, ND, when they had fought each other, and fought some more, and somehow through it all found their way to _slow_, which was so much better than _nothing_. Sasha had said those very words to Dean that day—_one kiss to feed the addiction you've become for me_—and Dean had kissed him. _Dean_ had kissed _him_ for the first time.

"Please, baby…" Dean whispered with such pleading, his green eyes damp, his body pressed in so tight.

Damn it. "Dean…" Sasha closed his eyes, licked his lips, the room so hot now, every part of Sasha so damn _hot_ pressed up against that wall, "Okay," he shivered, partly because he just didn't know how to keep saying 'no' to Dean, and partly because he had to know. What would this Dean feel like? Taste like? It had frightened Sasha that he couldn't feel Dean the same way after Malak first joined with him, only faintly, like an echo, unless they were touching, and even then. He knew that if Dean's mark was still there, it was masked by Malak. His emotions were masked too. But if they kissed…

Sasha opened his eyes again. It was easier to imagine kissing a Dean with green eyes, easier to relax within his hold. The harshness of Dean's grip slackened further, Dean's smile widening as he nodded and slowly leaned in to give that offered kiss.

Dean's lips were soft, surreally soft. The hunter life often chapped them but Dean as a whole was soft, and smooth, and beautiful by nature, even though he would probably hate to hear it said like that, such feminine comparisons.

There was a rush of emotion that filled Sasha the moment the kiss began, _Dean's_ emotions, strong and sharp like Sasha had never known before, because they were mixed up with something else, heightened by _Malak_. It felt the same physically, the way Dean's lips pressed to his, tongue sliding in smooth, moving languidly with Sasha's. But Dean tasted…different. The emotions swirling haphazardly within Dean tainted it, that sense of Malak so strong even though Sasha could only truly pinpoint it as _possession_ and _longing_ and _victory._ It wasn't bad. It wasn't darkness or evil. Sasha didn't know how to describe it. So he moved his hands to Dean's shirt and held on tighter, kissing back.

When Dean's hands began to move, one up under Sasha's shirt, the other sliding his fingertips along the waistline of Sasha's jeans and just beneath, Sasha was wholly caught up and ready to succumb. As much as it felt different than Dean alone, Dean was there, Dean was apart of it, and Sasha longed for what small part of Dean he could still feel.

"That's more like it," Dean whispered as he moved kisses along Sasha's jaw, "I hate it when you fight me. I hate that you're _all_ fighting me. You don't have to. I can still be me." The hand beneath Sasha's shirt trailed back down, joining the one teasing his waistline and then nimble fingers were slowly unbuttoning Sasha's jeans and drawing down the zipper.

Sasha trembled with excitement, even though the voices in his head were screaming in dissent. _Stop. Don't. It's not him._ But maybe it was, maybe he could be Dean, Sasha told himself, wanting to believe that more than anything, wanting it to be okay to just give in.

"I want you to be with me because _you_ want to be," Dean said while sliding a hand fluidly into Sasha's jeans, "I didn't force Sam. I just showed him what he was missing. You'll see that. Besides, with the power I have now…you know I wouldn't have to _ask_."

The magic broke. Sasha's eyes went from lustfully hazy to wide and angry in seconds.

Dean dragged fingers down the length of Sasha through his boxers, the last thin barrier separating skin on skin, and the excitement Sasha had been feeling turned instantly to nausea rumbling low in his stomach.

"Yes, you _would_," Sasha growled, shoving Dean forcefully away from him, and succeeding no doubt only because Dean had not been prepared for it. Sasha shook with anger as he glared at Dean. "You have the power to force me to do what you want, and you think…what? That you're proving you're still a good guy by _not_? My Dean would never say that, never even think it. _My_ Dean would know the difference." Sasha quickly started moving along the wall toward the bathroom, watching Dean's startled and regretful expression that Sasha refused to believe. "Stay away from me."

Bolting into the bathroom and slamming the door, Sasha stumbled back and slumped down onto the toilet. He was still shaking, and not entirely from anger either. He half expected Dean to knock down the door, come barging in, and drag him back into the bedroom to…he didn't know what, but the mere thought sickened him. He probably sat there for five minutes before he realized that wasn't going to happen.

Breathing and getting his pulse back to normal proved impossibly difficult. Sasha knew he had to stay calm, but so much of him was ready to lose it, just start crying into his hands right there on the toilet and never stop. Instead he got up, took gulps of breath that didn't really help, and turned toward the mirror.

In the worst of circumstances, an incubus could still look good as long as he was freshly fed. Sasha and Dean had had a go only a few days back. Sasha looked like Hell anyway. His eyes were heavily shadowed, his skin pale, cheeks practically sullen with worry. He looked starved. Defeated. _Broken_.

Throwing on the cold water tap, Sasha splashed water on his face several times before running damp fingers back through his hair. His _red_ hair. He had missed it when he was human, just like Dean had. Sasha had missed everything about being an incubus, much as he enjoyed at least for the first few hours what it felt like to be human. But after that, the loneliness of not being able to feel the emotions from the people around him was almost too much. Only because of Dean, their connection, the glorious way it felt to be with Dean even when Dean was the one feeding, made it still okay.

Being himself again was a good thing, Sasha knew that, and yet part of him wished that they had never switched back, wished they had taken the fool's way out and tried to fight the war with Dean as an incubus. Even if Sasha had ended up dead, _stayed_ dead, at least then he wouldn't have had to see Dean like this, see Dean become the reason they would lose everything. Sasha knew better than to believe any of this could lead to something good, despite Dean's charm and ease in swaying him.

"Damn it," Sasha cursed at himself, glaring at his reflection, "Get your shit together, Kelly. I have to figure this out. Fix this. Dean wouldn't do this without a plan. Gotta figure out the _plan_." He dragged his hands back through his hair again, looking down his body to see how heavily he was still breathing. Of course he also saw the way his jeans remained undone from when Dean had started fondling him.

Bile rose quickly in Sasha's throat, threatening to force him to the toilet, but he held the urge back. He zipped his jeans. Buttoned them. He couldn't lose control, not now. But he couldn't keep running from Dean either. He had to figure out what Dean's plan had been, even though Sam was lost to him now, as far as Sasha knew, regardless of Dean saying that Sam was still in his right mind. The others might be able to help, but it was Sasha who held the burden, Sasha who had to solve the damn mystery if he was going to have any hope of saving Dean.

That's what this had to be about. He couldn't think big, about having to save the whole damn world. This was simpler than that, personal. This was about _saving Dean_. And that was something Sasha could always do.

The thought of going back into the room, with that…_thing_ that was and was not the Dean he loved, terrified Sasha. He knew he had to though, no way around it. If there were consequences waiting for him on the other side of that door because he had refused Dean then so be it. He had a job to do.

Turning the knob, Sasha threw the door open in a single go, peering out of the bathroom to see if Dean was standing right outside waiting for him. At first he couldn't see anything. "Dean…?" Sasha called, inching his way into the bedroom. There was no sign of Dean at all, though the main door was still closed. The window was open, but it had been open before, Sasha was fairly certain, the weather nice outside and air conditioning so expensive.

This sudden absence of Dean worried Sasha more than if he had walked right into Dean fuming outside the door. He moved across the room slowly, certain Dean would appear without warning at any moment. Maybe he was taunting Sasha. Maybe he had locked Sasha in the room.

That thought had Sasha dashing over to the main door and throwing it open just as he had the bathroom door. It wasn't locked. He even peered out into the hallway, discovering it empty. Shutting the door again, Sasha turned back to the room. Maybe Dean had decided to leave him alone.

Walking over to the window, Sasha gazed for a moment out at the dark night. There were stars, many of them glittering beautifully since the Roadhouse was far from city lights. That mask of darkness was gone, darkness that had blotted out the sun, moon, and stars for days, though Sasha knew from what Leven had told Sam that the rest of the world was still blanketed. One of the many things he had to find out was why.

Sasha closed the window, chilled and overcome with the sudden sinking feeling that he was no longer alone. Sasha whirled around, expecting…something, but the room was empty. Stepping from the window, he looked around closely at every last corner of the room. There was nothing, but it was too still, _feigned_ stillness. How was Sasha supposed to sleep like this? He shook his head at the very thought, sighing as he turned back to the window.

_Dean_ suddenly standing there when there had been nothing a moment before sprung a yelp from Sasha's lips. He stumbled immediately back, focused on those terrible red on black eyes. "Dean," he gasped out, pulse back to pounding in barely the time it took him to blink and assure himself that Dean really was standing there.

"I had to take care of something. Feeling better?" Dean stepped up to him, expression not quite friendly, but not truly sinister either.

"I-I…" Sasha couldn't form words. Dean just kept coming at him with slow, measured steps and Sasha couldn't move again. Dean had been taking care of something? Sasha didn't want to know what that meant.

"You'll feel better after you've slept," Dean said for what felt like the dozenth time, reaching out with his hand toward Sasha's forehead like Sasha had most been fearing, "I'm just going to help you sleep, that's all. Tomorrow will be better. I know you'll come to understand, baby. Please…don't fight me anymore."

That coldness was in Dean's voice again, and yet Sasha could feel, being so close to Dean, a lingering sorrow that held him in place. He wished he could move, fight, be more than what he was, but he was helpless as Dean pressed two fingers to his forehead and everything went instantly black. Sasha doubted he even got out a final utterance of, "_Dean, please_," before he succumbed to forced sleep.

-----

It was a nice dream that chased Sasha into waking. He was on top of a hill, looking out over a vast landscape that reminded him of home. His real home. Then again, what was home but where Dean was, so maybe the fae plane wasn't as much home to Sasha anymore.

In this world, one that Sasha wasn't sure how to classify other than beautiful, Dean was standing beside him, hand curled possessively and lovingly at his lower back. Everything was green and bright and glorious, colors painting the landscape with flowers, and buildings Sasha knew were homes, filled with people that looked happy, _safe_. In this world Sasha had no doubts, no fears.

He smiled as he looked out and saw all the people he loved living happily in this world, Dean leaning in to whisper, "I can give you this and so much more. Just be with me…always."

It was an easy enough thing to agree to. There was nothing else Sasha wanted. He turned to Dean ready to accept, ready to say, _yes, of course, this is what I want_, but when he looked to Dean and Dean turned his head to look back at him, red on black eyes burned into Sasha like a warning and jarred him roughly awake.

Maybe it wasn't such a nice dream after all. Sasha came to full consciousness, rolling toward the warmth near him, wanting to hold Dean and banish that awful image from his mind, before remembering that it was more than just a dream. Those eyes were _real_.

Sasha flinched back from the warm spot that was quickly cooling next to him, no longer holding the form and weight of Dean that Sasha knew had been lying there not long ago. Only it wasn't _Dean_ that had been there, Sasha had to remind himself, it was something else, something that meant to trick him, lure him into choosing him just as Malak had lured Dean.

_Not a chance in Hell_, Sasha thought with conviction.

As he crawled out of bed, hating how refreshed that forced sleep had made him feel, it disturbed Sasha to find himself stripped down from the T-shirt and jeans he had been wearing to just boxers. And yet despite that, he held firm to the idea that Dean still wanted him willing, in all ways, and would not yet take him or anyone else by force.

Other than Sam.

_Damn it. _

Sasha had to talk to Sam, find out if the younger Winchester really was changed or merely heightened and still in his right mind somehow.

Dressing quickly, Sasha moved to the door and peered out into the hallway, nearly getting his head knocked off by Sarah who was moving past his room at the same time. "Sarah," he grabbed after her, clutching her arm. She turned and looked back at him expectantly, like this was any other morning and he had merely disrupted her trek down for breakfast. "Are you okay? What happened after Dean brought me upstairs? Is Sam…" Sasha trailed, not wanting to have to finish that and ask if Sam was still _Sam_.

Something passed through Sarah's eyes, indecision maybe, but before she could answer him, several other doors opened as if the occupants had been waiting to hear Sasha's voice before venturing out. Since the heads that peered into the hallway belonged to Lindsey, Charis, Cam, and the twins, Sasha wouldn't be surprised if that was true.

He ignored their presence for now and returned his eyes to Sarah, who seemed to have made up her mind. "Sarah?" he prompted again.

"I don't have time to talk right now, Sasha," Sarah pulled away from him, backing toward the stairs, "I'm working on something for Dean. Don't worry about it though. Really. Sam's fine. You'll understand soon. It's not as bad as you think," she smiled, and then turned and continued down the hallway to head downstairs.

Sasha's stomach plummeted. Was he wrong? Had Dean done something to Sarah after all, to others, or maybe it was just Sam. Sam had done something to Sarah once they were alone. He had to have, there was no other reason that made sense why she would suddenly be doing something for _Dean_ and be okay with it.

The others filed into the hallway, approaching Sasha slowly, none quite knowing what to say or how to begin. Sasha almost wished he could ignore them, keep from having to answer their questions when he had nothing but his own confusion and worry to offer, but he turned to them anyway, each of them, his good friends that had taken a risk when they came here to help him and now they were no more than prisoners.

"What happened last night? Are you alright?" Lindsey asked first, grabbing Sasha's arm in a tight squeeze, and thankfully having no signs of an 'I told you so' waiting on his lips because of Dean's betrayal.

"I'm fine. Dean didn't…he didn't do anything to hurt me," Sasha said as truthfully as he could, "A few of us met late, but Dean found us. He…did something to Sam. I'm not sure what. Sam's with him now. And Sarah…" Sasha stared after where she had disappeared, "I think Sam must have done something to her too. We have to stay calm," he turned immediately back to them, hating the looks of fear he found, "Dean must have had a plan. I just…I need to figure it out and then…then we'll be able to change him back and everything will be okay," he nodded to himself.

Epica spoke this time, her voice low. "You don't sound like you believe that," she said.

"What should we do? Is there something we can do?" Attoinette spoke up. No one had dared say anything the day before. Now, given leave, they were frantic to offer help, advice, anything they could.

"One of us could try to leave," said Cam, "Go to the roof, see how far we can fly."

"We can't hearth," Charis admitted with downturned silver eyes, "We tried. Not that we want to leave you, Sasha, but…if we could somehow get help…well, maybe we can figure out some other way to hearth, a spell maybe."

"No," Sasha shook his head at all those ideas, even at their simple offers to help whatever way possible, "He'd just stop you, bring you back, or keep you out for good. Maybe worse. Just…lie low, keep out of sight and let me do what I can. I don't want to risk him doing something to you, please. Do you know where Shi and the others are?" he pressed immediately onward, hoping to halt any dissention.

Lindsey's look was hard at being told to do nothing, but he answered anyway. "Adrian stayed with Cam last night. We'll make sure he stays in the room. I don't know about Shiarra or Arthur."

"Have you seen anyone else?" Sasha asked.

"I, uhh…think that cute librarian and the angel—" Attoinette cut off with a blush and bowed head, "I mean…that nice salesman, they're…in the library. Eppy and I can keep an eye on them," she offered what was finally something Sasha could be thankful to hear.

"Please. Thank you," he reached out to in some weak gesture touch all of them. Then he pulled away, began heading for the stairs. "Stay up here. Stay out of sight. I'll keep you as informed as I can. Just please…don't try anything rash. I'm gonna find a way to fix this. I promise."

Sasha let his gaze linger on Lindsey, the one he still thought of as his best friend more than any of the others because of their past, yes, and because Lindsey had found it in himself to forgive Sasha everything despite having been the most wounded. Sasha was comforted to see an understanding look in Lindsey's bright green eyes where usually there might have been judgment. Lindsey wouldn't judge him on this, not now, none of them would. All Sasha wanted was a chance to make this right again. He just hoped what chances he had would be enough.

It was a slow trek down the stairs, cautious, because Sasha was afraid of what he might find, shaken, really, right to the bone. Whatever he had expected, however, could not prepare him for what he found.

Bobby was sitting in a chair set in the middle of the bar like an interrogation, Sam and Dean flanking him, with Solrin off to the side keeping vigil like a god damn executioner. Sasha froze in the doorway. Bobby was far from bound, but his eyes were staring ahead blankly. Sasha knew immediately that he was under Sam's power.

"What did Rufus tell you?" Dean demanded in a tone that said he had asked that same question already.

Sam spoke just as sternly, in a voice Sasha knew held power, "_Answer him_."

Bobby's voice came over clear and monotone like a robot. "The hunters Dean sent away are gathering to launch an attack on the Roadhouse. Rufus was warning me."

"How did he get through to you on the phone?" Dean pressed.

"I don't know. Said it was a spell."

Dean huffed as if that was impossible, but didn't press further. Instead, he asked, "Are they working with any others? The fae? Gwen? _Michael_?" Dean said the name of the arch angel with particular venom and Sasha was certain that that venom came entirely from Malak.

"Don't know. Said they'd wait to see what they found when they got here," Bobby said.

"Fools," Dean sneered, turning away from Bobby, "I gave them a chance to stay out of this, sent them all safely home, and they still want to fight me. I don't know how Rufus used some _spell_ to break through my barriers, but we'll have to be more careful," he turned to look at Sam, at Solrin, "Make sure no one contacts anyone else. It'll only cause trouble. We'll have to keep a lookout for these hunters, not that they can reach us anyway." Dean looked over then and noticed Sasha at the door, his countenance lifting instantly as if the sight of Sasha made everything better.

That only made Sasha angry, but he wasn't about to turn away or hide, not anymore. He walked into the bar. "What are you going to do, Dean?" he asked, trying to sound calm, unconcerned, "If the hunters manage to get here, what will you do to them?"

"Those that stand against the light will not be tolerated," Solrin spoke up, sneering at Sasha with the same distaste he had always had for him.

Sasha ignored the white-haired man and kept his eyes on Dean, who Sasha could already tell was not going to deny those words. He merely said, "I'll deal with it."

"And if the hunters _are_ working with the fae and angels?" Sasha pressed.

"I'll deal with it," Dean replied more firmly, eyes narrowing at Sasha in challenge, it seemed, maybe to see if he would press for more. Sasha didn't. He stopped a few feet in front of them all and looked at Bobby, which caught Dean's attention, reminding Dean that their once mentor and friend was still sitting more or less comatose. "Let him go, Sammy," Dean said, patting Bobby on the shoulder and leaning down to whisper, "You shouldn't try to keep things from me, Bobby. Be more mindful next time."

Sasha breathed relief that there would _be_ a next time, watching as Bobby blinked awareness, shaking his head to clear it as horror slowly filled his face at the memory of what he had just revealed to Dean. The hunters had tried to warn them, let them know help was coming, but Dean had discovered their plan.

There was no doubt in Sasha now as he looked to Sam, yellow eyes blazing, small smirk on his lips, that the demonic power Dean had infused Sam with had done more than just 'open his eyes', it had changed him. Sasha couldn't even sense Sam's emotions. He felt like he could barely sense anything, the presence of Malak so damn strong everywhere now that Sasha felt utterly cut off and alone, almost as though he were human again.

Soon, Sam was pulling Bobby away, to where, for what, Sasha didn't know, but after Dean sent Solrin off to do something as well, Sasha knew he had to talk to Dean right that second, alone. This was getting out of hand. He had to figure out what was happening before it was too late. "Dean!" Sasha called, running up to Dean before Dean could go anywhere.

Dean turned to him with his complete attention. It was unnerving, but Sasha decided to count his blessings.

"You…want me to…understand all this, right? Like Sam does," Sasha tied not to sneer.

The question intrigued Dean and he nodded, stepping closer to Sasha with a growing smile.

"Okay. If you want me to understand then you have to be honest with me. Rufus got through to Bobby somehow, right? But you don't know how he did it? What I don't get is why you have everyone else cut off anyway. We know we're the only ones with power and daylight, Dean." Sasha could see the sun shining in through the windows even. "But why? Why wouldn't you give that back to everyone? It has to be hard out there for all those people. Like Leven, Wade. It's dangerous for them."

A patronizing smile filled Dean's face, his hand coming up to squeeze Sasha's shoulder. "I keep them in darkness so they'll understand the difference when I bring them a better world," he said, his words and way of speaking sounding less and less like himself with each passing phrase, "If you join me, Sasha, I'll tell you everything. But I need you to trust me first. Don't you trust me?" Dean asked that as if it was weeks ago when he was begging Sasha to trust him after what had happened with Adrian. It wasn't fair.

Knowing he needed more time, Sasha mustered the strength to simply say, "I don't know," and for once he didn't try to pull away.

Dean sighed, squeezed Sasha's shoulder once more, but was at least pacified before he turned to walk away. "You will. Like the others…you will."

_Others_.

Suddenly, Sasha thought of Shiarra, of Arthur, and Ellen, and Jo, and _Ula_. There were too many unaccounted for yet. He had seen Sam leading Bobby off toward that small lounge, and Solrin heading upstairs. That left the kitchen mainly, so Sasha decided to start there. His priority had to be everyone's safety, even above figuring this out.

It was a relief and surprise to find the women cooking, of all things, all of them, maybe on their own steam, maybe because Dean had asked them to, but obviously because, well, they all needed to eat. Ellen, Jo, Shiarra, and Ula were all there.

Sasha spent a few minutes making sure they were okay, telling them what he knew, and asking after Arthur. He was worried that no one knew where the black incubus was. Shiarra seemed adamant to talk to him alone but Sasha excused himself anyway, telling them to be safe, that he'd check back after he found Arthur and knew at least something of where everyone was.

There weren't many other places to check, the only immediate ones coming to mind being the med room or somewhere outside. The med room was empty, but when Sasha was heading back into the bar he literally ran into Arthur coming in from outside. "Thank God, you were the only one I was still worried about," Sasha grabbed the incubus by the arms, "Are you alright? I know everything's gone crazy, but it's going to be okay, I promise." It felt a little silly speaking comfort to a man Sasha knew was far older than him, even older than his aunt.

Maybe that would explain why Arthur didn't look at all worried, but grinned with a smile wide and white, before laughing and saying, "Kiddo, if you think you're gonna solve this one all on your own then you're a bigger idiot than I gave you credit for."

That had Sasha pausing, staring dumbly, because…that was not at all how Arthur talked.

"Shhh," the tall, dark incubus brought a finger playfully to his lips, winking at Sasha with a brief flicker, a shimmer that passed over him and for a moment proved him to be the _Trickster_ instead.

"You—!" Sasha started off too loudly before realizing his mistake and looking about the bar again to be sure they were alone, "You're supposed to be gone. Dean sent you away. I saw it," Sasha continued in a fast whisper, "What happened to Arthur?"

"That guy?" the Trickster quirked Arthur's lips in a way that did not at all befit the man Sasha knew, "He's fine. Switched with him at the last second. Guess he must have ended up in the fae plane somewhere. Tough trick on my part, lemme tell ya. Keeping up a glamour like this that can fool ol' Mr. Horns and Pitchfork over there is no picnic. Takes all my concentration. And now with Sammy-boy souped-up too," he shook his head.

"But you're here," Sasha had yet to release the Trickster from the grip he had on the god's arms, "You can help me. What can you still do? Can you leave and come back? Maybe get a message out? We don't know if the fae are here, the angels. Dean has this shield or something—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo," the Trickster held up his hands, which was difficult considering Sasha was gripping his forearms, "Back it up a sec. First, I know about the shield. I was just outside getting a feel for it. And no, no way I can get out and back in, maybe not even _out_. Any powers I actively use, our Dean/Malak combo's gonna be able to sense it, probably see it coming way before I could be of any use just launching some kinda offensive. Now, I wanna help, or I would have let him poof me away and said good riddance, but you gotta think smart here, kid. Calling me a god, that's just a name. I'm no match for a fully powered king of _Hell_."

Well that was just great. Not that Sasha should be all that surprised, but still. The Trickster could be a great asset but only if they used him the right way. And right now Sasha had no idea what that was.

Helplessness had to be showing pretty prominently on Sasha's face because the Trickster came back with, "Hey, don't sweat it. We'll figure something out. You're the only one who knows I'm Arthur. Let's keep it that way til we got something more to go on. You keep the nice folks around here safe and lying low, I'll keep poking my nose about the place. Best to keep Dean happy in the meantime. Oh," he grabbed for Sasha's arm now since he had started to pull away, "And watch out for that whammy touch he hit Sam with. I don't know what it did, not my area, but…by the looks of things Sam's a lost cause now. You're the best bet we got." He winked again, pat Sasha's arm and headed off.

Everyone kept reassuring Sasha today. Patting his arm or shoulder, _reassuring_ him, and then walking away. Funny how Sasha wasn't even remotely reassured.

But this was a good thing. They still had the Trickster, and he would be a great trump card if Sasha could figure out the best way to use that to their advantage. There had to be some way. For now he decided to listen to the Trickster's advice, keep everyone safe, wait to hear more about what the Trickster discovers, and keep his own ears and eyes open. He could do this. He had to.

Fists clenched tight in resolve, Sasha went upstairs to make sure Solrin wasn't messing with his friends.

-----

The next few hours went by smoothly enough. Sasha found Solrin with Iain and Jimmy in the library, the other men resistant to whatever Solrin had been talking about, probably something about the great and glorious worship of Malak-Dean, savior of the world. So Sasha bullied him out of the room and tried to calm the other two down as best he could.

Jimmy was surprisingly resilient for such a regular, nice seeming guy, only maybe it shouldn't be a surprise since he was, after all, a chosen vessel for a real as life _angel_. He looked almost comical in borrowed clothes from Iain that were several sizes too big. Jimmy was a smaller, more petite man, while Iain was as tall as Sam, only ganglier. The pair seemed safe enough in the library though, secretly looking for ways to guard against Dean's power, but having no luck. Sasha figured it was a fruitless search anyway, but it kept them busy.

Eventually, he managed to get everyone downstairs to actually eat something, the girls in the kitchen having worked so hard distracting themselves and wanting to share their spoils. Dean, Sam, and Sarah did not show up for the food, apparently having disappeared, their location something Solrin would not share. The Asian ex-hunter kept watch over them in Dean's stead, and Sasha knew that the only reason Sol didn't react drastically whenever Sasha snapped at him to leave everyone alone was because Solrin knew Dean's wrath would be terrible.

The others kept trying to get Sasha alone—Bobby, who was thankfully fine after Sam and Dean's interrogation, Shiarra several times—but it wasn't until later, when Sasha finally allowed Lindsey to pull him aside, that he realized he should have been paying more attention to the sex squad.

"Lin, what the hell are you talking about?" Sasha hissed angrily, eyes darting about the corner they had squished themselves into, "I told you not to do anything. I told you to let me handle this. You can't possibly think a direct attack on Dean will do anything."

"I understand your bias," Lindsey dismissed Sasha's apprehensions, "But how can we know that unless we try?"

"People _did_ try," Sasha reminded him, "Remember? Dozens of people and mystical creatures even threw themselves at Dean with everything they had and he banished them without even blinking. This isn't going to work."

Despite Sasha's best efforts, and a rather sound argument, he thought, Lindsey looked far from convinced. "They were all acting alone, with sole ideas on how to kill him. We are not going to try to hurt or kill Dean, Sasha, we know that would be pointless. But enough of us keeping him stationary and disoriented, with a solid plan of attack, might be enough to—"

"You're not listening to me!" Sasha beseeched loudly now, not caring if Solrin or anyone else overheard them, "Imagine all the power the Devil has in Hell. Dean has all of it at his disposal. We haven't even glimpsed what he's capable of. This is not a risk you need to take." Sasha grabbed tightly to Lindsey's arm when the taller incubus tried walking away. "Lin, please, give me more time. I don't want him to hurt you. Dean's still in there, but every time I see him there's less and less of him on the surface. I don't know what he'll do. _Please_."

It had been a long time since Sasha saw such a cold look from Lindsey directed at him, and even though it pained Sasha to see it now, he couldn't be angry. He understood how Lindsey thought, and right now all Lindsey could understand was that Sasha didn't want to risk the people he loved getting hurt. That wasn't enough reason for Lindsey not to want to try this foolhardy plan that Cam, the twins, and Charis were apparently all apart of. Sasha saw disaster all along the horizon and there was nothing he could do about it.

Lindsey walked away muttering that Sasha could still change his mind, still join them when they attacked, but Sasha remained still, imagining all the awful things Dean might do to them in retaliation. He had been lenient with those first attackers, but this time…

Sasha spent the rest of the afternoon pacing about the Roadhouse, waiting for whenever Dean, Sam, and Sarah would return. They were scouting the area maybe, trying to see if hunters, or fae, or even angels were hanging about the edges of Dean's barrier. Maybe they were doing something else entirely, Sasha couldn't be sure. But he thought, hoped that if he caught Dean when they first got back and explained what Lindsey and the others were planning to do then maybe Dean would be kind.

It wasn't until he heard the first scream that he knew Dean was back, and not downstairs where he had been at the time, but up in the hallway, the sound of thuds and further screams echoing down at him as Sasha raced up the stairs, praying he wasn't too late.

"Dean!" Sasha called before he could even see anything. He was prepared for any number of sights, even carnage, therefore greatly relieved to merely find Charis, Lindsey, Cam, and the twins all pinned to the walls of the hallway, Dean seething in the center with Sam's hands outstretched to hold them stationary, while Solrin stalked over to the closest to him, Cam.

"These…creatures," Solrin sneered, pulling out the sword he still kept on his person like the soldier he was, a sword Sasha was certain went beyond mere iron and that would probably kill most anything, "Please, Dean," Solrin looked to his _master_, "Let me kill them for you. They will only try again. The others as well. They were surely apart of it," he pointed down the hallway beyond Dean and Sam where Shiarra, the Trickster as Arthur, and Adrian had all come out of rooms.

Panic flared in Sasha's chest when Dean didn't immediately dismiss the idea. "Dean, no!" he ran past Solrin right up to Dean in only a few long strides, "Please, Dean. I tried to stop them. I was going to warn you. Please don't let him kill them. Just send them home. Please just send them home." He had tears in his eyes, he knew, frantic tears for a frantic time. He didn't know what he would do if Dean ignored him and gave Solrin the okay.

But Dean didn't. Dean kept his eyes on Sasha, the fire in them softening, and sighed deeply as he had so many times since yesterday. "Fine. I'll send them away. Back to the fae plane with the others. _All_ of them," he turned to look behind him at Shiarra, Arthur and Adrian.

If it weren't for the Trickster, Sasha would welcome the additions if only to get everyone he could out of harm's way. He didn't think he dared try fighting for those three to stay, and it would be too odd if he spoke only on Arthur's behalf.

Then Arthur and Shiarra were looking at each other, and before Sasha had the chance to think any whys on what was happening, Shiarra was stepping forward.

"Dean, please, send them home, fine," she said, "But let me stay. I was not apart of this. I thought it a foolish idea when they told me," she raised a disapproving eyebrow at the pinned sex squad, "Besides, forced or not, the elders wouldn't look too kindly on my sudden appearance while I'm still banished. For Sasha's sake, _please_," she added in that firm diplomatic voice she pulled off so well, "I won't oppose you."

Dean gauged this request for some time, staring down the hallway so that Sasha could not see his face. Sasha was therefore startled when Dean nodded, "Fine. But the others must go," he turned back, looking to each of those that had tried to attack him and stepping up close to Lindsey finally who Dean had to know was leader, "Don't try to get back in here. You find a way, you won't get a free pass out again. Understand?"

Glaring green fire in reply, Lindsey nodded once, still challenging, still in opposition to Dean so strongly that Sasha knew Lindsey would stop at nothing to get back into the Roadhouse and aid whoever was outside Dean's barrier. Lindsey only gave that nod for the chance to get out, for the chance to do what he could on the outside. He looked over then at Sasha, mournful and apologetic for everything, every word he hadn't listened to, before he was suddenly gone, banished with the others like so many before them.

Sasha gasped at the sudden absence of so many emotions he knew so well, leaving only him, Solrin, Dean, Sam, and Shiarra at the end of the hall. Sasha was thankful Adrian was gone, always afraid Dean would act out against him somehow, but now that the Trickster was gone for good too Sasha didn't know how he could possibly proceed from here. He didn't even know if the Trickster had discovered anything useful.

"Sasha," Dean came toward him, all that compassion and softness strong in those red on black eyes that flickered to green purely for Sasha's sake. Sasha couldn't help noticing that Dean was wearing dark jeans, a red T-shirt and black button down over it, like some awful parody of Malak's suit. Sasha wondered if Dean had actually put those clothes on or if they manifested naturally that way.

"Thank you," Sasha managed, holding gazes with Dean as best he could, much as half of him wanted to sink down into the carpet and weep, "I was going to warn you. I told them not to," he said again.

Smiling, Dean looked back a moment at Sam, who nodded as if to confirm that Sasha wasn't lying. "You're not quite where I want you to be," Dean said when he turned back to Sasha, "But you're starting to see my way. That's all I want from you. I just want you to be apart of this. It was so damn hard last night," Dean said, sounding suddenly more like himself as he reached up to run the back of his fingers along Sasha's cheek, "Not touching you. _God_. You have no idea how hard that was. I wish you were with me," he leaned up to kiss Sasha then.

Instinct had Sasha flinching back.

"_Please_," Dean said rather than get angry or pull away, hovering right there, his breath mingling with Sasha's and smelling strangely like nothing, nothing at all.

Staring at those lips so close, the green eyes that were a wonderful veil, one Sasha didn't mind having to see, Sasha's own eyes darted past Dean a moment to Solrin, Sam, and finally Shiarra who…_winked_ at him in a way that Sasha did not think fitting of the moment at all.

A gasp rose in his throat that he boldly held back as he understood. That damn _Trickster_ was cleverer than Sasha thought. He hoped Shiarra wasn't too sore about being kicked out, but then, maybe she had been in on it.

Kissing Dean wasn't nearly as difficult with a little hope on the horizon, however small. Sasha told himself he was feeding the part of Dean that was still Dean, tried to reach only that part of him as they kissed, reaching right down inside of Dean and drawing up more and more of him until suddenly Sasha could feel the _mark_ buried there. It wasn't gone after all. That alone had Sasha kissing more deeply, enjoying it even, the way Dean's lips and tongue moved with love and gratitude against his own.

"All you have to do is ask, baby," Dean whispered when they pulled apart, "And I can give you all the power and strength you could ever want. You won't fear. You won't worry. I can give you the whole world and I will, just like I showed you last night."

Sasha knew instantly that Dean meant the dream, a dream he was not surprised Dean had given to him. "I don't…I don't know," Sasha said, mustering as much unsure emotion as he could, which was mostly real, even though he knew he couldn't choose Dean, he couldn't.

But the uncertainly was enough to bolster Dean, who smiled, stroked Sasha's face once more and then stepped back. "I have to take care of a few things. There are a lot of foolish people out there trying to wreck this before I've even started. I'm going to have to…make it a little more difficult for them to get to us. Still so much to do, so much to plan."

"I thought…you just wanted to rid the world of evil," Sasha said, "The monsters, evil creatures, so there never has to be hunters again."

Dean smiled patronizingly at Sasha. "That's only the beginning. Evil in the world goes further than that. I can't just let things be when I have the power to do so much good. The world needs me to help…_lead_ things in the right direction."

Right. "You mean it needs you to rule it?" Sasha said incredulously, not really asking, knowing he was heading down a dangerous path sounding so skeptical and against it, but unable to stop his tongue, "I didn't think this was about world domination, Dean. Even with all your power, how could you do that with just you, Sol, and Sam?"

This time Dean's expression changed into one that almost looked guilty, like he was worried about how Sasha might react. "Not everyone is going to understand this. The others I've let stay here, I want them to be apart of it with us because I care about them, but they might try to stand in my way, and then…I'd have to send them away too. Maybe…you can try and persuade them to see reason, to understand that…I'm simply using the resources available to me." Dean spread his hands wide as he said that and then he snapped his fingers twice in quick succession and two new figures appeared flanking him.

_Demons_.

Sasha stumbled back a step, certain these were demons, and pretty sure he knew who too. They were both in bodies he didn't want to know where they had come from. One a little blonde girl in a white dress that Sasha remembered with a sinking feeling had to be _Lilith_ because of her white eyes. And the other, wearing a man of little distinction other than being very tall and thin, had mottled green eyes that had to belong to Amon, the very demon that had shot through Dean into Sasha and killed him.

Dean was truly lost. To Sasha. To all of them. He knew that now. But he nodded at Dean like he understood, like he was agreeing, because if he didn't play his role just right, right now, he would be screaming and pounding his fists against Dean's chest.

"We need to fortify this place a bit better, folks," Dean said with a look to the demons at either side of him, "This is home base and I want it protected. Solrin, Sam, come on," he said as he began to move past Sasha for the stairs, heading down to do god knows what to the areas around the Roadhouse.

Sasha stood very still as Dean and Lilith passed him, only Amon coming purposely close to whisper, "Good to see you again, Sasha," with the worst kind of nausea hitting Sasha's stomach as that hot breath and those taunting words hit his ear. Sasha was almost certain he would throw up all over Sam and Solrin when they got to him. He managed to hold it together, letting Solrin pass too, but when Sam got close, Sasha just couldn't stop himself anymore.

He grabbed the front of Sam's shirt and pulled, glaring into his face, not caring if Sam read his thoughts or not, and not caring that those god damn yellow eyes were what he had to look at. "Where's Sarah?" Sasha asked because he didn't think he could form words to express anything else he was thinking about, "What did you do to her to make her side with Dean too? What did he do to _you_?" Sasha might as well have been yelling for all the anger seething through his teeth.

It was the first time Sasha had really spoken to Sam since Dean changed him, _unlocked_ him to become this faithful, willing servant. The yellow eyes made it impossible to read him. "Sasha…" Sam said in a low voice, eyes darting beyond Sasha to where the others were walking down the stairs, "Sarah's fine. She wanted to blink back in wherever Jo and Ellen were so that's where Dean sent her. She's just downstairs. I'd never let anything happen to her. That's why I kept her with me. It's not…it's not what you think," he whispered like he was afraid one of those others might hear him, but that didn't make sense to Sasha.

"Whatever," Sasha pushed Sam away from him, "Go be another of Dean's lapdogs. You seem well-suited for it," he snarled, pushing past Sam then to go to Shiarra, who he knew to be the Trickster, and hopefully that meant he would find out something worthwhile.

But then Sam's hand was on Sasha's arm, holding him back, holding him in place, and when Sasha turned angrily back around to face Sam he suddenly found himself forced against the wall, the second time in less than twenty-four hours a Winchester had done that to him.

Sasha growled, showing fangs, his eyes flashing red in the face of Sam's bright yellow, but before he had the chance to fight against Sam any further than that, Sam was tucking his face into the crook of Sasha's neck, whispering as fast and as quietly as he could.

For a moment Sasha could barely understand the words, but they started to form, become thoughts and sentences that Sasha understood, and…_god_, what Sam was telling him changed everything. Sasha felt sick, defeated. He was almost certain he would fall to the ground right that moment and never get up.

Somehow, Sasha didn't fall, but remained against the wall even after Sam had pulled away and gone after the others down the stairs. Sasha didn't talk to the Trickster, merely confirmed that it was indeed him in the guise of Sasha's aunt, and then excused himself to his room. He showered, something he hadn't yet done, changed clothes, sat on the edge of the bed and just thought for so many minutes, trying to come to terms with everything Sam had told him. There was nothing else for Sasha to do but what he knew he must.

He found Dean later in the library, no doubt freaking out Iain and Jimmy merely by being there. He had caught them looking up ways to protect themselves against him, but Dean was not angry. He had praised them for thinking understandably of protecting themselves but not of harming Dean in any way.

Iain had responded with the best possible answer, wholly honest as it left him. "I don't think I would ever want to hurt you, Dean." It was enough that Iain and Jimmy remained in Dean's good graces.

Jimmy had a harder time looking at Dean though, not speaking to him, not speaking at all while Dean was in the room. If he had been aware of everything Castiel knew and saw then he had seen what Dean was now through an _angel's_ eyes, had felt it as Dean banished Castiel right out of his body and straight to Heaven. He had every reason to fear Dean.

Sasha went in, happy to take Dean's attention off of the frightened men. He called to Dean with a voice he knew sounded dead, but he didn't know how else to make it anymore.

"So…you're using your demon army. Lilith. _Others_," he said, not wanting to speak Amon's name that he only knew anyway because Dean had told him, "You have Sam with you. And Sol. I can't even imagine what you're capable of. It scares me, Dean. All of it. I look at you and I'm…terrified," Sasha closed his eyes, feeling hot tears slip free down his cheeks, "But I don't…want to be…anymore. Dean…" he opened his eyes again and Dean was already moving toward him.

"Let me show you how it can be," Dean said, moving fast to reach Sasha, his eyes not bothering to change from red on black this time, not that it mattered to Sasha anymore, "Then you'll understand. You won't be afraid anymore. Like Sam. And it can be the three of us again."

Sasha choked on the lie of that, "Y-Yeah…" he said, "Show me, Dean." It was the only way. It was the only thing left now.

Smiling blindly, brilliantly, Dean came up close to Sasha, at first merely brushing his hair, kissing him briefly, and then those two fingers came up and pressed firm to Sasha's forehead.

Nothing Sasha had told himself earlier could prepare for how it felt the moment those fingers made contact with his skin, the sheer rush of heat, power, pure energy, all carried on the wings of Dean's emotions—victory, longing, _possession_.

It was just like Sam said it would be, so glorious, so thrilling that Sasha never wanted to feel any other way again. He could feel his eyes flickering, feel how his body was changing and growing, so powerful now, so fitting to be at Dean's side. When Dean pulled his hand away finally, Sasha knew, he knew with every fiber in him that there was no going back now.

tbc...

A/N: So...huh. I like this chapter, think I threw you for another loop I hope. Trickster's return courtesy of Haley, and damn, does it work so much better with further things planned. I love reader comments. You guys MAKE the story, so thank you Haley. But I have a problem. The plan was to have the next chapter from Iain's POV, but now I'm thinking maybe Jimmy's instead. Either will work with how the next chapter is set up, but I don't know which would be best. Thoughts?

Crim


	92. Part 3: What Iain Saw

So after much consideration, I decided to split the LONG next chapter into two shorter ones so you can have Iain's right now. The next chapter will be Jimmy's, hopefully up early this week. So glad it worked out that way. Enjoy!

Remember when all of the chapters were this long...? ;-)

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Part 3: What Iain Saw

-----

Dean being anywhere near Iain sent the tall librarian's heart rate into instant panic mode like a god damn jackhammer. Having Dean walk in on him and Jimmy looking up ways to thwart Dean's newly acquired Devil powers, on the other hand, was enough to give Iain an aneurism.

He couldn't believe his luck when Dean had merely looked amused, and then placated by Iain's ignorant utterance of, "I don't think I would ever want to hurt you, Dean," which had been the complete and honest truth no matter how much Iain knew better than to trust this not-Dean walking around with Dean's face.

And then Sasha had come in. And Iain thought that meant the attention would get off of him and the silent, tightly huddled Jimmy, which it _did_, only…only the things Sasha started saying told Iain right off the bat that this was not how he wanted to be rescued from Dean's presence in the library.

Before Iain knew what was happening, Sasha was asking Dean to 'show him', show him how things could be if he saw things the way Dean did, the way _Sam_ did now too, and then Dean was touching Sasha's forehead. The way Sasha changed after that was terrible to witness.

Blue eyes flickered back and forth to red, Sasha literally growing, becoming taller, _larger_ as the incubus side of him was drawn out—horns, white skin, black wings and claws. Iain had seen what the sex demons looked like changed while the others were all still in the Roadhouse, but only in passing, not close like this, close enough to really _look_. He got the feeling that Sasha wasn't usually quite so large when he changed, his horns that ominous, his claws that sharp, or the extra bit of fangs on his lower teeth like the ones on the top. This was a different Sasha.

They were so royally _fucked_.

It didn't help that while Dean's infusing of power into Sasha had helped the incubus keep his glamours going, meaning the clothing vanished from him rather than getting torn up, _all_ of the clothing vanished, leaving nothing to the imagination as Sasha stood there in all his natural glory. Iain was pretty sure there should have been _something_ covering Sasha below the waist other than intricately woven tattoos that he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from.

The sudden too tight squeeze of Jimmy's hand clasping his made Iain jump, wishing Jimmy wasn't squeezing quite that hard so he could turn his hand over and squeeze back.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed hotly against Dean's lips right there in front of them, large and menacing and basically _naked_, Dean's hand having dropped away, and Sasha looking so pleased, so happy, so _horny_, Iain couldn't help noticing, despite how Sasha's eyes had been filled with tears moments before.

"Now you understand, don't you, baby?" Dean whispered back, hands trailing promisingly down Sasha's hips and thighs as he moved into Sasha's body.

A low growl, almost like a purr rumbled out of Sasha, who indeed looked beyond blissful and willing to do whatever Dean asked of him. "I should never have doubted you," Sasha said, his voice gruffer and lower than Iain was used to, "Of course I trust you, Dean. You're always so good at making things…better," he finished like a breath, barely a real word. Then they were kissing, hungrily, wet, and miles away from anything chaste.

Iain felt sick to his stomach as mild flares of jealousy and longing rippled through him, which was silly because he didn't want _that_ Dean and he certainly didn't want _that_ Sasha. But the way they kissed, the way they fit so well together, it was pure passion, almost tangible in the air, and Iain couldn't help the dull wandering of his mind on what it might feel to kiss Dean with _fangs_.

Another growled purr erupted from Sasha as he pulled from Dean and glared over Dean's shoulder right at where Iain was sitting on the floor with Jimmy, their hands still tight together. "I think someone still has a crush…" Sasha said, his red cat-eyes shimmering at Iain like a warning, a _threat_.

_Fuck_. "I-I…" Iain shook his head, wondering why he was even trying to speak when silence was so obviously the better option right now.

Sasha continued to growl.

Dean turned with a wide grin to look back at Iain as well. "Don't worry about him. I think there's another crush brewing," he smirked, and Iain wasn't quite sure he knew what Dean was implying there, trying his damnedest, as he was, to ignore how much he really enjoyed the way Jimmy was squeezing the life out of his hand right now, "Unless you want me to send him away," Dean turned back to Sasha.

Oh shit. _No_. Iain couldn't be sent away now. What about the others? They were one by one either being turned by Dean or banished. Iain couldn't just be another failure passed aside. He had to do something. Though what, he had no idea.

He could only stare wide-eyed and pleading at the large, frightening incubus that looked like he would sooner tear Iain to shreds than let him stay. Therefore, Iain about keeled over right then and there when Sasha finally spoke to Dean in reply.

"I want whatever you want, Dean. You like Iain. So do I. He's our friend. No one has to leave or…get hurt. Right?" His fangs glinted in the light as his grin went devilishly crooked. He seemed to take more notice of himself then and stared for a moment at his changed appearance, obviously pleased but at the same time fascinated.

"Better than the cave, remember?" Dean ran a hand slowly along the inside of one of Sasha's black wings, fingers pressing into the skin and causing the incubus to purr loudly and his red eyes to flutter, "You can be your human self. Make it easier to go through doors when you don't need the wings. Only maybe…" Dean licked his lips as he looked over Sasha's _naked_ form. Iain really couldn't get passed the _naked_ part. "Maybe not right now. Stay like this…for awhile yet. We'll leave you two alone," Dean said without actually looking at Iain and Jimmy as he began to lead Sasha by the hand—_claw_, whatever—from the library for what was no doubt going to be some very intensely hot, demonic _sex_ against the next hard surface they came to.

That image was going to stick with Iain for awhile.

Wonderful. Just fucking _peachy_. The future was a lost cause. They might as well throw in the towel now. With Dean gone all Bizzaro-crazy, and Sam with him, and now Sasha with him too, not to mention Sol and _Sarah_ for whatever insane reason.

Actually, it probably wasn't insane so much as devotion to _Sam_, and really, wasn't that why Sasha had joined ranks too? It was all falling apart because no one wanted to be alone. Iain could sort of relate, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"What do we do now?" Jimmy was saying in a hushed voice, his hand slowly dropping away from Iain's, staring at where Dean and his newly reacquired consort had headed off, "It's all messed up. I feel so damn helpless," Jimmy ran a hand through his forever-mussed dark hair.

It had weirded Iain out a little the first time he heard Jimmy curse, though the guy didn't quite hit the ranks of Iain's dirty mouth, of course. Still, Jimmy was a vessel for an _angel_. Iain just figured not swearing would be a given. "I don't know. I kinda figured Sam and Sasha would figure it out. Now…" Iain shook his head, "Do we keep…" he trailed again, gesturing half-heartedly at the books around them.

"If Dean's not worried, I doubt there's anything to find." Jimmy pushed one of the books away from him _hard_ like he wanted to do worse, throw the damn thing at the wall maybe. "A day ago I had the ability to do so much as Castiel. But as just me…" Jimmy sighed. They were both having difficulty finishing thoughts aloud, not that it mattered. Their thoughts were stuck on the same subject.

This was the end. Dean was the _Devil_ and no one was coming to save them.

Part of Iain almost wished Dean _had_ sent him away, sent him home, where the world would be in darkness but at least then he wouldn't be here. But no, he had to think more positively than that. He had to hold it together and think of things they could do. They weren't the only ones left. There were others. It didn't have to come down to Dean, Sam, and Sasha, did it?

Iain looked hard at Jimmy beside him, both of them just crumbled there on the floor, surrounded by books that hadn't been able to tell them anything. Not a god damn _thing_ they could use.

Jimmy really was a pretty guy. That thought snuck up on Iain out of _nowhere_. But…_pretty_. Yeah. Jimmy was really pretty. He had this soft, aged quality about his eyes, even without Castiel behind them. His face often looked serene but was capable of smiling and laughing a lot bigger than Castiel ever showed, not that Iain had managed more than a couple times to get those larger expressions out of Jimmy. There wasn't much to smile or laugh about these days.

The guy looked good though, clad in one of Iain's smaller Graphic T's from back when Iain was more punk then, well, _lazy_. The jeans were way too big, but Iain's cargos would have been worse. Dean would be closer to Jimmy's size, not that Iain had any thoughts of heading into Dean's room to steal a pair, especially right now.

"Maybe we could get Dean to send you home," Iain offered, not really thinking before he opened his mouth, which was probably why blue eyes looked up at him startled, "I just mean…if we got you out of here, maybe Castiel could get back…in you," he said rather lamely, considering there wasn't really a nice way to say that, "Not that I think you're useless as _you_, just…then you'd be safe. Plus I…kinda figured you'd want to go home…if you had the chance."

Iain hadn't actually gotten much out of Jimmy as far as, well, _anything_. He had been a salesman, Iain knew that, selling radio ads to local businesses. He was kind of quiet about himself otherwise, private, and Iain didn't want to pry, even though his curiosity was killing him. They talked more about how to best pass the time, how they might get through this, what the weather would be like in Colorado right now, or in Illinois, where Jimmy was from, one of the other few things Iain had gotten the guy to admit.

But as much as he didn't know, Iain remembered well that day he first met Castiel, not knowing at the time that he had a demon hiding inside of him. When Dean had asked Castiel if Jimmy had a family waiting for him, that look of sorrow in response was so strong, Iain knew it was emotion more from the vessel than the angel. He assumed that meant Jimmy _did_ have a family, one he deeply missed.

"No, I…I don't think I'd want that right now," Jimmy shook his head, eyes averted downward again, "Dean probably wouldn't allow it if it meant Castiel could reach me again, and…and I wouldn't want to be back there alone. Not now, knowing everything that's happening here."

"Alone?" Iain repeated incredulously, not getting it even though he probably should have. It wasn't until Jimmy's eyes glossed over just the way Iain remembered from the day they met that it hit him, the way Jimmy was _mourning_ more than simply being sad because he was away from a family still waiting for him back home. "Oh," Iain felt like such a jackass for bringing it up, "I didn't…I thought…" _fuck_, "Sorry. Shit, I'm so sorry. What…happened?" Of course Iain regretted that question as soon as he said it. Damn curiosity.

But Jimmy didn't look offended or hurt, just sort of defeated, like so many of them had been looking lately. "Demons…killed my wife and daughter a little over a year ago," Jimmy said in a deeper voice that sounded for a moment more like Castiel, though with a human's depth of emotion, "I didn't even think they existed. Not outside the Bible anyway," he smiled humorlessly.

Iain echoed the expression. He had a bad habit of smiling at inappropriate times anyway. At least now he had the excuse that Jimmy had done it first. "Me either," he admitted. He had already told Jimmy what happened to his mother—possessed and lured away to some demonic cave where Dean and the others hadn't been able to save her.

"It could have been so easy to lose faith," Jimmy went on, more relaxed now that Dean was gone, back resting against the front of the couch, knees drawn up, eyes distant, "I did…for awhile. I was so…_angry_. But then I started thinking…if demons exist then the other side has to too. It was practically proof that God was up there. And I prayed. More like _yelled_," he smiled crookedly again, "For a long time, trying to make sense of it all. I thought…if demons are out there hurting innocent people then…then the good guys must need help, and I _wanted_ to help. Next thing I knew…an _angel_ was asking my permission to use my body to talk with the man destined to save the world, the damn near _Messiah_, and I…of course I said yes. I thought Dean would change everything. No one should have to live with…seeing their family killed that way."

There was nothing Iain agreed with more. He had had such faith in Dean too, believing Dean was everything that others, including Castiel, an _angel_, believed him to be. He had also thought Dean would save the world, make it better somehow. This new Dean said that's what he was doing, but Iain knew better than to believe him.

Scooting along the carpet until he was parallel with Jimmy, his back against the couch too, Iain pulled his knees to his chest, feeling more like a damn teenager than a grown man on the wrong side of 25. There were things he wanted to know, _needed_ to know, and now was his chance to ask.

"You can…see them, like Solrin can. Demons. Can't you?" he began quietly, "That's how you know it was demons that…killed your family. Why you won't look at Dean even though Castiel's gone."

Jimmy didn't say anything to deny that. "Castiel said…there was something in my blood, something special about me that made me fitting to host an angel. It's awful, Iain, _awful_…what I can see," he pulled his knees in tighter, just like Iain was and looking just as young, another man made into a child by all that was wrong with the world, older than Iain otherwise, "But as bad as it is," he went on, "The _memory's_ worse. What Castiel saw when he first looked at Dean like that…it was so much more vivid, so much clearer. I can't get it out of my head." He closed his eyes tight like he could see the image now.

"What does he look like?" Iain dared to ask, which he should have known was the worst possible request, asking Jimmy to describe something he had just admitted was haunting him.

But Jimmy didn't even take a breath, just remained like that, eyes closed, and started talking, "Like the worst possible way you've ever imagined the Devil. All shadow and darkness and those…_teeth_," his eyes sprung upon like the conjured image had shocked him. He shivered deeply then as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. "Dean's in there too," he said, "I can see him. This…light all coiled up in the darkness, like an angel trapped in a cage."

"Malak's taking over completely," Iain said more as statement than question.

"It's different than that," Jimmy shook his head, "They're tied up so much together…I don't think Dean would realize he was doing something wrong even if he killed someone in cold blood."

Okay, Iain was starting to feel that elusive drop in temperature now, shivering so hard, he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. "At least the light's still there," Iain said, though it hardly offered him comfort. He wondered, since Jimmy could see demons beneath the human masks they usually wear, could he see angels too? Had he seen Castiel or just spoken to him? Dean told him once that most humans couldn't see angels in their true form, that's why they needed vessels.

That gave Iain an idea.

"Jimmy, when Castiel first came to you, did you see him?" he went ahead and asked, "I mean really see him, the way he really looks?"

"Yes. For a few moments."

"I'm betting that was way different from seeing Malak inside of Dean."

Jimmy actually laughed. "Understatement," he said, "As opposite as you can get. I think that's why it shakes me so much. It's not just about what I can see but how it makes me feel. It's a whole experience, not just something your eyes register. I don't think I could ever describe it quite right unless you saw it for yourself."

Right, like Iain would ever have the right to see an angel. He had been a chosen vessel for a _demon_. "Don't worry about me. You…" Iain glanced over, waiting until Jimmy's blue eyes—_beautiful_—looked at him earnestly, "You…just think of Castiel. Whenever you remember what Malak looked like, or you see Dean in the halls, or one of the other demons lurking around, you just ignore it and think of what it was like to see _him_. An _angel_. Hold that image…and they can't get to you," Iain mustered his best smile, honest this time, not nervous habit.

The smile Jimmy flashed him in response knocked the air right out of Iain's lungs. "Thanks. You know…you're pretty insightful sometimes, you know that."

It was Iain's turn to laugh. "Yeah. Sure." He was more like a giant _fuck-up_. Of course Iain had been making an effort not to swear quite as much around Jimmy, even if Jimmy would let lose with a 'damn' or 'sonuvabitch' now and again, something Iain found so freakin' adorable he usually had to stand stock-still a moment and take a few calming breaths before he could move again.

Damn it, but life was unfair. Jimmy was a recent widower. A _father_. He wasn't looking to hook up with the nice new _male_ friend he just made just because the world was ending. Well, maybe if things kept going the way they were…

_Bad Iain_, he scolded himself, _head out of the gutter_.

"So…" Iain let his legs drop down and pat his thighs, "We should probably get out of here. Maybe, I don't know, try and tell some of the others about Sasha, since I'm pretty sure, uhh…Dean and Sasha are gonna be indisposed for a bit so the others won't know." Iain was fairly certain he was making a disgusted face as he said that, not that he was trying, and not because there was anything wrong with Sasha and Dean making with the sex. Sasha and Dean were an amazing couple. Beautiful together. The new Sasha and Dean though…not so much.

Jimmy started to get up, stretching and glancing back toward the door with a paranoid peak, his eyes ready to turn away if anyone unwanted should be standing there about to come in. Thankfully, they were still alone. "We should check on Wally first," Jimmy said with a smile at Iain, as Iain was standing up as well, "She's probably hungry."

_Wally_. "Fuck," Iain face-palmed, then remembered who he was with, "Shit. I mean _sorry_. I keep forgetting about her. She usually has the run of this place. It's weird having to keep her locked in. She hates it stuck in my room all day. But if she was out…" Iain sighed at the thought.

"Come on," Jimmy smiled and tugged Iain's arm before continuing for the door.

It was definitely an overreaction to get tingly from some guy he barely knew touching his arm for two seconds. Definitely. It was probably just residual angel mojo or something. Yeah. That was totally it.

Iain followed Jimmy the short distance across the hall to Iain's room, passing a brief look down the hallway toward Dean and Sasha's room, happy it was far enough away that if something were happening in there, at least he didn't have to hear it.

As expected, Wally was curled up on Iain's pillow, always right on his _pillow_, and hopped up as soon as the door opened, defensive mode in place before she realized it was only Iain and Jimmy. Wally relaxed and bounded over, practically jumping into Jimmy's arms, who she seemed to have fallen head over heels with, something that had made Iain jokingly whispered to her, "I saw him first."

"To think I believed she was a cat when I first met her," Iain smiled, petting her as the Gismo-like chimera curled happily into Jimmy's arms, purring like she _was_ a cat, "Too bad more of the supernatural can't be like Wally. I should…really check in with everyone," he sighed then, "Sort of don't know what else to do without Sam, and now Sasha against us too."

"Not against us," Jimmy countered, the smile slipping from his face, "Just _with_ _Dean_. It doesn't…look the same in them. In Sam and Sasha. That darkness, it's…different. I don't really know what that means, but…" he shrugged, stroking Wally on the head a few times more before setting her on the bed and going over to where they had stashed some food. If they left it all out, she'd have eaten it all by now.

"Well, it is different, I guess," Iain agreed, "They're not regular demons. I'll just go down for awhile. You okay or…you wanna come with me? I can bring more food up and…whatever." Iain was so not good with taking care of someone else. Not that Jimmy needed to be taken care of, he just seemed so removed from all this, even if he did remember everything Castiel had seen.

He was also supremely grateful for even the smallest things Iain did for him, like handing over too large clothing to be worn in place of that suit and trenchcoat Jimmy had basically lived in since Castiel took him over. The T-shirt fit fine, but Jimmy was walking on the ends of Iain's jeans again, only the toes of his white socks showing as he turned, smiling, "That'd be great. I…think I'd rather just stay here. I keep thinking…any moment Castiel's going to take me again, have some sort of plan to save us all. But…" trailing off was the trend of the hour, it seemed. Jimmy's smile twitched as he shrugged again.

All Iain could do was nod.

Soon he was headed down the stairs, each step he took careful and gauged, expecting some random demon to appear out of the woodwork. Pretty much any unfamiliar face was a demon in some poor person's body, summoned here by Dean for whatever grand purpose they were carrying out. Iain needed to check on everyone else, the ones he knew were still on his side. The real Dean would expect that much of him.

The first place Iain checked was the side lounge, turning left from the stairs for that long hallway. He was surprised to find Bobby and Sam arguing over something, an argument they quickly ceased upon seeing Iain.

Sam, those awful yellow eyes glowing in the dim light of the room, turned a cold stare onto Iain that he maintained when he turned back to Bobby, saying with finality, "I told Sasha the truth. It was his decision to make. You're either in this with us, Bobby…or sooner or later you're going to find yourself suddenly outside these walls." It was a threat. Sam _threatening_ Bobby.

Iain couldn't help shivering when Sam breezed past him without so much as a glance. Bobby remained in the room, and because he had been so nice to Iain before, much as he was a bit of a Scrooge when it came to his books, Iain went right up to him. "Jesus, Bobby, what the hell was that about? What's going on? You know Sasha's with Dean?"

All Iain wanted was someone else who knew what was happening, someone to talk to, maybe even reassure him. Hell, he'd take bitching and complaining so long as it was something. But Bobby's stare was as startlingly cold as Sam's had been. "I know all right. I know I'm losing my boys one by one coz they're damn _fools_. You better just stay out of it," he said with practiced authority, "Keep your head down and stay the hell _out of it_." With that Bobby stormed right out of the lounge too leaving Iain to stand there gaping.

Everyone was losing it. Even Bobby, the best bet they had for a final pillar of strength. Iain didn't think he could take much more of being proven wrong today.

The next person Iain came across, or rather, saw from afar and then bolted away from, was Solrin. Iain had liked Solrin when he first met him. Sure, the guy was a little weird, but he was a hunter, a bit of crazy often came with the territory. Iain wasn't about to grudge the guy that, no way. But Solrin's brand of crazy went way beyond acceptable. He actually believed all of Malak's garbage, worshiped the Dean/Malak super special twisty cone of doom like the frickin' Second Coming, which Iain supposed was the point. This _was_ the apocalypse after all.

_Shit_, if Iain was a drinker, he'd really be needing some hard liquor about now.

Having snuck around Solrin, hopefully unseen, Iain escaped into the kitchen, where the Harvelles had set up camp, more or less, since Dean and the demons didn't need to eat. There was a clue right there that Dean wasn't Dean. Having to eat or not, the real Dean would still throw back a few burgers every now and again.

This time Sarah was with the Harvelle's instead of the usual addition of Ula, the women seemingly in a heated argument just like Bobby and Sam had been. Once again Iain didn't catch much more than sharp words before the argument broke off at the sight of him, but he was fairly certain Ellen and Jo had labeled Sarah as a traitor. Iain didn't really know what he thought of her, just noticed the difference in that she at least gave him an apologetic look when she passed him on her way out of the kitchen.

"Sorry," Iain began very carefully as he walked slowly toward the Harvelle women. These were not the average bake and chatter types. Cooking was just practical and necessary; they hadn't setup shop here for the atmosphere. These women were fighters, and Iain would put money on either one of them being able to clean his clock, which he hoped he never got to test.

"Don't you worry about it, darlin'," Ellen said, hands clenched into firsts she had set on top of the counter, which Iain had a feeling was so she wouldn't punch something instead, "You and that Jimmy boy doing alright? Need something to eat?" Ellen had this amazing tendency to accept anyone younger than her as another child in her otherwise small family of _Jo_.

"Yeah, I…well, I was going to bring some stuff up. We're okay. But I…don't have the best of news," he said. Ellen and Jo's expressions both dropped as he told them about what had happened upstairs with Sasha and Dean. Iain thought Jo looked like she was about ready to burst into tears.

She sniffed them back valiantly. "Here I thought he was holding us together," she said bitterly, "What now? We just keep waiting around as things get worse and worse?" She pounded the countertop and then pushed away from it, pacing in front of the door leading outside.

"We keep those we can safe for as long as we're capable, that's what, and keep our eyes open," Ellen replied, "Not much more we can do without being stupid about it. Just wish we had a little more help. Or at least some that could get to us." Ellen just looked so tired to Iain, like she hadn't slept since this mess started.

Iain had to do something to take some of that burden off the women's shoulders. "Look, don't worry about any food for me and Jimmy right now, I can come back later for that. Where's Ula? We should try and keep everyone together, don't you think, instead of spitting up?"

Now that Iain really looked, Jo was about as exhausted as Ellen. Both of them gave him weary, noncommittal nods, not really sure what was best anymore. Iain decided he'd just go with it, said he'd look for Ula, see if he could find where Bobby had disappeared to too. He figured it was pointless to ask about Sarah unless he wanted to make the scowls on the Harvelle's faces ingrain that much deeper.

Much as Iain knew the sex demons had all been cleared out by Dean recently, he should have remembered that Sasha's aunt was still around. He hadn't remembered that though, not until he caught her making herself a drink behind the bar, which he thought a bit…odd.

Odder yet was when he tried to start up a conversation with her, make sure she was alright, and she just brushed him off with a shake of her head like everything had gone to Hell, which of course it _had_, but it made him wonder if she knew instinctively that Sasha had betrayed them.

The way she said, "Be careful, kid," as she left the bar for who knows where, felt even more off compared to the succubus Iain had first met, but he didn't dwell on it. He wasn't too worried about her, even though she had a strange resigned look on her face like there was a death sentence particularly on _her_ head. Iain couldn't imagine why she'd think that.

This left Iain alone in the bar, helplessly wondering who else he had to check on before falling prey to the thought that it didn't really matter anymore. No one was coming to their rescue. No one was coming to help them. He knew that as well as any of the others.

Dragging his feet as he went for the main doors, knowing there was nowhere to go but wanting to see outside anyway, see what the world _looked_ like outside the Roadhouse walls, Iain tried to keep his hand from shaking as he reached for the handle and pulled.

It was a beautiful day. Summer, warm, sun shining with a few puffy white clouds littering the otherwise true blue sky. Beautiful. But there weren't any birds singing, no insects chirping, no calm breeze even, nothing but a strange silence like he was looking at a painting with no real life to it.

Michael Keaton sprang to mind. Well, more Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis, since they were the good guys in _**Beetlejuice**_ and had been the ones to first try and leave their home only to fall that ridiculous drop and almost get eaten by the sandworm. Of course all three of them were technically already dead in that movie, and Iain, for now, was still alive, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to risk the chance of getting eaten by anything.

Somewhere out there was a barrier, a place where the veil of sunny goodness fell to the dark world Malak had made, where Iain thought angels and fae might very well be lying in wait, trying to break their way in. Maybe there were incubi and succubae too, the ones Dean had banished and more. And then there were the hunters. Sasha had said something about hunters trying to launch an offensive. So if that was true, if all of Iain's assumptions were true, then there was an army out there. A whole freaking _army_. And they couldn't do anything to help the people in the Roadhouse.

Iain was thankful that the demons Dean had summoned, more and more seeming to show up ever since Dean first got rid of the sex demons earlier that day, were hardly ever inside. That gave Iain a pretty good idea of what Dean was planning.

They couldn't begin any of the 'good' Dean wanted to do if all that opposition was really so close. Maybe the fae and angels had something of a barrier of their own that was limiting Dean in some way. Whatever it was, Dean had to get rid of them, had to pull in his own army little by little until he was ready to launch and finish the very war he had sold himself to Malak to prevent.

The irony of it totally _sucked_.

Shutting the door, Iain had no idea what he should do. Get some food, maybe something to drink, and bring it up to Jimmy. That was about all he was capable of. He hated how helpless he felt, a helplessness Jimmy sympathized with. Iain really didn't understand why Dean was keeping them around.

Okay, so Jimmy was Castiel's vessel so keeping him here stopped that from happening again, but what about Iain? Maybe it was some last shred of Dean, holding on to something that reminded him of being human. Though that might just be wishful thinking.

Iain sighed and turned to head…somewhere, rubbing a hand down his face as he did. His heart stopped dead in his chest when he brought that hand down to the sight of a little blonde girl in a white dress standing in front of him, grinning.

_Shit_. Demons didn't possess little girls, did they?

"Uhh…" Iain wasn't sure if he wanted to back up against the door or run for it.

"I like you," the girl titled her head, smiling all the more blindingly at him, "You're cute. And Dean thinks you're really smart. Are you smart? I bet you have everything all figured out by now, don't you?" There was something of a threat in how sickly sweet she asked that.

Iain's insides twisted as he realized this _was_ a demon. A freaking little girl-possessed demon. "I-I'm…not that smart. I don't think I know much of anything," he tried to move slowly around the girl, hoping to bypass her and make it to the stairs, not that it was really a safe haven up there, but still.

"Oh, you silly, you're just being modest," she reached out and grabbed one of his wrists with both her tiny hands. The girl couldn't have been more than eight years old. "Dean's all busy upstairs with his shiny new toy," she pouted, "I'm bored. You'll play with me, won't you?"

And there came an extra helping of nausea. Iain seriously hoped she didn't mean 'play' the way Dean was 'playing' with his new…toy right now. He tried to pull his arm back from her but her grip was like a vice tightening every second.

"Please," she said as if she was merely a real child wanting to play dolls, "I'll make it so fun, I promise. You'll play, won't you? I like your shirt. Red's my favorite color in the whole wide world."

Iain suddenly really wished he had pulled on a different zip-up this morning. "Yeah, I'll…bet it is," his voice shook when he spoke, "But I…can't play right now, okay? I…I…please, Dean wouldn't want you to hurt me," he sputtered all at once, unable to play along with her game. He just wanted her to let him go. It was slowly becoming tug-of-war as he tried to pull from her grip.

"I'm not going to hurt you, silly-goose," she giggled, "The last one Dean let me play with isn't any fun anymore, that's all. I need someone new to play with."

The_ last one? That_ gave Iain a sinking feeling. Then it hit him that he hadn't checked on everyone yet. Ula hadn't been with Ellen and Jo. He had forgotten to keep looking for _Ula_. "Wh-What did you do to her?" he asked, certain he didn't actually want the answer to that but unable to stop the question from passing his lips. The pristine whiteness of the girl's dress did not reassure him that something bloody hadn't happened.

Like the blood he just now noticed covering her hands, staining his arm as she clutched him.

_Oh god._

"Lilith!"

Iain's heart caught in his throat, knowing that name, knowing that he was very right in being terrified for his life. But he also knew the voice of the person who had just called it. Which he wouldn't have believed if he didn't turn and see _Ula_ right then coming into the bar from a side entrance, looking, well _alive_, but definitely not one hundred percent.

Ula's blue-green eyes went wide upon seeing Lilith with Iain, her steps faltering as she spoke quickly on, "I know you want to keep…playing, Lilith, honey, but…I just passed Sam and…and he said you were needed outside, if that's okay. I'm sure we can play later again," she smiled in that placating, couldn't be more _false_ sort of way.

A gasp left Iain at Lilith's sudden release of his arm. "Oh goody. You swear you'll play more later?" she walked toward Ula with her hands clasped cutely together, "And you won't get tired and say you need to stop like you did before?" she put on an impressive pout.

It was obvious that Ula was one of those people who genuinely loved kids, and was trying her best to infuse that into how she addressed Lilith. It amazed Iain she managed so well. "Of course," she said, "I was just being a lazy-gus. I've been out of practice with all that, but you've been a real help. We can play as long as you like next time. Better go find Sam right now though. He can be such a meany. I bet he needs your bright face to help cheer him up," she nodded with a renewed smile Iain actually almost believed.

Disturbing as it was, Lilith was soon giggling again as she bounded off to find Sam as instructed. As soon as Lilith was out of site, Ula, the demure and yet tall young woman with strawberry blonde hair Iain thought looked a bit different somehow than last he saw her, lost her feigned smile in an instant.

"Acting that way is awful, I know," she walked up to Iain, "But it's what makes her happy. Creepy little thing," she shivered, "Are you okay? I haven't been able to check up on anyone since Lilith…well, since I started playing with her."

Yep, Iain was official freaked. "Ula, that demon had blood all over her hands!" he grabbed Ula and started looking her over frantically, sure he would find a gaping hole somewhere, "What the fuck was she doing to you? Are _you_ okay? What does playing even mean to that thing?"

"Oh, well…" Ula was going a little bug-eyed at how Iain was basically patting her down, which he realized a little suddenly he didn't actually need to do since there obviously wasn't any wounds like he had been fearing, "You know I'm a shapeshifter," Ula said with a slight lilt, like she wasn't sure if he did or not.

He nodded. He had basically kept record of the recruits as they were coming in initially, and was one of the few people who knew what everyone was and what everyone could do.

"Well, it's not all easy, X-men Mystique like shifting, you know. More like…ripping your skin off for the new you underneath," she shrugged shyly.

Iain's jaw dropped a little. "Oh."

"Among other not so pleasant things," Ula nodded, uneasy smile on her face and eyes somewhat averted. She was shy and smiley in a way Iain could totally relate to, which actually made it take way too long for the two of them to have conversations. "Anyway, Lilith…wanted to watch me change. Become certain people. So I…did. A lot. And well, it's usually not too bad coz it can be like shedding skin for a snake. When it's the right time, it actually feels kind of good. But you start ripping off that fresh new skin right away afterwards and it's…not so pleasant anymore."

Okay, Iain was really glad he hadn't eaten anything lately, because that image was _sick_. "Lilith had you ripping your skin off all afternoon?" he droned nauseously, knowing that it obviously entailed quite a bit more than that, but still. Then he remembered that Lilith's hands had been bloody, so it hadn't just been Ula ripping her _own_ skin off.

_Jesus H. Christ._

"I'm gonna go out of my god damn mind in this fucking place," Iain scrubbed another hand down his face, wishing he could scrub the last few days from his mind at the same time.

Ula looked on sympathetically. "It's okay. It didn't actually…hurt me any. Not really. And besides, I don't mind keeping an eye on her if it means I can make sure that little girl's okay. There's a real girl in there, you know, and…well, it just makes me kind of ill thinking of her off doing things to someone else. Better she's playing with me than…well, _you_," she looked him over.

Iain couldn't exactly deny he was grateful for that. He didn't have any extra layers of skin to lose, after all. "Thanks. Really. But it's still awful you had to do that. That you're willing to do it again just to amuse that thing. Everything's a big fucking mess right now, Ula. Sasha's with Dean now too. Like Sam. I don't think we're gonna get out of this."

It was the first time Iain had actually said it out loud. That they were _fucked_ and nothing could change it. He had thought it enough, but saying it made it feel all the more immediate.

The fact that Ula didn't contradict him did not help to improve Iain's mood.

"Why do you fear the world Dean will create for us?" came the sudden arrival of Solrin, who Iain had thought he had avoided, but apparently the guy was still hanging around. Ula and Iain both turned to see him walking into the bar. "You have nothing to fear if you are loyal. Dean favors you, or you would not be here. Why would you wish to fight him?"

Great. Just what Iain wanted. A god damn _sermon_. "You're the worst, you know that," he sneered at Solrin, unwilling to be afraid, so damn beyond caring what happened to him right now that he was actually confident in the face of someone he usually feared, "How the hell can you follow him so blindly? Dean is not some savior, Sol, he's the bad guy, the _villain_. Dean, the real Dean, he knew that. And he…I don't know what he was thinking," Iain cringed at the thought of Dean having willingly left them to this, "But it doesn't matter now. Either we play along and bear witness to the end of the world, or we end up dead some horrible way, I know it. Now…we're just waiting to find out how bad it's gonna be. And you're _helping_ him," he shook his head at Solrin, who he had once thought he could one day count as a friend but who he detested now, he really did. How wounded Solrin looked to hear Iain say all that did not spurn forth any sympathy.

"I do not follow blindly," Solrin countered, "I know what I see. Dean is the light—"

"_Fuck_ your light," Iain snapped, actually taking a few steps closer to Solrin, stopped only by Ula holding him back out of fear that he was not in his right mind, and maybe he wasn't. He didn't belong in this world. He was no hunter. All he had wanted to do was help, but he couldn't do anything. "When Dean kills me because I won't follow him, not because I'll go against him, because let's face it, I'm no hero here. When he _kills me_ because I just want to go home and not worship him like a fucking _god_…then maybe you'll believe me."

Pushing from Ula, not thinking what an awful thing it was to just leave her, not thinking about anything but how low he felt, how angry, how lost, Iain stormed past Solrin for the stairs, leaving the white-haired man staring agape, truly speechless. Iain didn't stop at the kitchen to get food like he had promised Jimmy, he just went up, went quickly past Dean and Sasha's door to his own. He didn't acknowledge Jimmy. Barely even heard or saw him.

He just crumbled to the carpet and wept.

tbc...

A/N: More soon from Jimmy! Then things will really be moving toward the end.

Crim


	93. Part 4: What Jimmy Saw

For the record, I totally planned this way before 'When the Levee Breaks'. God damn Kripke and his mind reading...

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Part 4: What Jimmy Saw

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Iain had put on a strong face for Jimmy since the moment Castiel was banished from his body, but Jimmy was not fooled. He knew well, could _see_ the broken young man behind the caring, mournful brown eyes, and understood the show of strength for what it really was. Sacrifice. Sacrifice for Jimmy. Being strong _for Jimmy_ even though Iain needed someone to be strong for him too.

So it was no chore at all, really, to rush to Iain's side and pull him close when the tall brunette stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed to the carpet like so much dead weight. No chore at all.

"What happened?" Jimmy asked into the mess of Iain's floppy brown hair, "Iain? God, please tell me? What happened down there?"

It was not strange to Jimmy to hold another man that way, intimately and close like brothers, because Jimmy had always been physically affectionate with the people he cared about. He hugged his wife and daughter every chance he got when they were still alive. Hugged his friends, friends he had drifted away from while struggling to rediscover his faith. He would have gladly hugged his brother the same way if he had one, if he had _any_ family left.

Hugging Iain was easy. _Easy_. Both of them on the floor, and Iain just so limp as he cried into Jimmy's shoulder. "Iain, please," Jimmy tried again, hating the sound of those ragged sobs, almost two days worth of putting on that mask for Jimmy's sake finally cracking, falling away, leaving Iain bare before the worries and pain of what was happening to them and to the world. Jimmy held on tighter, rocking with Iain until the crying grew softer.

"We can't win…" Iain spoke finally, a whisper almost too low to hear.

"Don't say that. _Don't say that_," Jimmy squeezed the larger man in his arms, "Dean had a plan. I know he did. And somehow, someone will figure it out. It is not Dean's destiny to destroy the world. His light is still there, remember?" Jimmy thought his words would be at least somewhat comforting, but the moment he said the word 'light', Iain choked on a few more clumsy sobs.

Jimmy coaxed Iain for awhile longer to tell him what had happened, to tell him anything, but Iain only cried, muttered thank yous and apologies, but didn't speak any further, like he just couldn't bear to hear aloud everything he had witnessed, whatever that had been.

As curious as Jimmy was, he respected that, helped Iain to the bed and got him to lie down without pushing for anything more. He didn't remove Iain of any of his clothing, didn't dislodge the covers so he could wrap them around Iain, but merely helped Iain curl up as he was. Jimmy sat beside him then, hand stroking circles along Iain's back who was turned on his side slightly.

It was a pleasure to be the strong one, to be strong for Iain, but Jimmy also hated it because they were running out of people they could count on, running out of people capable of figuring out Dean's elusive plan. He didn't want to believe Iain was right, that they could no longer win no matter what they did. To see Dean with Malak raging inside of him was startling and horrifying. But to have once seen Dean as he truly is through an _angel's_ eyes stayed with Jimmy as strongly as the image of Castiel himself.

Dean _did_ have a plan. Dean was good and just. Dean would save the world.

Jimmy doubted, oh how he doubted, but he clung regardless to those thoughts and ideals. Dean's light was still there, and it was bright, unquenchable goodness, righteousness, that Jimmy could not believe even Malak could fully extinguish.

He mumbled all this in soothing tones to Iain, the motion of his hand on Iain's back constant, Iain, who had a light of his own that was stronger than the librarian would ever believe of himself. Castiel hadn't called Iain beautiful that time purely because he kept in shape and had a handsome face, after all.

Hours passed, the summoned and possibly false sun setting into night. It grew late quickly and Jimmy realized that he hadn't heard much of anything outside the door in some time. Iain had finally fallen off to sleep, something Jimmy was very grateful for. He was hungry though, knew Iain would be hungry when he woke up, and could really use a few glasses of water, of _something_. Jimmy had half a mind to go down and steal a bottle from behind the bar.

At the very least, he knew he should go down to the kitchen. Most of the others should be asleep, or trying to sleep. Dean couldn't be up to too much, or surely he would have called for them all to bear witness. They were still trapped for now in the Roadhouse, still preparing. For all Jimmy knew, Dean and Sasha might never have left their room.

Jimmy almost felt like he was abandoning Iain, and would have stayed regardless if not for Wally, who had curled up against Iain's belly as soon as Iain settled on the bed. "Watch him for me," Jimmy smiled as he pet Wally gently on the head, "I won't be long." He hoped that was true as he mustered the strength of will to go to the door and walk cautiously downstairs for the first time since he was left painfully alone in his body.

As Jimmy had hoped, the Roadhouse was dark and no one seemed to be around. There were no unseemly noises coming from anywhere, so he considered that a blessing too.

He wondered if Castiel could still see them, still watch, and was merely barred from communicating or doing anything else. If Castiel could see then had he been forced to watch that awful demonic Dean and Sasha make a mockery of the love the _real_ men shared? Jimmy had never been embarrassed when Castiel's observances of Dean included things he normally would have thought inappropriate, because through Castiel's eyes it was nothing short of _beautiful_, pure love shared between two people.

Granted, Jimmy blushed to think of some of the things he had seen now that Castiel was no longer in him to filter things in an angelic way, but it pained him more than anything, pained him to know that love so glorious was tainted now.

He thought it must be something residual from Castiel that made him love Dean so much, and want nothing but his happiness, _Dean's_ happiness maybe even more than he wanted the world to be saved. It went hand in hand though, of course it did, because Dean as he truly was would want nothing more than for the good guys to win. Jimmy knew that with certainty.

The kitchen seemed darker than any other place Jimmy had walked through, quieter too, but he had to flip the light on if he wanted to avoid crashing into something and causing an awful ruckus. The kitchen was empty, the Roadhouse still seemingly still, so Jimmy set to work gathering some more food, snacking a bit on a sandwich he hastily made, and then seeing about some water bottles that would be easier to carry upstairs than filled glasses. He was just about finished when he heard a dull creek from behind him.

Jimmy whirled around, expecting to see someone standing there, but he saw only the doorway leading out of the kitchen into darkness. His pulse was beating wildly from the mere thought that someone would find him, one of the demons maybe, but he tried to breathe, just _breathe_ slow and deep as he turned back around.

The sandwich dropped to the floor, a gasp leaving Jimmy's lips at the sudden sight of _Dean_ sitting on the stool right beside him. Jimmy could hardly ever register that it was Dean when he first looked at him, not really, but he knew who it had to be for all the swirls of shadow and dangerous attributes—claws, fangs, some things unimaginable, and all much crueler than any way Sasha ever looked.

But it was a veil draped over Dean, shimmering as he moved, so that eventually Jimmy could see _Dean_ beneath, not just the light of his soul but the form, the _body_ of Dean Winchester that was so horribly infected.

Jimmy turned his head away, not wanting to look anymore. "D-Dean," he trembled, remembering too well how Castiel had trembled too, had sprinted back, had feared for not only his own safety in the face of a Malak-possessed Dean but for Jimmy's as well, "I was only…I was j-just…"

"Grabbing a midnight snack?" Dean filled in for him, the chair rubbing against the kitchen floor as Dean pushed it back and stood as if he had been sitting there all along, Jimmy seeing only out of the corner of his vision how Dean bent down to retrieve the lost sandwich. "Thirty second rule right?" he said as if he was purely Dean, the real and complete _Dean_, "I'm sure it's still okay. Ellen keeps a pretty clean house, ya know. Here."

Still staring half at the floor, half at the edge of the counter, Jimmy could only see a glimpse of Dean's hand outstretched toward him, holding out the half-eaten sandwich. Knowing he was trembling and trying so hard not to, Jimmy accepted the sandwich, it being rather difficult to take it since he never actually looked up.

"Are you really that afraid of me, Jimmy Novak?" Dean said with a smirk in his voice, a cruel, pleased smirk.

Jimmy didn't want to be sent away, even if it might mean Castiel could take him again. But he couldn't lie either. "Yes," he said, frozen in place, frozen by Dean's continued stare that Jimmy knew was red on black, just like Dean's jeans and layered shirts.

"Why? I haven't hurt anyone. I'm only trying to make things better."

If Jimmy had enough breath in his lungs to laugh, he might have. "I can see you," he admitted, "You don't have to lie to me. You're not Dean. You're not Malak either. You're something…worse. Maybe you believe what you say. But I don't," he risked a glance up, hating that the sight of Dean made him tremble more deeply, that cold stare, the shimmer of those rows of fangs, the great expanse of _darkness_.

Dean cocked his head just slightly, and Jimmy almost laughed again, hysterically, at the irony of how it made him think of Castiel, always curious, always questioning, so excited to understand humanity in a human's actual form. "You know, _Jimmy_," Dean began, taking slow, purposeful steps closer so that Jimmy had to back away or risk Dean being totally upon him, "I wish I could have kept Castiel with us, but I knew he wouldn't understand. I thought maybe you would. You still can, you know. Sam. Sasha. They understand now. I can give that to all of you. Take your fears. Show you how powerful you really can be, so much more than simply…_seeing_ things." He reached out for Jimmy's face as he said that.

Terrified Dean would do something to him with that touch, Jimmy backed away more quickly, reminded once more of Castiel's frantic attempt to escape Dean, before Jimmy came to a sudden, horrible stop as his back hit the refrigerator. "I-I don't…want that," he said, doubting his wants mattered in this, "What remains of Castiel will always be stronger than your influence," he finished with contempt. He did not feel as sure and confident as he was forcing himself to sound, but he still had faith in Castiel. In God. In the plan he knew Dean once had.

Frowning, Dean's hand dropped. "You have to be kept close," he said as if only to himself. Then, "There is so much potential in you," he said with something of a hunger that made Jimmy's insides twist, especially since Dean leaned into him then, Dean's face coming close to the crook of Jimmy's neck where he inhaled deeply, "If only you'd see it. All that I could give you. Even…your family," he whispered cruelly.

Those simple words, for a moment, erased Jimmy's faith completely. He closed his eyes, tears stinging them as he shivered against the fridge, Dean so close, _too close_.

Jimmy could not lose as others had lost. He could not. He thought of Castiel and took strength in how the angel had tried to stand up to Malak time and time again. Castiel had tried, even helpless, even terrified. He had failed, certainly. But he had tried. Jimmy had to _try_.

Fists clenched, eyes opening to stare into red on black unflinching, Jimmy mustered what faith he could still cling to, saying clearly, _boldly_, "Get thee behind me, Satan."

Fire and anger flashed in the awful-colored eyes, Dean stumbling back a step, surprised it seemed, maybe even flinching at the words in a way that made Jimmy feel empowered, if only slightly.

Then Dean was throwing his head back with a long, loud laugh, and all the fight flew right out of Jimmy again.

"Did you actually think that would do anything?" Dean shook his head as his laughter died, "I'm not what you think. I'm much, much more," he stepped into Jimmy's body again.

"You are nothing but a shadow," Jimmy flattened himself to the fridge door, willing himself to stay calm long enough to outlast Dean's fury, that he could see flaring in the demonic eyes with promise of pain and violence he clearly wanted to lash out with. But then something flickered, something unmistakably bright, and Dean stepped back again.

"Trying to goad me isn't very bright, pal," he sounded so much like the real Dean for a moment, "You're lucky I mean it when I say I don't want anyone to get hurt. Just trying to make things better here, make the world better, and everyone's against me. The opposition is stronger than I expected, but tomorrow…things will be different."

That did not sound promising at all. Jimmy knew that Dean, the real Dean within, was still capable of keeping the demon in him from tearing Jimmy apart. But he could not take comfort in that when he also knew that mercy was part of the seduction. "I will never choose you," he said, his trembles finally stilling enough for him to relax away from the fridge.

Dean's eyes flashed briefly again, rage glowing darkly in them just long enough for Jimmy to notice, but Dean merely smirked. "I don't need _you_ to choose me," he said. Then he was walking away. Leaving Jimmy holding that damn sandwich he no longer had the stomach for, and _walking away_.

After chucking the rest of the sandwich in the garbage by the pantry, Jimmy quickly gathered the other things he had planned to bring up, left the kitchen, and raced back to Iain's bedroom. He wasn't shaking, but his heart was pounding so loudly, he felt his pulse visible on his neck, echoing loudly in his ears like a base drum.

Iain was still sleeping, thank goodness, Wally curled up with him, only peaking out at Jimmy briefly. Jimmy deposited the food and water bottles on the dresser, clutching its edges a moment, half wanting to send it toppling over with a crash, as conflicting emotions surged through him. He was no hunter, no more than Jimmy, but this fight was still his, still _theirs_.

The last thing Jimmy wanted right now, he realized, was to go back to his own room next door. He couldn't be alone right now. He was so tired though, so soul-weary. Walking over to the bed, his socked feet catching on the bottoms of the jeans he had borrowed from Iain, much too large for him, he climbed carefully onto the bed, not wanting to wake Iain from what looked to be a dreamless sleep.

He laid down on top of the covers as Iain was, head on the other pillow, the bed so small that his whole side touched Iain just slightly, the bed dipping in the middle from their combined weight. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but lying next to Iain who was deep in slumber, who was for the moment peaceful, reminded Jimmy that he was not alone, even with the hole Castiel had left.

Soon the gentle sound of Wally's purrs drifted into nothing.

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Jimmy was surprised when he woke up that he had actually fallen asleep so easily. He felt, for the first time in days, refreshed. He did not in any way feel _good_, but they were, after all, still in the midst of the apocalypse. But he felt rested, and for that he was grateful.

It was only after blinking at the ceiling for several moments that Jimmy remembered he had not gone to bed alone, that he was not, in fact, even in his own room. He was with Iain, who he could feel watching him with intent, surprised eyes.

Turning his head to look at the man beside him, Jimmy felt his lips curling into a smile at how Iain instantly blushed red, their faces close, as if the other man had just awoken and rolled over to a startling shock.

Iain jerked suddenly into a sitting position, shame and embarrassment riddling his expression. "I fell asleep," he said in an awkward sort of statement.

"So did I," Jimmy nodded, sitting up a little more gradually than Iain had since he was still groggy from waking and not nearly as jumpy. He didn't understand why Iain looked so bothered by this.

"Shit," Iain fell into expletives as he often did, something Jimmy did not mind nearly as much as Castiel. In fact, from Iain, Jimmy found it oddly endearing. "_Shit_," Iain said again, hand nervously scratching into his hair, "I didn't…I-I…didn't…" he was looking Jimmy over as he tried to form a sentence he never quite finished, like he was looking for something that would surely condemn him. Then he sighed deep relief, something Jimmy started to understand was because Iain had finally noticed they were both fully clothed and _on top_ of the covers.

A small, unfamiliar feeling fluttered in Jimmy's chest as he recognized what Iain feared had happened. "You fell asleep. I didn't want to be alone, that's all. I'm…sorry," he shrugged helplessly, feeling a bit of shame rise in his throat as well. He hated to think he was making Iain uncomfortable by being so easily physical with him. Jimmy didn't mean anything by it. At least…he didn't think he did.

"No," Iain shook his head, regretful all over again, "It's okay. I'm…glad. I think I would have hated to wake up alone. Just…not used to someone else being there. You know?"

A dull, hollow pain Jimmy would never completely escape echoed in his heart. "Yes. I know," he said. He hadn't slept well for weeks after Amelia died, his wife, who had slept beside him for so many years before then. It was the hardest part sometimes, trying to sleep with one side of the bed gone cold. He never could sleep in the middle.

Iain was a very nervous person when he had something on his mind he didn't know how to express, Jimmy had learned that watching Iain through Castiel.

He remembered that day when Iain had fumbled and sputtered about finding Jimmy _hot_. Jimmy hadn't really known how to take that at the time but he'd been flattered. Now, actually focusing on that for a moment, remembering it fully for the first time since finding himself alone in Iain's company, Jimmy's face grew strangely hot under Iain's stare.

In very little time the usually comfortable silence that surrounded them was becoming, well, not awkward, really, just…strange. Different. Jimmy didn't know what it meant, and was trying very hard to figure it out, when suddenly Iain was leaping off the bed, looking very flustered.

"I, uhh…I should probably run down and get some breakfast for us or something, huh?" he spouted quickly, turning then and seeing the food Jimmy had acquired last night, "_Fuck_. I mean _oh_. You already did. Then, umm…maybe I should go down anyway, ya know, and…see if anything crazy's happening. Yeah."

"_Iain_," Jimmy slipped off the bed after Iain since the tall brunette was already heading for the door, still in the same clothes, with his hair a wild mess, "You don't have to go. Something last night really shook you. I know the feeling. You don't have to go down alone. I can't keep hiding up here anyway. Don't worry, Dean's not going to hurt me." Jimmy was certain of that now, though he doubted the truth would be any better than death.

Iain hesitated at the door, looking back like he honestly didn't know what to do with himself, terrified he would do something so unforgiveable that Jimmy would never speak to him again. That was just silly. Iain was a sweet, caring guy, who thought very little of himself. It was a trait Jimmy had already grown frustrated with in Dean; he did not need anyone else in his life playing the part of martyr.

He realized the irony in that he sort of was one himself. Playing vessel for an angel didn't come with any survival guarantees, after all.

"Take a shower. Get changed. Let yourself relax a little first. Then we can go down together," Jimmy offered. He wished they didn't have to go down at all, either of them, but like he had already said, they couldn't hide up here. There weren't many others who were still on the side of right in this war, and who had an advantage. Being in the Roadhouse wasn't the best advantage, granted, but it was something.

Still hesitant by the door, Iain soon shook himself like he was coming out of a completely unwarranted trance, smiling sheepishly and scrubbing a hand back through his hair again. "Sorry, I'm…I mean…I kinda suck at this," he sighed, "I think…" his eyes met Jimmy's directly, brown wrapping warm around blue, "I think I…might…"

"Might?" Jimmy prompted since Iain had sort of trailed.

But something about Jimmy's voice snapped Iain to attention like he hadn't been completely aware of his actions. "Uhh…might, umm…take you up on that idea, that's all. Yeah. A shower…would be good. And clean clothes. Then…we can go downstairs. Together." Iain plastered on a smile, wide and not quite real. He nodded to himself and moved quickly for the bathroom then, pleased to have an excuse to be alone, it seemed.

Jimmy was a little confused by all that but he figured Iain was still shaken about waking up to someone unexpected. He decided to change while he waited for Iain to come out of the bathroom. Iain had already told Jimmy that he could borrow whatever he wanted for clothing, so he started rifling carefully through the closet and dresser drawers for whatever was smallest.

By the time Jimmy heard Iain starting up the shower he had picked out another Graphic T and jeans. He liked the T-shirt as it had a sort of Celtic cross design the real Dean probably would have made a joke about, Jimmy being the vessel for an _angel_ and all. It made him smile, just a little, to think of that.

The sun was shining again when Jimmy peered out the window, opening it in hopes of letting in some fresh air, though it came in smelling stale, fake. Every day looked beautiful to the naked eye, but it was only a mask. Jimmy hadn't told Iain that he could see the truth when he looked outside.

He could see clearly where the false backdrop fell away to Dean's barrier, a jagged shield keeping angels and fae and humans out. Jimmy couldn't see those soldiers beyond the barrier's edge, but he knew, somehow just _knew_ they were there.

There were layers, layers that did not all belong to Dean's power. The angels, fae, whatever they were doing to build their own shield, it could not keep Dean in, but it must be making it difficult for his army to reach him, the demons coming in small groups or singular, only very powerful ones able to break in without trouble.

Dean needed the whole of Hell's army before he could face those set against him, but once he did there would be no stopping him. Jimmy knew their time was very short. The war would be a sweeping win and Dean would be free to change the world to his image, which Jimmy knew could not be anything but horrid, an echo of what he saw whenever he had to look at what Dean had become.

There had to be a way to change the course they were on. There had to be. The real Dean had planned for something and it was only a matter of figuring out what. Jimmy wasn't a fool though; he knew it was easier said than done.

Thankfully, Iain was much more coherent and less jittery when he came out of the bathroom in just a towel, though he was a little red because of that fact, apologizing for not having brought clothes in with him. Jimmy said he didn't mind, which he didn't, drawn strangely to the sharp grooves of hip-bones disappearing into the towel before politely turning so Iain could change.

Once they were ready to go, Wally, finally rousing from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, chirped at Jimmy to be given some food before being left alone again. He happily obliged. "Don't worry, girl," he said as he and Iain were about to go see what this new day would bring them, "We're going to figure this out and bring the real Dean back, just you wait."

Wally made a mournful little call that reminded Jimmy even more than usual of those mogwai from the 80s movie. Of Gizmo and his tiny voice like a child. Iain gave her an extra pat, which was all they could really offer her, and then they were on their way.

They couldn't help taking note, passed between them only as a disturbed glance, that it was too quiet in the Roadhouse now with so few of them. That changed as they neared the bottom of the stairs, voices drifting to them from inside the bar that sounded heated. And there were many, everyone else they knew of to be staying here, if Jimmy was hearing right. They entered the bar to the sight of a crowd, Dean, Sam, and Sasha at its center.

It was everyone all right, Lilith and Amon included.

"It's the best way, Dean," Sam was saying, raising his voice above that of Ellen's, who had been dissenting, "You want to stay here and fortify this place because this is where we need to win. But if we leave for just a short while, gather the army somewhere else and then come back, we'll be ready that much faster. Some people can stay behind to detract attention," he glanced around the bar, noticing Jimmy and Iain at the door with a swift glance of his mottled yellow eyes.

Dean followed Sam's gaze and smiled as he saw the new arrivals. "Everyone's here now. Good. And I agree with your plan, Sammy. We can take almost everyone and go somewhere else just long enough to open a gate to Hell. Only for needed backup, you all understand," he looked to the remaining dissenters amongst them, "They won't expect that. Why don't we go—"

"To Bobby's," Sasha jumped in with a wicked smile, so close beside Dean he was practically up against him, a human hand sliding up Dean's chest—Sasha clothed and human looking again, though his eyes remained bright cat-eyed red—as he licked his lips and continued, "It's perfect. Secluded. Big house for everyone. All those junkers to block what we do from the peeping public," he spoke with another flick of his tongue like he wanted to lick Dean's lips instead of his own right in front of everyone.

It made Jimmy shiver, the perversion of the love he had once been able to see so brightly. Still, Sasha and Sam…they did not look the way Dean or the demons looked. They were…unique. The darkness was there, a haze around them, but it didn't penetrate, like it was merely hovering.

Jimmy gasped, quickly trying to muffle the sound when he did, but it was difficult. He had just spotted Sasha's aunt, Shiarra, who he could see was not Shiarra at all but the Trickster in disguise! It was impossible and yet he could not deny what he saw. Did Dean not know? Jimmy reached over and grasped Iain's hand, squeezing it reassuringly at this discovery, because surely the Trickster could help them.

"I'll keep watch here, Dean," Lilith trotted up to Dean happily, wearing a poor innocent girl that reminded Jimmy sickeningly of his daughter, "Please, let me, oh please, _please_."

Dean smiled down at her and took her face in his hand like a father favoring his child. "Of course. Amon too, but you're in charge. The demons already here will stay. This is the Harvelle's Roadhouse," he looked up at Ellen and Jo, "So you can stay too. Since that's what you seem to want. The rest of us—"

"And Ula!" Lilith piped up again, "Please, Dean. Ula and I have been having so much fun together," she giggled and raced from Dean's side over to the blonde shapeshifter, who smiled weakly at Lilith's show of apparent affection.

The way Iain suddenly gripped Jimmy's hand like a vice gave him some idea of why Iain had come back to the room so distraught last night.

No one spoke against this decision—leaving the Roadhouse, and leaving a handful of the group behind—but Jimmy had a horrible sinking feeling that this would not bode well for any of them. Sam and Sasha looked too pleased, the Trickster in Shiarra's form looked nauseous, and Bobby just looked angry. Only Solrin seemed resigned, not happy nor upset, ever the dutiful slave to Dean's will. And Sarah, Jimmy supposed, who was far too good at looking blank, at looking unreadable.

He remembered Sasha coming into the library before he accepted Dean, talking about how he couldn't understand why Sarah would betray them unless Sam had done something to her. Of course Sasha soon made his own impossible choice, turning his back willingly on all of them, so perhaps it was a lost point now.

Jimmy felt the need to speak up, to say something, but he didn't really know what he would dissent with. He felt helpless again and angry that this move to Bobby's would speed things along toward an end he kept hoping there was some way to prevent. It killed him, truly killed him to see Dean so wrong, to see Sam and Sasha blanketed in darkness, to see demons amongst their group of friends.

"Let's not waste any time," Dean said, raising a hand into the air, "Keep an eye on things, Lil. When we return, everything's going to be different. You can count on that." He snapped his fingers, a sudden queasiness taking over Jimmy's senses, Iain squeezing his hand even tighter, tight enough that Jimmy felt his knuckles crack.

The next time he blinked their surroundings were different. It was dark at first, so dark Jimmy could barely see, except the silhouettes of the others and the shadows of furniture. Then someone was moving, _Dean_ was moving, Jimmy soon saw, as Dean went to the window, threw open the shades and summoned the false sun in a mockery of 'let there be light!'

They were outside the barrier, at Bobby Singer's home, but Dean could still surround them with his power and keep them off the map from prying eyes.

Sunlight filled the room, making it instantly clear that Dean had indeed only brought along those he said he would—Sasha, Sam, Sarah, Bobby, Shiarra, Solrin, Iain and Jimmy. Well, Shiarra wasn't Shiarra. She was the Trickster. Maybe there was a way for Jimmy to use this new knowledge to his advantage. He couldn't believe his foolishness for having secluded himself so much that he never noticed the Trickster was still with them. But he didn't get much time to dwell on that.

In the next moment, before Dean had even turned around fully to address everyone, Sam and Sasha were suddenly moving toward the fake Shiarra and taking the hidden god forcefully by the arms. The Trickster did not look at all surprised by this, shifting immediately to his true form with resignation all over his face.

"You thought you could hide from me," Dean said chastisingly as he turned slowly to face them all finally, head cocked at the Trickster in cruel humor, "Maybe you would have stayed hidden too, but my baby doesn't keep secrets from me," he grinned at Sasha, who grinned right back, pleased to be praised.

Normally, Jimmy would wonder why the Trickster wasn't just blinking away, but if the god couldn't do that in the Roadhouse then it was probably just as impossible within this new, smaller shield.

"So, you wanted to help? Thought you'd try turning those I love against me? That isn't very nice of you," Dean moved across the room toward where Sam and Sasha had the Trickster between them.

He didn't look scared, just sort of accepting of the inevitable, resigned, as Jimmy had already noted. The Trickster mustered a smile then. "Dean, _buddy_," he said, "You know me. I was just waiting to see how things turned out. Your side's looking much more likely the winner here, so…how'd you like another recruit? I'm good at parties. Can't have an apocalypse without a god of mischief, now can ya?"

Dean was clearly unimpressed. He looked at Sam, who shook his head and sneered, "He's lying. He'd betray us the first chance he got."

Okay, maybe the Trickster looked a little scared. "That's…that's crazy. I just…need incentive. Sort of the way I roll, ya know?"

"Oh, so I just have to keep you happy?" Dean eyed him with a patronizing stare.

"Beats making enemies," the Trickster tried.

With a shimmer that rippled over Dean's form, he suddenly wasn't wearing dark jeans and a black button-down over a red T-shirt anymore. The pretense fell away and he was simply in Malak's suit. He pulled what looked like a stake tipped in blood from his newly acquired jacket, as if from thin air. "Maybe there's a third option I like better," he said darkly.

"Dean!" Jimmy called before he realized what a foolish thing it was to interfere, "You can't just kill him! You said…you said you wouldn't hurt anyone," his voice became smaller as Dean looked over at him with a hard gaze, "You said…no one would get hurt. You're just going to kill someone who wants what's best for the world?"

Sam, Sasha, and Solrin were all glaring at Jimmy, odd colored eyes making him nervous just from having them on him, but Dean tilted his head, thoughtful. "And here I thought you were smart. Had some _sense_," Dean said, "You were an angel's vessel and you think it best to let a creature that kills go free?"

"But he doesn't kill anymore," Iain spoke up, his voice small but unceasing, "You made that deal, Dean. He promised…he promised he wouldn't kill anyone again."

"And you believe him?" Sam bit out gruffly, "It's only a matter of time. He's one of the evil things that must be wiped from the world, not Dean, not _us_."

"Do not question Dean so openly," Solrin added in warning.

This was getting out of hand. "Dean, please," Jimmy tried again, thinking of what the real Dean would want, and he wouldn't want senseless death, no matter the reasoning, "You don't need to do this."

There was a tense, static silence, those that had yet to get involved merely looking on with wide eyes, waiting for how Dean would react, what choice Dean would make. Jimmy was having a hard enough time looking at Dean directly for so long, but he would not look away, even though the sight of Dean filled him with dread. The Trickster was not an evil thing. It would only be the first of many more justified murders to come if they allowed this to happen. Jimmy couldn't allow it to happen.

Laughter caught all of them off guard, trip-hammering Jimmy's heart in his chest. It was the _Trickster's_ laughter.

"Well, folks, it's been fun," he grinned at all of them as they turned to him with gauging expressions, one corner of his mouth higher than the other, "But I still got a few tricks up my sleeve. See ya around," he winked, paused only a moment, and then it was like the Trickster merely slid out of Sam and Sasha's hold, only he hadn't because there was still a Trickster in their arms, two Trickster's now as the freed version turned and sprinted out of the room.

"Him!" Dean called angrily after the one escaping.

It became clear his guess was correct when the Trickster Sam and Sasha were holding vanished into mist, the pair nearly falling into each other at the sudden unbalance. In seconds, everyone was running, Dean first, followed by Sam and Sasha, then Sarah and Bobby, and finally Jimmy was pulling Iain along after him, leaving only Solrin to take up the rear.

They chased the Trickster through the house, Sam having quickly blocked the front door, since the Trickster obviously needed some sort of natural way out. Jimmy feared the Trickster would try for upstairs, which never turned out well in horror movies, but instead he went _down_. Not much better.

Jimmy couldn't actually see when this happened, being at the back of the trail of people following the Trickster, but he saw where the crowd was headed and made sure Iain was tight at his side, hands still clasped as they ran for the cellar and down into the darkness.

This area of Bobby Singer's home was typically dank and dark, but strangely empty when most people used their basements for storage. Only it wasn't as empty as Jimmy first thought when he glanced around, eventually seeing past everyone the startling sight of what looked like some sort of bomb shelter, its door open as the Trickster ran straight into it and then suddenly stopped, realizing he had trapped himself.

Dean started laughing, Sam and Sasha joining him cruelly. "Thanks for the tip, Bobby," Sasha said without looking back at the older hunter, his voice a low growl despite his seemingly human appearance, "And here we thought it would be difficult to trick the clever Trickster."

"Nice, huh?" Sam came up right beside Sasha, stroking a hand up the side of the open door, Dean walking up close behind them, "Never knew about this thing. Had to coax a little info out of Bobby before he admitted he had it, but apparently this…_panic room_ is great for keeping out demons and bad guys," he said mockingly, then toed the area just in front of the door where the sigils and salt line had been broken, "Break it first and close it later, though, and it's even better for keeping things like that _in_." He laughed again, joined immediately by Sasha, and then Dean.

It was a terribly sound in its unity.

Sam and Sasha parted so that Dean could step up closer, take point between them, the Trickster actually looking pretty damn scared now, knowing he had no way out, nowhere to go, and no more clever tricks. Jimmy felt a great sympathy for him knowing there was nothing any of them could do. Bobby, even _Sarah_, looked so worried, unsure and frightened of what would happen next. That sinking feeling was falling deeper, bottoming out Jimmy's stomach completely.

He and Iain were to the side, enough that they could see just inside the panic room, and see the expressions on all three of the original, once great trio's faces. It made Jimmy ache for how changed they were now, how far removed from the men he once admired.

He noticed Solrin hanging back by the stairs, looking actually a bit affronted by all this, apparently not in on the trio's ruse, and finally showing on his face how left out he felt now that Dean had his true Generals at his side.

Dean was soon right in front of the door to the metal cage they had prepared for the Trickster, his nice shoes pressed up against the hurdle he would have to step over in order to get inside. Sam and Sasha were close, _very_ close behind him. So close, in fact, that Jimmy almost didn't realize what was happening, didn't _believe_ what was happening, until Dean was suddenly inside the chamber too, having been pushed brutally hard by Sam and Sasha's hands working in synch.

The slam of the door made Jimmy gasp in disbelief. Sam and Sasha had shut Dean inside with the Trickster. The Trickster, who was suddenly standing next to _Jimmy_ and not in the panic room at all.

_My God._

There were immediate pounds on the door. "What are you doing!?" Dean yelled from inside the chamber, "This isn't a game! Open the door!"

The façade Sam and Sasha had been wearing so flawlessly began to fall away, their eyes still yellow and red, but their bodies trembling, their expressions pale and sick with what they had done. Not with locking up Dean, but with all they had done to get this far, to fool him long enough to pull this off. Jimmy was so surprised, so _proud_, that he nearly fell forward onto his knees in grateful prayer.

"Sam! Sasha!" Dean yelled and pounded some more, "Let me out _now_! You are mine, you here me! Mine! I showed you the truth, gave you power, everything! You belong to me!" His voice was a raging howl, a hiss, not like Dean at all.

"We belong to _you_?" Sasha echoed hoarsely, his voice still gruff but broken, so different, so bare suddenly, "We'd never choose you, you god damn son of a bitch," he spat. Sasha was shaking much harder than Sam, and Jimmy thought he understood how difficult this must be for them, like withdrawals, going against the very being infusing them with something that empowered them, that they _liked_ even, but that they refused to let be enough to make them turn their backs on what they really believed in.

Dean's pounding came to a sudden stop, his voice low and warning as it pierced through the metal door, no longer yelling but still a threat, only his red on black eyes visible through the small cut-out rectangle into the room. "You were playing me? Gave yourselves over in the hopes it wouldn't be enough to sway you?" He barked a laugh. "Go on then, tell me it isn't enough. Tell me you don't feel more alive than you ever have. Tell me you haven't loved every minute of being apart of this with me, great, and powerful, and _free_."

"Shut up," Sasha trembled harder, his voice quaking as indecision and doubt flickered through both his and Sam's eyes.

"We did what we had to," Sam said, almost like an apology to Dean but also to remind himself why he was doing this, because it was _right_ and had to be done.

Jimmy could see how Bobby and Sarah were inching closer to the closed door, prompting him to move closer too, Iain still squeezing his hand like a frightened child. The looks on Bobby and Sarah's face were such relief, but worry as well, worry that Sam and Sasha would falter when they had come so far.

Dean also saw Bobby and Sarah approaching, recognition dawning in the red on black eyes that were glaring out at all of them.

"So they were part of the act too," Dean said bitterly, "A whole crew of liars and betrayers. Rufus never called you, did he, Bobby? Just a trick to get me paranoid, earn my trust, make sure I'd listen all too willing when you thought to come here, Sammy. And Sarah, no wonder you caved so easily. You believe so blindly in Sam, I thought that had finally worked out in my favor."

"Shut _up_, Dean," Sasha demanded again, looking hardly in control but desperately trying to be, "You're going to stay in there until…until we figure this out. We're not following your plan. We know good people will end up hurt no matter what you say. Even the Trickster—"

"The Trickster is a _killer_," Dean countered, "I'm a hunter. I'm trying to make the world better. Killing evil is what we do, what we've done for a lot longer than I've had this power. You're actually siding with him, set this up with him to catch me instead? You know this metal box won't hold me for long. Just let me out. Let me out now…and I'll be lenient," his voice softened, "I'll forgive you without repercussion. All I want is to be with you," he focused on Sasha the most, who was clearly closer to faltering, "To make a better world for us that we can live in together."

The Trickster stepped up next to Jimmy again on those words. "Nice try, Dean-O. But you can't con a con-man," he winked, and passed a knowing smirk over at Bobby, who looked mildly amused by the sentiment, "Dean's in there, sure," he went on, "But you're more Malak than anything. You're less and less _Dean_ every time I see you."

"It's true," Jimmy happily spoke up, finally having the confidence to tell Sam and Sasha the truth, even in their changed state, "I see him as he really is. It's not Dean. Not enough him for Dean to be making the decisions on his own. You can't trust him. Please. You're doing the right thing."

A new bang on the door made Jimmy and several of the others jump. "You know I'm me!" Dean yelled above Jimmy's encouraging words, "The things I've shown you, given to you. The things we've done together. Sam, I laid it all out, the better world we can make and finally live our own lives in. And baby," his eyes darted to Sasha, fondness and mischief dancing in them, "You can't tell me you didn't feel all of me yesterday, that you don't now, that it wasn't incredible when I let you sink deep inside—"

"Stop!" Sasha actually covered his ears, tears stinging his red eyes, "Just stop. When Sam finally told me the truth like he had told the others the night you changed him, when he told me he was able to fight you despite the power and influence, it didn't make me feel better. I knew the only way we could fight you was if Sam and I worked together, but I couldn't…stand the thought of letting you do that to me. I didn't think I was strong enough, as strong as Sam. I thought I'd fall to you. And I…did at first," he admitted with his eyes turned down, "I relished every bit of how you made me feel, Dean. But I couldn't let you win. I _won't_ let you win. You're not the Dean I love," he finished brutally, both hands clenched tight at his sides with blackened fingers proving his lack of control.

Jimmy squeezed Iain's hand once more before letting it go, looking to Iain for understanding, looking to the Trickster to pick up the slack as he moved forward, closest to Sasha already, but moving right up to him so he could place a caring, supportive hand on Sasha's back.

The incubus jumped a little, looking behind him with wide, alarmed eyes. Jimmy didn't have any supernatural way of comforting Sasha, or any of them, not like Castiel who carried peace in his stride, but he hoped his presence reminded them of the angel that was so much more capable than Jimmy alone.

"I understand," Jimmy said, "You couldn't risk telling everyone what you were planning, because it would have given Dean more chance to figure it out. But you made it this far, you _are_ strong enough, both of you," he looked to Sam as well, "Dean knew that, he knew you would be strong enough to fight this. Don't let him down now." Jimmy was certain in his assumption, in his belief that somehow this was part of Dean's plan all along, even though the details still escaped him.

And he was getting through to Sam and Sasha, he saw it on their faces, in their demonic eyes that somehow still held their true selves. He understood now why the darkness hovered but didn't enter them fully; they were keeping it at bay. It called to them, tempted them as the Devil was best at, but they fought it, they were fighting it now, and damn it, they were going to win.

Bobby and Sarah moved closer to Sam, Sarah taking Sam's hand tightly in her own, smiling like she had all the faith in the world in him, which Jimmy knew was true.

"I doubted too," Bobby said, "Figured you boys were out of your god damn minds. But you pulled it off. You're not winning, you evil sonuvabitch," he snarled at Dean behind the door, "This family is stronger than you."

"We don't choose you," said Sarah.

"We'll _never_ choose you," Sasha added firmly.

Then Sam was standing taller than the rest, taller by faith and not just height as he finished confidently, "We choose _Dean_."

Never before had Jimmy been so instantly frozen with fear, the way Dean looked then, even though all Jimmy could see was his eyes, was darkness at its most potent and cruel. The wrath of Hell so many of them had feared would rain down on them looked suddenly imminent, making Jimmy terrified that Dean would escape and lay waste to everything, his anger fueled so strongly that his eyes burned with true fire more than the mere color of red.

The further shock, that had Jimmy clutching Sasha's shirt for support, came when almost instantly after Dean surged with demonic power and fury, he started screaming. It was anger, yes, but something else, something unmistakably _Dean_ calling out within the furious cries.

A louder sound soon overtook the screams, something Jimmy knew from his time with Castiel, knew well, in fact, because it was the sound of a demon being viciously _expelled_.

Sam threw the metal door open despite Sasha's warning cries and all of their unified gasps. But it was not a mistake. Dean had fallen to his knees in front of the door, a few feet away from it even, his head thrown back as black smoke swirled with rancid sulfur and flames poured out of his mouth with terrible speed.

As more and more of the smoke left Dean, Sam and Sasha suddenly stumbled, nearly going limp right where they stood. Sasha almost brought Jimmy straight down to the floor, Jimmy trying his damnedest to keep the incubus upright, holding onto the larger body tightly. Somehow, Sasha managed to remain standing, Sam too with aid from Sarah and Bobby.

Jimmy felt a thrill of hope rush through him when Sasha's bright _blue_ eyes looked at him in gratitude. Glancing over at Sam, Jimmy saw that Sam's eyes were also normal, wonderful hazel, the infused power banished from them as Malak was banished from Dean.

"Wait," Sasha grabbed after Sam, stopping him from going into the panic room when there was no more smoke left in Dean to leave him and he had fallen forward with a dull thud, still and empty on the cold floor, "We don't know if it's a trick. How can we be sure it isn't a trick? Why would Malak leave him?"

It was a valid question. Sam and Sasha's return to normal was not enough proof when the matter was so dire. Malak was the Devil, after all; he could have any number of contingency plans. So they waited outside the panic room, Sam calling to Dean instead of going to him like he wanted. "Dean! Dean, are you alright!?"

For a moment nothing happened, Dean's body too still, _deathly_ still. He was no longer wearing Malak's suit or its near likeness in dark jeans and black and red shirts. He was instead once again in the very clothing he had been wearing the day this all started.

Jimmy felt Sasha's shoulders tense under his touch when _Dean's_ shoulders suddenly twitched, trembling hands moving slowly then to get under Dean and push him up enough for him to look out with weary _green_ eyes at the people staring in at him from the doorway. His mouth quivered as he tried to smile.

"H-Hey. Knew you…wouldn't let me down," he said with a voice that shook almost too much to be understood, but they heard him alright, they heard him and they knew, they _knew_ this was Dean.

Sasha still hung onto Sam and kept him from going inside. "You're really you?" he asked in a small voice, "It's really him?" he turned then to Jimmy, since Jimmy had admitted being able to see the truth.

The truth was there, bare and beautiful before Jimmy. He nodded eagerly, seeing Dean the way he once had, only as light, bright and glorious and untainted by Malak's shadow. "It's him," Jimmy gasped out, so amazed, overjoyed as all of them were.

They still waited, just to be certain, just to be sure this was really Dean, coaxing him to come to them. Sam closed the salt line, used the chalk they had right there to fill in the sigil they had previously left broken, leaving only the main seal, _the door_, open. If Dean could still walk out then there was no doubt that he was free, that he was _Dean_.

Dean laughed shakily as he got to his feet, barely able to move but he managed, was happy to do it too so that there would be no doubt in any of their minds.

He spoke as he moved slowly for the door, "I'm n-no…fool. Had it all…worked out…right from the start. See…I didn't just say come and…take me to that bastard. We made a deal. He could only have me…so long as Sammy and Sasha chose him willingly. Idiot," Dean laughed again, "He thought he couldn't lose. But I knew better," the light in Dean shone brighter as his eyes fell on his love and his brother, "Just like Dave said. Malak can't touch me," he stumbled out of the panic room into Sam and Sasha's collective arms, "Long as I choose you guys."

Everything became a tangle of limbs—Sam's, Dean's, Sasha's. Soon there were Sarah's and Bobby's too. Jimmy didn't feel right getting in the midst of that, Iain and the Trickster holding back as well, but it was something else to see, to see this family reunited that Jimmy counted himself so lucky to be even a meager part of.

It was the craziest thing, what Dean had risked, something only Dean Winchester would dare to do.

"I can't believe you, Dean," Sasha reprimanded, though there was no real reprimand in his tone, "You risked the fate of the world on us? What if we hadn't been strong enough? What if we had really chosen him?"

Dean just grinned wearily. "Never a doubt in my mind," he said, "Just had to…buy us a little time, ya know. Now, he can come on back all he wants. We'll be ready. The fae and angels and all the…hunters, the Roadhouse is wide open to them now. I was just evening the odds a bit, that's all."

"You crazy idjit," Bobby laughed despite how he was shaking his head at Dean with some of that reprimand Sasha had failed at, "What if someone had ended up hurt?"

"Nah," Dean blinked hard a few times, looking sturdier with Sam and Sasha on either side of him, "That was always part of the deal, way back on day one. Malak wouldn't have dared. Admit it," he smirked, "I'm an evil genius."

Almost everyone laughed at that, the Trickster included, who looked rather impressed, Jimmy thought. Only Sasha refrained, a small blissful smile on his face that grew as he turned into Dean and took hold of Dean's chin. "I can do without the evil part," he said, pulling Dean to him for a brief but deep and gently moving kiss. It was a beautiful thing to witness, the love those men shared.

Jimmy honestly couldn't believe it. Everything was okay. It had all worked out. Dean had had a plan just like they hoped and it had succeeded. For all the fear and worries everyone in the Roadhouse had, Dean had managed the impossible. Now they had the chance to start over, start fresh, be prepared should the battle come again. It filled Jimmy with a renewed sense of faith in all that was Dean Winchester.

If only the mirth could have lasted.

It was foolish, really. Jimmy should not have forgotten the remaining member of their group who had arrived with the others at Bobby's house. None of them should have forgotten him. But they had.

Standing stonily still at the base of the stairs, they had forgotten _Solrin_, who was still standing there now, expression gaping and hand trembling where it was gripping the banister. "You have betrayed us," Solrin said deploringly to Dean, meaning, Jimmy assumed, Solrin and Malak as that betrayed 'us', "How?" Solrin started to back his way up the stairs, "How could you taste all that he has to offer and choose willingly to go on without his gifts? You were a being beyond measure."

"Sol," Dean stepped away from the others, forcing himself to be able to move on his own, hands outstretched toward Solrin placatingly, "You don't really feel that way. You know this is right. If you thought otherwise, why didn't you try to stop them?" Dean indicated Sam and Sasha who had somehow orchestrated a plan that suited Dean's own, freeing them all despite the odds.

Solrin shook his head, another step slowly ascended. "I believed in your power, that they would be made to pay for their transgression. I don't…" he stumbled on his words, hesitant and unsure, Jimmy could see it in the lone jade eye, the other covered in that black eyepatch, "I know this is wrong," he forced from his lips, still climbing the stairs backwards, "Your power. You told me that you had never felt truly whole until the moment you became one with Malak, that you understood, finally, all you could accomplish."

The steady progression Dean had been making toward Solrin ceased. Something flickered in Dean's light, a remnant of shadow, perhaps, that Jimmy could see even though he could not see Dean's expression, telling him that Solrin was not entirely wrong. "Temptation's a tricky thing, pal," Dean said in a soft, careful voice, "The promises gotta be a little true, or we'd never want them. Sam and Sasha were able to trick me," he glanced back at his closest companions, "Because a part of them really were on Malak's side."

The darkness that filled Sam and Sasha's eyes with the deepest regret proved how true that was. But Jimmy did not see at as something to condemn, but a truer testament to their strengths that they had the ability to refuse even when their temptations were greatest. These were righteous, admirable men that for whatever reason had such difficulty recognizing their worth.

Dean was the same, having tasted something that tempted him still, part of him having been apart of all that willfully, honestly, but the part of him that was stronger knew it had been wrong.

"Solrin," Dean tried again, a few more cautious steps taken, "You don't have to be against us. I want you to be apart of this, but on this side, on the right side. I had Malak as…a part of me, and I can still step back and say no. You can't believe his lies, please."

"Enough!" Solrin cried out, more than halfway up the stairs now, his muscles taut, "I know the truth. I know…you're wrong. You have to be wrong." He started moving faster, half turned around as he climbed the stairs.

"Sol, wait! Stop!"

But he didn't. Solrin turned fully and bolted up the stairs, deaf to Dean's pleas, blind to the truth. Dean rushed up after him, Iain the first on Dean's heels since Iain and the Trickster had still been closer to the stairs. Everyone else gave similar chase, the whole thing feeling like awful déjà vu after chasing the Trickster down here.

The Trickster, in fact, was the only one Jimmy managed to get ahead of, who had the opportunity to follow Iain directly, but faltered, his own colorful aura—Jimmy didn't know what else to call it—flaring with indecision. The Trickster didn't know what to do now, Jimmy realized, or what his place was. Jimmy was therefore pleased to hear feet following after him, because right now they could use all the help they could get.

Everyone had stuttered to an awkward stop by the time Jimmy caught up to them, looking past the others to the main door where Dean and Iain were standing, the door swung wide but with no sign of Solrin. They had to have been right behind him. He couldn't have just vanished. But apparently, the day was filled with folly.

It was a tangible feeling, an ill sense of darkness on the approach, before Jimmy actually saw anything. Sam, Sasha, Sarah, Bobby, himself, and the Trickster were all on one side of the entryway, while Dean and Iain were up at the door. Between the split groups, a ripple of smoke began to form that by the time Dean and Iain turned back to everyone had taken the shape of _Malak_. The true Malak—male, blonde hair, trim suit.

Jimmy could not see the demon's face, or his eyes, but he knew what they looked like. The same awful sight Malak had made of Dean was how Malak looked alone, and it made Jimmy tremble where he stood. Then he was no longer standing but thrown back into the wall along with everyone else, held firm, painfully tight and immobile by Malak's power.

Only Dean remained unmoved, Iain having been thrown back into the slammed-shut door, pinned like everyone else. Dean looked at them all, startled, guilt-ridden, like he was looking at a reflection in Malak and this was all his fault.

The sun had been shining outside, not the false Dean's fake sunny skies from the way he shielded them, but the real sun, the real beauty of life resurrected. With the appearance of Malak, however, the darkness returned, throwing everything into shadow, Dean standing alone before the Devil like the last beacon of light in the whole of all the world.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Malak's voice rumbled with inherent power, "You think you've won something today. Do not be mistaken, Dean, you still _chose me_. Without you my power is lesser, but still greater than before we made our deal. I will come for you yet, and you will fall willingly, no tricks, no bargains, you will bow at my _feet_ to have my power back when you feel its true absence. I am still coming with my army, mark my words, and when we take your little stronghold, I will slaughter my way through everyone you hold precious. Starting…"

Jimmy felt true horror rake through him as Malak's head tilted past Dean to look at _Iain_.

"…with the most insignificant."

"No!" Jimmy called out, already knowing what would happen even before Malak's hand started to rise and Iain started keening the most awful noises. Malak was going to kill Iain, here, _now_, as punishment for Dean beating him. And there was nothing any of them could do.

Dean tried to rush Malak, thrown only too easily and helplessly back like the rest of them, close beside Iain against the door whose face was filled with terrible anguish, his cries speaking of an impossible pain tearing through his body.

There was only one thing Jimmy could think to do, but he didn't know if it would be enough. He looked across the room at Dean, willing Dean to meet his gaze, amazed when it happened. He spoke silently to Dean with all that space between them, pleading for Dean to help in this small but important task. Dean nodded, understanding, a quiet desperation in his eyes.

Then Jimmy turned his eyes up, knowing Dean was doing the same, and he prayed.

'_Castiel…__help us.'_

With the shield gone, and the darkness not enough to hide them, a prayer was all it took for Castiel to find Jimmy and take him swiftly, the flash of light fleeting, but enough to burn the afterimage of Castiel's true form once more into Jimmy's memory—gold, light, genderless perfection, all wrapped in visible love and faith and compassion that held Jimmy safe and warm in its fullness as Castiel claimed him.

-----

Castiel fell from the wall, no longer held by Malak's power now that he was in control of his chosen vessel once more. He could feel Jimmy's panic, Jimmy's fear and pleading for Castiel to please, _save Iain_. At last Castiel had back the power that Dean choosing Malak had stripped him of.

He raised a hand toward the back of the demon, shocking Malak with holy light that sent him to his knees. "You overstep your bounds, demon," Castiel said confidently, boldly as those who had sided with Dean Winchester fell from their pinned positions, Iain included, "You cannot take life here."

Until the battle on the mirror fields of Gehenna, Malak could not hurt any human directly. He could not kill. Even Castiel, a lower ranking angel in regards to the king of Hell, was more powerful in this moment, in this place, with Dean having chosen _them_, albeit more roundabout than Castiel would have liked. His charge was nothing if not resourceful.

"You will leave," Castiel walked up to where Malak had fallen.

Fierce red on black eyes whipped back to glare at him, a snarl on the not quite human face. Castiel could see much more than Jimmy. He could see Malak's truest demonic form, his human shell, and the great and glorious angel he had once been all at once, intertwined, something only a being like an angel could perceive and understand fully. Malak was still terrible despite this, especially in his anger.

While Dean tended to the shaking and weakened Iain, the others hanging back, Castiel stood before the Beast without fear, something he could only do because Dean had given him the power and called him here along with Jimmy's faithful voice.

"I can kill whoever I like in the throng of battle," Malak rose slowly from the floor, hatred spilling from him in waves for Castiel, for Dean having beaten him at his own game, "Even you, angel. And then your dear host would perish too. I promised you that, remember?"

"And yet you could not do it because Dean would not allow you to," Castiel raised a single eyebrow at Malak, what some might call a haughty expression, though of course an angel would never be haughty, "You will leave. We will face you when the true battle comes, and only then. You will not come to Dean again until that time. I forbid it."

Malak's eyes flashed. "You—!" he cut off with an angry growl. Then laughed bitterly. "_You_ forbid it, do you? I will see you in battle. I will kill you. And him," he turned fiercely to Iain, who was gasping for air and trembling in Dean's arms in front of the door, "And everyone dear to you, Dean Winchester. You will not defeat me."

"Solrin—" Dean tried, forever thinking of someone other than himself first and foremost.

"Solrin," Malak took Dean's words away, "Is mine." A final look of hatred and promise was sent back to Castiel before Malak faded like so much smoke and was gone.

They did not have much time.

Castiel moved immediately to join Dean on the floor, crouching beside the pair and placing his hand gently on Iain's face. A mixture of confusion and heady affection shone in Iain's brown eyes at Castiel's touch, which the angel recognized was far more for the touch of _Jimmy's_ hand than the healing power of Castiel. He was far from offended, but smiled at Iain, allowing Jimmy to see and understand fully just what the affection Iain had for the man meant.

The vessel's heart sped up in his chest, warmed and surprised to feel such love from a man he hardly knew, but Iain was unique, someone who gave love freely and easily to those he deemed worthy. Jimmy had always been the same, a ready friend to anyone, one of the things Castiel most admired in him.

"Dean," Castiel had to return to the work at hand, having healed Iain as best he could, the dark touch of Malak something the tall brunette would have a hard time shaking fully, "Forgive me. I did not trust you. I did not have enough faith. While it was foolish and brash, as you always are," he allowed a small smile, "It was the right decision. The best you could give. I am so very proud of you for resisting temptation that great."

Shock filled Dean's face, never one to take praise well, especially an exclamation of pride. "Hey, I…I was just doing what Dave told me. Having faith in my boys there. They're the ones who saved the day. They're the ones who resisted."

"Yes," Castiel smiled wider, looking up to see that they were tightly surrounded now, Sam and Sasha closest among the crowd and eager to help however they could, "Yes, they too were remarkable. But, Dean, your task is not yet complete," he looked to his charge again, "You have done something we could not predict. Choosing Malak while not choosing him at the same time…we do not know how the battle will end after this turn of events. Malak must be defeated on the fields or he will only keep coming through. Had he managed to gather his army within that shield, the onslaught would have been terrible once he released them to fight the angels and fae waiting outside of it. They wait for you now. The world is in darkness still, but the shield is gone. The demons have fled, the Roadhouse safe and clear again. You must return to prepare."

Standing abruptly, Castiel reached down, easily helping Dean and Iain to their feet, the librarian leaning heavily against Dean for support.

"Michael and Gwen will meet you. I believe the other hunters are there as well, despite being less organized than you led Malak to believe. I regret that I must return to Heaven for a short time yet, but I never stop watching over you, Dean. I promise you," he took Dean's hand, the one not currently helping hold Iain up, and brought Dean's palm to his lips as he had done once before, "When I return, I shall never leave your side again."

-----

Jimmy was disoriented at first, suddenly finding himself a good distance from the Roadhouse amongst a strange crowd so vast he could barely count faces, but he remembered what Castiel had said, what had to be done, and knew that the angel had brought them all safely here before leaving once again.

Iain was still being held up by Dean, but Jimmy went to them, accepting the burden of the still weak young man gladly so that Dean could do his duty. The chosen hunter looked at Jimmy curiously for a moment, smiling when he realized it was _Jimmy_ and not Castiel, and thanked him for all he had done. Jimmy watched then as Dean and the others that had been with them went forward, going to meet the angel and fae waiting a ways ahead of them amidst the throng of what Jimmy knew were all _good_ creatures.

He was no hunter himself, maybe not much use at all when Castiel wasn't doing the driving, as Dean would say, but this family was his now too, and he would happily see it brought to victory.

He turned to smile at Iain, whose brown eyes were heavy but so thankful, so affectionate still, and finally, Jimmy understood what that look meant. Jimmy gave love openly, but was not used to others who did the same. He was startled, thrilled, maybe, and while he wasn't sure yet what he would do with this new information that Castiel had deemed fit to share with him, he was happy. He held Iain tighter and was happy.

The Devil had not won the day. And he would not win tomorrow.

tbc...back in Dean's POV, yay!

A/N: Gasp, what was I thinking? I thought I could fit all that in ONE chapter? Thank god I split Iain and Jimmy. Damn. Well, I hoped you all liked. I noticed that since Iain's chapter was short and going to be followed quickly by this one that most of you didn't review. *sad face* But I trust that means you'll flood me for this one...right? Right? We're so close to the end, you can't leave me now! Ahem.

Anyway, great news. The wonderful Kouken, creator of Solrin, commissioned a picture of Incubus!Dean for me that turned out flipping fantastic. It is up at the website for all to enjoy. Mmm... Also please go to akanichiyoubi DOT livejournal DOT come for details on the crossover contest! Love you guys, please don't forget to leave me a few words. You rock!

Crim


	94. Part 5: And Then There Was Backup

Okay, so this chapter ended up WAY shorter than I expected, but I didn't want to go any further and spoil the cliffy. So, I promise later this week I'll post that promised bonus chapter of Sasha and Dean's crazy demon sex from Iain's chapter. *eg*

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Part 5: And Then There Was Backup

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Dean Winchester had been the Devil for almost three full days. He had been free of the Devil for only about fifteen minutes. He was caught somewhere between being so ecstatic that his plan had actually worked that he was literally on cloud nine, and being so torn up inside from the aftermath of it all that it felt like Malak had been a double-bladed sword wrenched brutally from his body.

He tried to focus on the ecstatic part, smiling despite his fatigue from the whole ordeal so that he wouldn't worry the others, but it wasn't easy. Dean hated that it wasn't easy, even though he knew it wouldn't be, because it brought his mind continuously back to what Malak had said before Castiel shooed him away.

_You will bow at my _feet_ to have my power back when you feel its true absence._

It was a cavernous absence, like nothing Dean had ever felt, likened only to the loss of Dad, and Sammy, and Sasha. Dean didn't want to admit he _missed_ what Malak made of him, but it wasn't something he could completely deny either. He had sort of admitted to it earlier when he was trying to explain that the only way to make Malak think they had all joined him was by having almost completely done it, but it was different to still feel that same way now. To feel _hollow_ without that terrible power surging through his veins.

Dean knew he had done the right thing, that everything had worked out as it was supposed to. Malak was an evil bastard. Even working through Dean, feigning a plot to _save_ the world, there would have been something sinister revealed in the end. Innocent people would have gotten hurt. The angels, fae, and hunters Dean could see camped out around the Roadhouse now were proof enough of that. None of these creatures and people deserved the death Malak's army promised them. The ends _did not_ justify the means. Dean had learned that the hard way too many times. Life was about the journey, not the destination, and all that bullshit. Dean had to keep reminding himself of that.

It had felt amazing though—being one with Malak. The security of knowing that the only thing that could ever hurt the people he loved again was him, along with the belief, of course, that he would never hurt them himself. It was peaceful, like everything Dean had ever wanted of Heaven, and wasn't that too twisted to say out loud. He had honestly enjoyed being able to show Sam and Sasha what he wanted for the world, filling them with power and assurance, all that he thought he wanted while Malak was poisoning him from within.

So many of the things he had said and done during his possession had been100% him, at least he thought it was, but how could he be sure of that when Malak had been so much a part of him? It was an awful paradox, awful memories, and looking around him as he led the others toward Michael and Gwen, seeing that none of the great gathered mass was looking at him with anything but reverence, he did not feel righteous or better. Someone must have told them all that he had defeated Malak for the time being and had returned to lead, but part of Dean didn't feel he deserved the honor anymore.

Part of him thought it would be easier to simply call Malak back to him.

That thought caught in Dean's throat like tar, and he forced a smile when he felt Sam take his wrist and squeeze. Sasha was on Dean's other side, fingers lacing with his and holding firm as well. _This_ was Dean's Heaven, Dean's ideal—Sam and Sasha beside him, _with_ him, purely as themselves. He didn't need Malak. He was better than Malak. They were going to win, god damn it.

"So, seeing as how no one's moved to strike me down yet," Dean grinned as he came to stand before Michael and Gwen at the center of the hodgepodge encampment around the Roadhouse, "I guess that means the troops know what happened. I'm still supposed to lead this mess?"

Michael looked very different than he had the last time Dean saw the archangel, other than how his blonde hair hung just the slightest bit longer than Malak's, his face kind despite the similar features. He was wearing some kind of armor, light and thin, well worn too like this was not the first battle it had seen. It was also a bit skimpy considering the armor was really all Michael was covered with, aside from a small bit of cloth.

Gwen looked different as well in that she was thankfully much more refreshed than she had seemed that night she appeared on the Roadhouse roof to steal Dean's wine. Her hair was down, a mass of gorgeous red curls, and she was wearing layers of near see-through fabric again, all violet and green and gold. Just like a fairy, Dean grinned to himself. The pair was rather cliché actually, not that Dean was going to say that to their faces. The other angels and fae weren't any better.

"The burden is not yours alone, Dean," Michael said, "Though your place in this is important, it may not reveal itself until the end is almost upon us. Lead _your_ troops. We will lead ours." Dean was almost disappointed not to see big fluffy wings sprouted out of Michael's back, but for a second there he almost swore he saw the shadow of them rustling.

Everyone had taken note of Dean and the others' arrival by now—_everyone_—meaning thousands upon thousands of eyes were watching Dean with fierce attention. It amazed Dean that so many beings could exist together in what he thought weren't that large of fields, but then maybe the land wasn't completely normal anymore.

There were no great drop-offs or cliffs like before, meaning Malak's army was not yet back through the rift, or whatever it was, that led them from Gehenna to here. But there was vast space, as if the Roadhouse was the only non-natural thing for miles and miles.

The fae were colorful and easily spotted, the angels all armored and either powerful enough to manifest human forms or wearing vessels. Then Dean saw the human hunters drawing closer, knowing their faces—Rufus, Creedy, Isaac and Tamara, and so many more. He saw the incubi and succubae as well, saw Sasha's friends amongst them and how they clearly wanted to rush up to him but stopped short, hanging back with the others. Aloysha had followed through and brought sex demon soldiers. All of the differing groups together made a truly magnificent army.

"Do not worry about the angels," Michael reassured him, "In battle we will need to shed our human forms, but the rules will be different when these fields change. No one will be hurt by the sight of us."

"Or of the fae," Gwen piped in, "Some true fae forms are a bit blinding too. But don't you worry, Dean. That was a bold move on your part with Malak. Very bold. Lucky for you, it worked," she smirked, "He's regrouping, no doubt, but we're here for you now. We'll hold the lines. You lead the humans. We'll handle the rest. I'm sure Aloysha would shudder to think of someone other than him leading _his_ soldiers," she inclined her head to the sex demons, Aloysha at the forefront with a cold expression, green wings and markings like Lindsey since he was proudly in his true form already, "I do believe your troops are willing to trust you again." She turned her head to the opposite side then, enough to pull Dean's attention back to the approaching hunters that in all were a smaller group than the fae, angels, and sex demons.

Dean honestly didn't know how they, especially, could trust him after everything he had done, but he supposed support like he had from the Heavenly host itself, and then some, was a good start.

He felt the weight of all those eyes boring into him even more than before, waiting on him, it seemed, to make some kind of speech. Dean understood what he needed to do for the upcoming battle, more or less—lead the hunters. But even though Mike would lead the angels, Gwen the fae, and Aloysha the incubi and succubae, Dean was still looked at as overall leader, planner, savior, _Messiah_.

_Fuck_, that thought made Dean nauseous.

On either side of him, Sam and Sasha tightened their holds—Sasha with Dean's hand, Sam clutching his wrist—and Dean turned to look at the others behind them, supporting him just as loyally. There was Bobby right there at his back, Sarah close beside Sam, Jimmy helping Iain, both of whom were looking at Dean with heartfelt devotion, and even the Trickster, someone Dean once counted as an enemy. Not to mention those not here that he had left behind inside the Roadhouse, Ellen, Jo, Ula, who he knew were safe and up there waiting, the demons having fled.

Beyond Dean's close companions was a vast crowd spanning even further, fierce numbers Dean had been able to see gathering from behind his shield when he was one with Malak, the shield gone now, making the large army more vibrant and real. He honestly didn't know what he was supposed to say to them all, but with how they were all watching him, no matter how far away, he knew that whatever he said would be heard.

A strange, unnatural silence blanketed the fields then, which really shouldn't have been possible, but Dean figured a supernatural reason might be in order, though who he had to blame was anyone's best guess. "I…" his voice was too small when he started, pulling reluctantly from Sam and Sasha's holds on him, but as he spoke he felt his confidence and his voice growing as his belief in his words grew too, "I know I had a lot of you worried. I'm sorry I had to scare you like that. I'm sorry I took such a crazy risk."

He passed his gaze to Sam and Sasha, to Bobby and Sarah, to Iain and Jimmy and even the damn Trickster before looking out again at the whole of the crowd. He was elevated just slightly being up by Mike and Gwen, able to see the vastness of _his_ army at its fullest, listening to him earnestly.

"But I don't regret the choice I made," Dean went on, "I had to make sure we had every chance possible to pull this off, and we…we weren't going to get that. The bastards on the other side were trying to take chance away from us. Well they failed. This is a fair fight now. Not even fair because we know we're stronger. Just look around. I've lived on the crazier side of life for almost thirty years. I never thought I'd live to see hunters working alongside supernatural beings they might never have guessed they could trust, let alone with angels. This…this is how it should be. All of us together. We can do this. Malak is not going to win."

_Malak __was _never_ going to win._

Dean swallowed, his throat painfully dry. He was no leader, not used to being one, but then maybe he was. His companions had all been looking to him as leader for so long now, and the smaller army he had commanded before he made that deal with Malak had also willingly followed him. Maybe he could do this. He already had several ideas for how to best split off into…what? _Battalions_? Dean almost snickered at the thought. But he definitely had ideas concerning the best way to utilize everyone.

"Mike," Dean turned to the archangel with a softer voice, "How much time do we have? Do we even know? Is it minutes or do we have days again?"

Michael's head tilted slightly as he thought about that. "It is hard to gauge. But I would guess we have at least twenty-four hours. It will take Malak that long to organize, much as time is a relative thing in this case, of course." Time was always a relative thing in Heaven and Hell, Dean had learned that the hard way.

"Then let's rest," Dean said, calling out more loudly again, "Everyone. Take a break. Sleep if you need to. We need to be at our best. Later tonight, you," his voice lowered again as he looked at Mike and Gwen, "Me, and Aloysha are going to get together to talk strategy. Sound good?" Aloysha was close enough to have heard this request, and though he looked put-out at the thought of taking Dean's orders, he nodded. Michael and Gwen nodded as well, both smiling. "Good," Dean slapped his hands together, then a thought occurred to him and he looked at Michael again worriedly, "Uhh…how are we supposed to feed everyone? I mean…I can't even count all the people here, and even if the angels don't need to eat, everyone else does, right?"

A giggle escaped Gwen that sounded so unlike Malak's female version that Dean knew he would never have to worry about confusing the two. "Mrs. Harvelle puts herself out too much," Gwen waved her hand dismissively, "I shudder to think of her trying to cook for everyone, even if there were different shifts all working together. We'll handle all that, Dean, dear. Quite an easy task for creatures like us, you know," she elbowed Michael in the side, who looked a bit annoyed by her behavior.

"Yes, well," Michael maintained a smile, "In this case it is an easy task."

"Feeding the 5000?" Dean joked, remembering one of the few Bible stories he actually knew well, "5000 at least," he added as he glanced around again, "Then we'll leave you to it. I need that rest too. We all do. Gotta check on the fine folks we left in the Roadhouse, _Mrs. Harvelle_ included. Rufus, everyone," Dean looked to the nearby hunters, "I know most of the crowd is camping out here, but you're welcome to come back to the Roadhouse, however many we can fit. If you want," he shrugged, understanding entirely why they might be reluctant to take him up on that.

But Rufus—who was about as much of a loner and recluse as older hunters could get, despite taking somewhat of a lead lately—and the other hunters did not look at all ready to cast stones. Dean was really surprising himself with the Biblical references here, but he could probably blame that on the very hazy remnants of Malak's all-encompassing memories. But no stone-throwing, was his point here, just a sort of crazed and appeased smile from Rufus as the hunter declined on everyone's behalf not because they didn't appreciate the offer but because they saw themselves as more needed where they were.

Dean understood that and doubted he would spend much time in the Roadhouse himself after getting a little rest. He nodded. Right now he sort of wanted a nap. A long nap, preferably curled snugly around Sasha, and whoever else too in all honesty, because the thought of being a sudden heap like puppies on a bed, the lot of them, was oddly appealing right now. Dean figured it was probably best not to say that out loud.

They didn't make it to the Roadhouse right away, but found themselves continuously sidetracked as they made their way through the crowd. Shiarra was first to break the lines, throwing herself at Sasha and Dean, at everyone, really, the Trickster included, saying how pleased she was that everything had worked out. Apparently, she had been quite aware of the Trickster's plot to steal her form after stealing Arthur's and had been perfectly all right with it, much as she hated being taken out of eyeshot.

The rest of the sex squad soon followed, the twins cooing, Cam looking like he hadn't breathed in several days, Charis beaming as she hung onto her husband, and Lindsey giving a meager nod to Dean like approval, maybe, of the insane plan that had somehow worked out without any bloodshed.

There were well-wishers from all camps, of course, even a few angels that, while in human form or vessels and therefore normal looking, had a certain glow about them that spoke of immeasurable power. It was a little unnerving.

Dean tried his damndest to lead his smaller crew to the Roadhouse doors quickly, needing that rest just as much as he had preached, and hoping those outside took his advice on that too.

He found himself missing Castiel something awful, wondering what the angel was doing in Heaven that had called him away again when all the other needed angels were down here, but he figured it was better not to question when things were going so well. It was probably guilt that was making him long for the angel's company, even though Castiel had said he was _proud_ of Dean. Guilt and a growing liking for the angel and that promise to never leave Dean's side.

What that really meant, Dean wasn't sure. It wouldn't exactly be fair to Jimmy if it meant permanent possession. Regardless, Dean pushed those thoughts from his mind. Cas would be back soon enough.

Later, Dean would meet with Mike, and Gwen, and Aloysha just like he had said, they would come up with some kind of basic plan for the battle ahead, and then they would simply have to wait. Dean just wanted a little oblivion in the meantime, a little peace, his own personal eye of the storm, as it were. He deserved that much after his side-trip as the Devil.

Finally reaching the doors, the former Bed & Breakfast looking more like home than most places Dean could think of throughout his life, Dean paused before reaching to open them. He looked again at the men beside him, _close_ beside him—Sammy, Sasha. He smiled at Sarah and how she clung to Sam as much as Sam and Sasha were clinging to him. His smile widened when he saw Bobby, Shiarra hanging off his arm, having refused to remain outside, and the Trickster having taken Iain's other arm to assist Jimmy in carrying the still fatigued young man.

This was Dean's insane family, a few more members waiting inside, and it was sort of wonderful how a part of Dean felt like every last soul beyond them, preparing on those fields, were part of the family too. He felt silly for thinking that, for his sudden magnanimous mentality, but being all-powerful so recently might be somewhat to blame for that. He was just so happy to have what he had, to have this chance he had risked so much to get, even if a part of him might always be tainted now by Malak.

He could live with a little darkness. It was hardly a burden with everything he had been granted. At least he hoped that was true.

Dean turned back, grabbed both handles to the Roadhouse, and swung the doors wide, walking in proudly to face those waiting for them, and to find that rest he so dearly sought.

He froze with sudden panic when he realized he hadn't actually entered the Roadhouse.

Whipping back around, Dean lost his breath at the lack of his small crew, no longer seeing anyone there, only a _single_ door swinging from his entrance. There was a 'Closed' sign waving at him, meaning that this place he had found himself in was 'Open'. A sign hanging on a glass door…

"_Didn't you read the sign when you came in?"_

"_If your server is bored to tears, you must keep him company. Diner rules."_

The décor began to look more familiar to Dean as he turned slowly forward again, his panic subsiding as he looked at the _diner_, very 50s, the sound of Country on the jukebox, though not Johnny Cash this time, which Dean would have preferred. He almost laughed when he took in the sight of the clean counter, a piece of pie waiting for him and coffee filling up at the ancient machine, _for him_, of that Dean was certain.

"Figured the rest of this would just go to waste," said a familiar Southern drawl as a man just shy of 40 pushed through the swinging kitchen door into the main area of the diner—white T-shirt, blue button-down, _apron_—smiling with dark hair that fell into his kind, blue eyes, "So I thought…why not bring the whole thing out?" He was carrying the rest of the pie, a slice having been taken out, clearly the one resting on a plate on the counter. He set the pie next to the plate, turned back to the coffee pot that was full, and produced two cups to pour into. "Had some ready for you this time. Have a seat, son."

This was an entirely different situation than the last time Dean had been in Dave's diner, though he supposed there was one important similarity. The last time Dean was here had been right after he denied Malak in the Impala. His most recent denial of Malak was even more important, he supposed.

But it wasn't just the reminder that made Dean feel a slight lump in his throat as he moved to take the same stool he had sat in last time. _Last time_. Last time Dean hadn't known until the moment he left that Dave was actually…

"Let's stick with Dave," the handsome but in some ways so _average_ man said as he handed Dean a freshly poured cup of coffee, "Simple. Classic. Less connotation. Don't want you thinking you need to be or act any way but how you are, Dean Winchester, not that I'd expect you to," he smiled warmly, so warmly that Dean felt something like that familiar peace Dave had once filled him with.

It struck him that he should have noticed the first time, right off the bat, that Dave was more than human, but then he hadn't exactly been in the right frame of mind to notice much of anything on that late night when he pulled up to the diner seeking solace in whatever way he could find.

"Blueberry," Dave grinned as he grabbed an extra fork and scooped up some pie right out of the pan, "Couldn't resist."

Dean held back a chuckle at the sight of…_Dave_ cleaning his fork free of all crumbs and dark purple goo. "I don't…really know what I'm suppose to…say or…do here," Dean tried rather unsuccessfully, holding his cup of coffee but not drinking any and not picking up his own fork to dig into the pie either, though it smelled Heavenly.

Heavenly.

_Fuck_. This was too weird.

"You didn't seem too bothered last time," Dave pushed the plate with the single slice closer to Dean, "See, that's why it's better before you know. You folks read too much into it otherwise," he scooped up another helping of pie, "You're over-thinking right now, ain't ya? But you don't have to say anything, Dean. I know what your heart says. I know you're grateful as much as you are pissed as _shit_, and I am perfectly okay with that. Hell, I'm used to it. Don't you doubt for a second, though, that all this good coming down on you is coz you made some difficult choices. Damn tough ones. Choices…that mean I get to help just a little more than I coulda otherwise."

"Help?" Dean repeated slowly, the cup moving up to his lips almost like it had a mind of its own as he took a long, satisfying gulp. _Heavenly_ indeed. He set down the cup and picked up his fork. "If you don't mind me saying, _Dave_, it's about damn time you got up off your ass and helped at all." Before Dean had a chance to regret saying any of that, he shoveled a sizable helping of blueberries and buttery crust into his mouth. Damn, that was good pie.

Dave was grinning pearly whites as he set his own fork down and stood up straighter. "Ah, there ya are, Dean. I do love that to-the-point nature. You know they say money is the root of all evil. I don't know about that. It has its purpose in society and all. I'd be more akin to say passive-aggressiveness is instead," he laughed.

And even though this was still strange, and different, and Dean felt like he didn't know what he was supposed to do having tea-time with the Lord Almighty, he laughed too. "Beating around the bush never got anyone anywhere," he agreed. He liked that he was blunt. He liked that he spoke his mind. It got him in plenty of trouble, but at least he always knew where he stood, and so did everybody else.

"Some women might disagree with that statement," Dave said thoughtfully, winking.

Coffee nearly shot out Dean's nose when the joke caught up with him. He recovered, coughing a little into a napkin kindly offered. Then Dean just shook his head, grinning around his red face. "Dude, you are not how I ever imagined you'd be," he said, because despite popular opinion Dean had imagined God and Heaven and all that plenty, he just didn't always see the point in praying to something he didn't have proof existed.

"What _were_ you expecting?" Dave asked, sounding honestly interested, "Booming voice, white beard? Or maybe George Burns?" he raised an eyebrow, "Though I s'ppose George would have made an even dirtier comment on that one."

"_Oh_ yeah," Dean chuckled, and took another bite of pie. It was maybe a little unfair that he couldn't seem to hang on to much of the stuff that pissed him off when he was with Dave like this. "So what's this help you're offering? And please say its some nifty-ass superpowers, coz those would so totally come in handy about now."

Dave leaned forward on the counter again, careful to avoid getting his elbows in the pie. "I'm afraid it doesn't quite work that way, Dean. 'Sides, I would have thought you'd had enough of…superpowers," he added pointedly.

_And then some_, Dean thought as he swallowed thickly. Between the incubus stuff, much as Dean had liked most of that, and then Malak pumping hotly through Dean's veins for three days, Dean was really enjoying being a normal human hunter again. Of course there was still that ache, that _void_ left in Malak's wake. "I don't…I mean…I guess I am," Dean said a little awkwardly, picking at the remaining pie he suddenly didn't have much appetite for.

"Son," Dave said with a depth to his voice that made Dean think the endearment wasn't just hometown Southern boy this time so much as something more intimate, "This life was not made to be easy. Free will prevents it. Circumstance, choice, it all turns out differently for everyone. But things have been especially hard for you. Through it all, somehow, you have faced every challenge, risen above countless impossible odds. That's why it's you, Dean. That's why you are the one who can do this. I'm afraid I can't take away that edge a darkness this time," he looked down like he was truly sorry for that, "That's all on you. You invited Malak in and must deal with that on your own. But I can offer help."

Dean readied himself for the punch-line, wondering if Dave, in all his rugged, not-quite middle-aged normalness was going to come down and walk amongst them, or if 'help' was merely good advice.

Dave stole another bite of pie, savoring the way it was both tangy and sweet in his mouth with a twinkle in his eyes Dean could totally relate to. "Well, you are a hunter, Dean," Dave was grinning rather mischievously, "Tell me. How well do you know your Bible?"

_That _nearly spurned another coughing fit_. _"You're joking," Dean deadpanned.

"Just curious," Dave shrugged, "Specifically about the end time, how well do you know it?"

"Shit poorly," Dean said without ceremony. Sure, he knew some lore, but if they were talking Bible specifics then Dean was not the most widely read of men or hunters. "I think I read Revelations once, not that I remember much."

"Good," Dave nodded, taking yet another bite of pie, and talking around his mouthful, "Gets things wrong a lot of the time anyway. Why do you think you're so perfect for this, Dean? A religious fanatic would miss the point. A complete deviant wouldn't care. It's the everybody elses that understand what it means to be human. I suppose the Christian Bible got a few things right, but shit poor knowledge or not," he smirked, "I'm guessing you have at least heard of The Four Horsemen."

Dean blanched. So much of their apocalypse experience had been not by the book—_literally_—instead having more vague similarities to various lore. Okay, so there's a Devil, and Dean's the Anti-Christ, _kind of_, but that doesn't mean what Dean once thought it did. "You mean the song?" he decided to joke, not sure where Dave was going with this. Besides, _**The Four Horsemen**_ was classic Metallica.

As Dean expected, Dave's smile quirked wider. He pushed Dean's plate closer to him again as if to remind him that there was still a lot of pie left. "Not quite. Though I suppose _'__Now is the death of doers of wrong'_ is a bit closer to what I'm gonna tell ya." As Dave said that, the song began to play quietly from the jukebox, making Dean snicker at the thought of _God_ being a Metallica fan. "See, the horsemen are a real part of the game here, Dean," Dave went on, "but not…autonomous, I guess you could say. Not anthropomorphic riders of the ideals they represent, but rather four chosen people to become the riders depending on how things play out. If you had honestly chosen Malak and led his army, you would have been able to summon worthy horsemen from any of the demons under your command. Well, not any, only ones that were once human. Sort of a catch," he shrugged.

"Like…Lilith," Dean offered to show he was paying attention and understood.

Dave nodded. "A likely candidate. Only, in the end, you've chosen a different path."

"So…the horsemen will be angels instead? Wait, no," Dean corrected himself, "You said the type of demons had to be human once, so the Heaven version are gonna be…good ghosts?" Dean wasn't entirely sure he was getting this.

"Not ghosts, Dean," Dave answered with what seemed endless patience, "Human souls. When they died they didn't go to Hell and become twisted, they were granted Heaven and are stronger and shine more brilliantly because of it. They are the gift I'm giving you. Not War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death, as they say, but the very opposite." Dave didn't say anything more, just took a gulp of his coffee and another bite of pie, grinning widely. Dean had to wonder what the opposite of each of those familiar horsemen would be, some more easily assumed than others.

"Okay," he said slowly, gauging Dave' face for any hidden meaning here, but then how was he supposed to read _God_ the same way he read the guys he swindled in pool and poker? "So you're giving me these horsemen to help in the battle, four dead guys who went to Heaven. They immortal then since they're already dead?"

Ignoring Dean's question for the moment, Dave made a sudden play for Dean's pie instead of the rest in the pan, a ploy, Dean realized, to get Dean to keep eating his. It worked. Dean picked up the plate to keep it away from Dave and shoveled in a fresh mouthful. "Not immortal the way you're thinking." Dave grinned at him, "They can be killed like any human. Or…well, you'll see soon enough. But if they die in battle, they'll just return home, something they'll have to do when the battle's over anyway."

Dean huffed, "No free pass back to life even for Biblical warriors, huh?" he smiled somewhat sorrowfully. He knew it didn't work that way.

"Believe me, Dean, they're happy to have what little time they're getting. Castiel's been good enough to help prepare them and see them down to Earth. They're already waiting for you. He'll be joining you too. I think Michael's right that you have a good day or more before Malak's gonna be ready to attack. Take this time. Not just for prep, though I know you're already thinking some things, and that's good, but…take this time for other things too. Any more?" he tilted up the pie tin that basically had its center eaten out.

"You drug this pie or something?" Dean snarked, finishing his last bite and managing to wave off the offer for more, "Make me all compliant and less bitchy or something? I got plenty of bones I could pick with you, pal."

"Well then, go ahead and hit me with 'em," Dave smiled as warmly as ever.

Crap. Dean hadn't actually expected Dave to say that. "Uhh…well…" Dean thought for a minute. Then he thought for another minute. There were several questions he could ask, but they all felt sort of silly or, well, rude somehow, which granted usually wouldn't bother Dean, but did in this instance. Any complaints he had kept being shot down by his common sense, because he was starting to get that the whole 'why do bad things happen to good people' thing wasn't actually a hard question to answer.

People. People were the answer. The one great gift God gave the world wasn't always used the way it should—free will—and bad decisions lead to bad consequences. It wasn't fair; it was just humanity. God could only be blamed for that if humanity would prefer being mindless drones.

As for Dean, he would take his heartaches if it meant he got to be _him_, here, in this life, with all those he loved, no matter how short the time or tough the road. That sounded a bit like enlightenment. Maybe there was an extra ingredient in that pie after all.

"Not everyone understands, Dean," Dave said with a softer, sadder expression, taking Dean's plate and the remaining pie away and setting it under the counter, "But when they do, it's something they come to all on their own. I'm giving you a free one, alright?" he brightened, leaning close to Dean across the counter, so close that Dean could see every line, crease, and human part of his face, "Any question. Go ahead. What do you want to know?"

This had to be a joke. It was like back when Dean was first getting to know Sasha and the incubus had basically given this same free pass. There was so much Dean wanted to ask, wanted to know, but only one question came to mind. "Why this?" he gestured at Dave's handsome and fit but humble, even _domestic_ form, "Why all this?" he extended his question to the diner, with its jukebox now playing _**Stairway to Heaven**_, which Dean was pretty sure was a joke, "Do you always look like this when you…talk to people?"

Dave's smile stretched on one side, almost a smirk, and yet the expression was entirely kind. Dean thought maybe there was something familiar about all this, but he couldn't place what it was. "It's different for everyone, Dean. This is just what you needed. What you _need_. But I'm surprised. I think you already know the real answers."

Like someone had suddenly put a TV in front of his face, Dean began to see images and flashes like real-time. He saw Dad, and Bobby, even Sam, and clips of Johnny Cash, and this diner, just as it was, only…only it was years ago, decades, and he and Sammy were grabbing lunch without Dad, because Dad was still gone, and even though they were too young, the nice old owner had fed them on the house, refusing to take their crumpled up bills.

"You say I'm not what you expected, Dean, but this is what you wanted. What your heart tells me. And because of that, this is what I am. Not a parlor trick, or a game, just truth through your eyes. Maybe it's a hard thing to understand, but this is me, every paternal memory that made you feel safe and comfortable wrapped up into one thing. Granted with pie, and fries, and coffee, which could arguably be more on the motherly side, but…that's neither here nor there with me. I am what I am, Dean. And I am for you."

The images were just as quickly gone, Dean left staring into Dave's blue eyes like those of that old man's from his memory, with something rugged and handsome like Dad, and old Country like Johnny, and firm but loving care like Bobby, and…and so much else Dean wasn't sure he could name.

Dave grinned. "Now get your ass away from my counter, son, and go do your job," he said, pushing up to stand tall again, "They're waitin' for ya."

There was the strongest flush of love that filled Dean just looking at Dave, love and peace and…yeah, Dean felt safe, strong, like he could do _anything_. For a moment that remaining darkness from Malak was dulled to almost nothing. Even the jukebox was playing Johnny Cash again.

The pie had been delicious, but Dean was contentedly full from it. He took a swig of coffee to wash the remains down, smiled maybe a little crookedly because he honestly didn't know if there was a right thing to say or do right now. This just wasn't something Dean understood. Which was probably why Dave appeared as a man like the men Dean most admired, them at their best, meeting in a place Dean felt comfortable in because it was where he had grown up, in similar places all across the country. Dean supposed if Sam and Sasha were here, and the others, then…yeah, this wouldn't be so bad a Heaven.

"I can do this," Dean said, not sure if he was asking or telling, but needing to say it.

Dave just nodded, smiled, moved the cups under the counter and started wiping it down.

Dean moved for the door, wondering if he would ever get the chance to be in this diner again, with Dave, coffee and comfort food made just for him, but he figured that's not really what mattered. He didn't need to look back before pushing open the door and stepping out into the light. Somewhere, Dave was always looking him in the eyes.

The light was blinding, almost agonizing, or maybe that was just because Dean had stepped into it, through it, only to come out on the other side of Dave's diner back to darkness. Malak's blotting out of the sun still reigned here, the battle still looming ahead. Dean was standing before the Roadhouse doors, his hands gripping the handles but not having yet pulled, not having yet entered. The darkness surged within him, no longer held at bay by Dave's presence, but Dean fought against it, firm against that awful emptiness.

Sasha's hand came up and squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Dean, are you okay?" asked the voice Dean knew so well, soft and deep and concerned.

The Four Horsemen were on the other side of the doors, Dean thought with a strange flutter in his chest. Dave said they were already waiting. And suddenly, Dean thought he knew why Dave had taken the time to pull him aside and tell him this. He thought he understood much more than he had before.

It scared him a little. Thrilled him. He was so anxious, hoping, _praying_ that he was right that he didn't answer Sasha, but instead threw open the doors like he had before when he had unknowingly entered Dave's diner and bounded inside until he could see the whole of the bar. He did not see Ellen, or Jo, or Ula, though he knew all three were in here somewhere, safe. He saw four others, four _living_ people who moments ago were long dead.

His _mother_, Mary Winchester, was standing at the jukebox looking more beautiful than Dean could ever have remembered her, young, maybe early 20s, her hair gently curled like Jo often wore hers, in jeans and a figure hugging shirt.

His _father_, John Winchester, was sitting at the bar, just as young, just as casually dressed and carefree. He was _smiling_. Even more amazing was that he was sitting next to a redheaded woman Dean recognized immediately as Sasha's mother.

Solaris Kelly had her hand on John's arm, laughing, looking as stunning as the pictures Dean had seen, or the brief vision he had seen of her in the Animus house all those months back.

Lastly was Deklin Kelly, behind the bar mixing drinks and telling jokes, Dean realized, since John started laughing too and Mary turned from the jukebox to shake her head at him. Deklin looked so much like Sasha, but different too, dark hair to his shoulders, face scruffy with his smile widely showing teeth.

As a gasp left Dean's lips, the others coming in after him only to stop short just as he had, gasps of their own loudly echoing, Mary, John, Solaris and Deklin all shifted their bright, young, _living_ eyes to look at them. Everything went eerily quiet, so quiet that Dean didn't know if he was even breathing anymore. He could only see the four of them, only focus on the _four of them_, and though he had begun to suspect before he even opened the doors that they were who he would find, he was floored to actually see them.

The only thing that could break the tension and sudden silence was exactly what did break it.

Deklin, hands hovering, one on a glass, one on whatever it was he had been mixing up, shrugged his shoulders a little coyly, smirked, and said, "Umm…boo?"

tbc...

A/N: I love Deklin! And I love the horsemen! Any guesses as to which horsemen each is and what the opposites will be? Some are pretty obvious, granted.

I know it's nuts but, aside from the bonus chapter, there may only be about 4 chapters left of the main story. Crazy! But I promise an Epilogue arc, as well as more for as long as you want Incubus around.

Crim


	95. Part 6: Before the Siege

Sorry for being late, and for the lack of demon sex. I just didn't 'feel' it, you know? Maybe later. Anyway, I had an awful week last week, and for those who might only watch Incubus and didn't see the horror Gen fic, with a touch of wincest, that I posted last week, please check it out. Short one-shot. Very dark. Shows how I was feeling. Bah. Anyway, the muse returned and here is your gift. Enjoy!

The song used in this chapter is one you will not know. I'm not judging your music knowledge here, people, you just won't know this as it was written by a friend of mine several years ago and if I can figure out a way to upload it somewhere for you all to listen to it, I will. It is gorgeous.

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Part 6: Before the Siege

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Dean was still gaping along with the others when Solaris, breathtaking redhead that she was, rolled her eyes—annoyed, unsurprised, _alive_—and reached over the bar to smack Deklin hard in the chest.

"Ah! _Sol_," Deklin whined, making a pretty good show of that having hurt, even tipping back a step and rubbing his assaulted breastbone.

"That wasn't funny, Deklin," the succubus reprimanded—at least Dean assumed she was still a succubus even though she was still also technically dead.

The whole thing was even more surreal when John, barely containing a dimple-wide smile, practically _laughing_, looked at Deklin with a strong sense of camaraderie, glanced briefly out at those by the door, and said, "It was a little funny," like he almost would have made the 'boo' comment himself, like he and Deklin were _friends_.

Heads up from Dave or not, this was so totally the freaking Twilight Zone.

Dean was obviously taking too long to start explaining that he had been expecting this, because he could distinctly hear the nervous shuffling of his companions, Sam's voice rising softly then, miserably above the others.

"What is this…?"

"What…?" Sasha echoed him, unable to finish his thought, sounding breathy and dismal as if what was right in front of them was worse than the apocalypse outside.

Dean understood why immediately. Of course none of them would assume this was the real John, Mary, Deklin, and Solaris. "It's okay," he spoke up, before anyone could reach for a weapon or say something accusing to the four people before them. It was possible that Sam could feel them, that Jimmy could see the truth of their souls, but that didn't mean either of them would believe this unquestioningly when such tricks were so common a tactic from the other side.

"_Okay_?" Sam shot back at Dean as if Dean had clearly lost his mind.

"Dave said they would be here," Dean explained, not looking at Sam, and realizing, actually, that he hadn't moved at all, not since first stopping short at the sight of his parents, at Sasha's parents, The Four Horsemen of the god damn apocalypse. He could only stare straight ahead at the miraculous sight of all of them.

Sasha sputtered, "_Dave_ said? When?"

And that was the funny part. "About thirty seconds ago," Dean admitted, a delirious smile finally beginning to twitch at his mouth.

It was ridiculous, really, how they all just kept standing there even after Dean had said it was okay, that this was the real deal, not some shapeshifter trick. The 'horsemen' were likewise unmoving, John smiling out at them patiently—Dean couldn't ever remember his dad looking that patient—Solaris pretty much the same, Deklin seemingly searching out some other pun or wisecrack from the back of his brain, and Mary just looking so happy beside the jukebox, so delighted to see them.

Who knows how long they might have stood there, no one knowing what to say or do, if not for the calm, proud voice that came from within Dean's crew to move things forward.

"They are the horsemen of legend," said Jimmy, only so obviously _Castiel_ now purely by his tone and the resonance of it, "Warriors chosen by Dean. Though unwittingly, I do believe," he smiled as he came around the others to stand just ahead of Dean. If not the voice then his eyes would have given him away, no longer quite human, but aged and wise beyond mortal understanding, even with him in the T-shirt and jeans Jimmy had borrowed from Iain.

"I chose them?" Dean repeated, of course knowing he had to have but also amazed that he could do such a thing without knowing it consciously. Then again, who else would he have chosen, even if he had been fully aware? There were no four people more fitting.

Castiel smiled.

Dean stood in awe, his eyes drawn mostly to his father, who he had never seen look so young and content. They were all dressed so normally, so fittingly modern, his own father like he had borrowed clothes out of Dean's closet, and Deklin quite the same, as if he had grabbed a T-shirt and jeans from Sasha. And their mothers, like Sarah and Jo, that young 'Slayer chic' as Dean often said, so different than Dean usually imagined any of them.

The four of them continued to wait, waiting for Dean, for any of them to act first, wholly understanding of how difficult this was for everyone. Dean wanted to rush forward and hug his Mom so tight she'd lose her breath, like he had in that wonderful, terrible dream from the djinn. He wanted to hug his dad. He wanted to know and believe tangibly that this was real, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Are you all such ridiculous fools?" chided Shiarra, who Dean had almost forgotten was with them, having attached herself to Bobby when they were making their way through the crowd outside. She came into full view, breezing past everyone, even Sasha, even Castiel further out on the floor, and went straight for her sister.

Solaris rose happily to meet Shiarra halfway, the succubae embracing enthusiastically, Solaris' face most visible to Dean and the others and looking so wonderfully _happy_.

Dean should have guessed that Sam would be the next to move. Castiel's assurance was all the others needed to be certain this was no trick, no awful ruse. Sam went straight for Mom, not surprisingly, the only true memory the kid had of her being that brief glimpse of a ghost in their old house with apology on her lips. Now Sam could actually touch her, hold her, and he did, utterly engulfing her in his larger frame.

Sasha was next, of course, following Shiarra's path right to his mother, while Deklin was finally coming out from behind the bar, his mixing supplies left on the countertop.

Castiel smiled wider as he moved around Dean again, presumably to continue helping Iain, even as his angel self. That left the Trickster, Sarah, and Bobby still by the door behind Dean, hanging back, Dean figured, because _Dean_ had yet to move. He was enjoying too much the sight of the reunion before him, the endorphin rush of seeing everyone he loved so happy and all in one place.

He finally moved when he saw his father walking over to Sam and Mary, a more tentative but still wholly grateful embrace passing between the two men that reminded Dean of when he and Sam had first found Dad after this all started, and there was no thought of fighting or disagreements, however brief that lasted.

He moved then, moved to join his family, noticing out of the corner of his eye the way Sasha was caught up in a hug with Deklin now, laughter on all their lips, Deklin distinctly saying, "Last time I could hold you in one arm," and then Dean was hugging _Dad_, so damn tight he probably would have broken him if his father was anything fragile.

"I wanted it to be you," Dean said into the crook of his father's neck, any resentment, grudges, and accusation falling away for now in the face of this, just _this_, his family all together for the first time in twenty-five years, "I wanted it to be _all_ of you," he went on, letting Dad go only to turn to Mom, who had to be the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. She was younger than Dean remembered her from life, younger than he had ever known her, and just _radiant_.

She touched his face, held his neck, squeezing, and then she pulled him in and he was liquid in her arms, a child with nothing else in his thoughts other than her. "Oh sweetheart," she breathed, "We're so proud of you both."

Every word of pride from Cas, or Sasha, or even Dave just wasn't as worthwhile as hearing that from his mother. Dean was so happy, he actually _couldn't_ cry, even though the tears were thick in his eyes. He pulled back, looking from Mom to Dad to Sammy. "This is so crazy. I mean, I knew it, I knew the second I was back here that Dave meant you, but…_Jesus_," he laughed.

"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," came Bobby's voice, humored, almost disbelieving but not. Sarah was right with him as they approached, and Bobby thrust out his hand toward John. "Figures you'd be too stubborn not to find your way into this war," he said. His face was stern for all of two seconds before his smile joined the humor already clear in his tone.

There was so much happening around Dean, so much wonderful chaos. Sam pulling Sarah over, introducing her to Mary, Bobby smacking John on the back, mentioning something about whatever it had been that made Bobby promise to shoot John dead next time he saw him. And the Kellys, only a couple feet away, talking fast, Sasha glowing more than Dean had ever seen him glow, a part of Sasha touching Solaris or Deklin or both every time Dean glanced over. There was also Castiel, carefully leading Iain over to a stool by the bar, who looked much better now but was still grateful for the help.

Dean had enough sense to notice that the Trickster was gone, but he didn't really care, figuring the demi-god didn't want to get involved in this mess, and Dean was fine with that, he really was. Right now he had everyone he needed.

His eyes met Sasha's across the small space between the two families, a lull finally settling, but it was Deklin who brought them all together, crossing over, smacking John the way Bobby had and snatching up Dean's hand before he knew it was being shaken. "About time I got to meet you in person, Dean," Deklin smiled, that smile so much like Sasha's that Dean felt dizzy from it, "Granted, there wasn't much either of us could do about that, huh? How ya been, Bobby?" he turned right to the older hunter, pulling him in for a quick embrace without shame, "Look who's the 'old man' now?" he chuckled.

Bobby laughed right back, "You wish," he said, patting Deklin firmly, "You'll always be older, Dek. This's gotta be some form a cheatin'."

Further laughter, loud, boisterous, and again so much like Sasha. "Well you know I never play fair," Deklin agreed, "But hey, I can finally introduce you to Sol. My better half, clearly," he pulled Solaris forward with a hand at her lower back.

"Clearly," Solaris repeated, her hair so red and long down her back like Dean remembered from pictures and the Animus house, wearing tight jeans and an equally tight top, much like Dean's own mother, and looking so _young_. She pulled Bobby close and kissed him on the cheek. "We could never repay you enough for all you've done," she said.

"I second that," Mary smiled over at them.

Shiarra's added radiance had her looking as young as the others—though of course she always technically looked twenty-five—and she attached herself to Bobby again like she needed someone to cling to while everyone else was clinging, Bobby being a very worthy candidate.

Sasha had moved closer to Dean by this point, sidling up beside him and grabbing his hand tightly, seeking something to anchor him as well, like he thought he might float away. Dean couldn't help noticing that John and Mary's attention moved to the redheaded incubus the moment their hands touched.

"Uhh…" he fumbled immediately, not really sure how to go about this, though clearly now was the time to say, 'Oh by the way, this is my _boyfriend_.'

That thought made Dean feel slightly nauseous, more from the stare of his father than his mother, not that it was anything piercing right now, but Dean couldn't quite shake thoughts of how his father had _been_. An ex-Marine hunter who happened to have bought Dean all of his first skin mags just didn't fit in with a broad-minded crowd usually.

"So…" he tried to keep going, noticing the way Sasha kept gripping his hand tighter, "How…much exactly…do you all know of what's been happening down here?" he asked, which he thought was a safer way to query 'do you already know I'm screwing an incubus?' than actually saying it.

That was about the time John's expression flickered to as much of a semblance to the man Dean remembered from life as it had yet shown, his face almost grey in the shifting light, with something like uncertainty and a sense he was holding back a comment. There was no outright dissent, which was a start, Dean supposed, but clearly the horsemen knew _everything_ that had been going on this past year.

Dean wasn't worried about the Kellys accepting him. That wasn't the issue. He'd be damned, though, if his dad was going to make Sasha feel unwelcome. "So you know Sasha," he said with a controlled voice, eyes on Dad only, "You know his parents pretty well, seems like. Guess you know all you need to." It was almost a challenge, the way Dean said that. He hadn't often been good at challenging his father, but this was something he would not budge on. He held onto Sasha's hand just as tightly as Sasha was holding his.

"It was a…surprise," John cleared his throat, though he was obviously _trying_ to be supportive here. Dean couldn't have expected Heaven to have completely enlightened his father. Nothing was that much of a miracle. Then Mary was jabbing John not at all discreetly in the side and John's hand stretched out toward Sasha. "Good to meet you, son," he said, pulling on a smile.

Not one to be deterred in this situation, beaming as he was and all, Sasha accepted the hand with great fervor. "You too, Sir," he said.

If Dean didn't already know it, he would have discovered just how much he loved his mother that next moment, when she rolled her eyes and broke up the handshake with a decisive push so she could pull Sasha in against her tightly. It disconnected Dean and Sasha's hold on each other, but Dean didn't mind. "Thank you so much, dear," Mary said, "They really needed you."

That got Sam, who was close beside Dean, smiling so wide, his dimples were about ready to crack. He leaned over and squeezed Dean's shoulder, sharing the smile like an inside joke. They should have known that of course Mom could accomplish easily what both of them always struggled with—getting one up on Dad.

There was a bit more flurry of introductions, hugs, and handshakes, a whirlwind really of voices and moving bodies that Dean absolutely _loved_. He even caught an apologetic look from his father, which he knew was for Sasha, and that just made everything wonderfully and surreally perfect. Right now he didn't need anything else to bolster him for tomorrow. Not a damn thing.

At some point during the throng, Castiel whispered into Dean's ear that it would be best to take Iain up to bed, as the young librarian desperately needed rest. He promised to look over Iain vigilantly—having promised not to leave and meaning that whole heartedly—and wished for Dean to enjoy the time he had been given tonight, a wish Dean knew he could easily grant.

What finally broke everyone up to actually sit down and commune together was Deklin calling out that he had been in the middle of mixing drinks, and who wanted one, because he was taking over as bartender for the day. He turned to look at Dean as he was backing his way toward the bar, but before he could say anything, something snarky, no doubt, judging by the look on his face, Solaris clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Don't you dare," she said.

"You both promised," Mary joined in, taking a stool next to John at the bar and poking her husband pointedly.

Solaris nodded over at Mary. "No teasing. None of that 'I have a shotgun and a shovel' nonsense."

Deklin busted out a laugh from behind Solaris' hand, saying once she removed it, "Awww. You take all the fun out of it, Sol. Haven't I missed out on enough fatherly perks?"

It could have been a depressing comment in the right situation, but not now, not with the way he said it, especially since Solaris came back with another smack to his chest. "Nice try, Mr. Kelly."

Sasha was still beaming, still staying by Dean's side but also wanting to be close to his parents, wanting, like Dean, to share his excitement with all those he loved. "You wouldn't have really?" he asked his father, "Shotgun and a shovel?" He leaned into Dean as he said that, and they took stools of their own while Deklin went back behind the bar.

"And why not?" Deklin grinned, "How many father's these days can actually say that and mean it? Too few, that's how. Then again, you don't need any threats from me, now, do you, Dean," he winked. _Winked_. Damn, he was so much like Sasha, his expressions, the way he carried himself and moved, and yet Dean thought he understood finally why everyone kept comparing _him_ to Deklin instead.

"No, Sir," Dean smiled back, refusing to be embarrassed by how much more open the Kellys seemed to be about his and Sasha's relationship, especially since Dean's father was sitting right next to him.

Deklin grimaced. "No, no, no. None a that 'Sir' business with me, kiddo. I never served. Too young for WWII, and a hunter already before Vietnam. There shouldn't be that kind of formality with family anyway," he added with a crooked grin tossed very obviously John's direction to make no mistake who he meant the comment for.

Dean gaped, not only at Deklin's candidness, but at how John didn't throw back a scowl or angry word but looked instead almost like he was…blushing. Dean knew he had to be imagining that, even sitting next to John as he was, because there was no way his father _blushed_.

Then Dean forgot about his father entirely for a moment as his brain replayed what Deklin just said, how he had said _family _shouldn't be that formal, like he already counted Dean as an honorary Kelly.

"Now, what's everybody fancy?" Deklin asked the crowd around the bar, Sam and Sarah further down the line by Mary, then a few empty stools, before it came around to Bobby and Shiarra next to Solaris. There were some 'family members' missing, however, and Dean felt bad that he had forgotten about them until they came traipsing out from the direction of the kitchen.

"You mind yourself behind my bar, Deklin Kelly," Ellen said sternly, coming out, along with Jo, with trays of food as if they had been expecting the arrival of the crew. They set the food down on the nearest table, Jo going straight for Sarah afterwards, and Ellen planting herself before the bar to glare challengingly at Deklin.

Deklin raised his hands into the air like this was a stickup. "Won't break or mess a thing, Elly, you know that. There was a time I'd help your parents back at the Roadhouse every time I passed through, you being just a girl back then, you can bet I remember that." He smiled knowingly.

"_Elly_?" Jo repeated with a quirked smile, sitting next to Sarah on an empty stool and apparently the only one brave enough to call attention to the nickname.

Ellen turned a sharp gaze to her daughter and then moved it much more heated and warningly toward Deklin, whose hands, fittingly enough, were still raised. "I thanked my lucky stars every night after I met your boy that he wasn't nearly as annoying and foolhardy as his father," she said, unforgiving in her tone despite the fact that she was talking to a dead man, which didn't surprise Dean in the least.

"You know," Deklin lowered his arms to point a finger at Jo, seemingly ignoring Ellen now, "When I first met your mother she was younger than you by probably ten years. Not even a teenager yet. I was even there the day your parents met. Boy did Bill have his eyes on her right from the start. He was older, you know, and I don't think Elly could have been more than…fifteen when you kids met?" he looked to Ellen finally with a questioning lilt.

Rolling eyes at the patriarchs in the room seemed to be the trend of the day, but Dean could see the smile twitching at Ellen's lips despite her best efforts, and indeed she didn't reprimand Deklin again, just shook her head and took a seat next to Jo. "Two weeks shy of sixteen," she amended.

Deklin's smile went wide at having won. "That's right," he nodded.

As Ellen and Jo sat, those at the bar began to filter over to the table for food. Apparently, Ula had escaped out to the fae camps looking for her friends, Danny in particular, which made Dean feel a little guilty. That was going to be an interesting revelation. Maybe the Trickster had left for that reason, off to play the part of shapeshifter guy and ease Ula's mind a bit. Dean hoped so, though truth would be better in the long run, however awkward.

Despite being absolutely starving, Dean couldn't quite get himself to move and grab food along with the others. Malak had made it unnecessary to eat for those three days, but damn was Dean regretting that he had gone along with that and turned monk the whole time.

He glanced over at Sasha, not really meaning anything by it, and yet the redhead seemed to pick up on something hidden in Dean's expression that even _Dean_ didn't know he was exuding. Sasha smiled with a soft laugh, nodded as if Dean had asked something of him, and then hopped off his stool to go grab food for them _both_.

Damn, Dean loved that guy. He followed Sasha with his eyes, his face probably showing all that love with bare abandon, until he came face to face with his father's raised eyebrows.

Dean just grinned wider.

"So…you said Dad was really pissed he couldn't come down too, huh?" Jo was asking Deklin with an expression Dean was certain he had never seen on the tomboy, so girlishly innocent and childlike, eager in a way that made Jo look remarkably young. Dean figured he had probably looked similar in the last few minutes.

Since Deklin now had everyone's attention, something he seemed quite happy about, he continued mixing up some concoction Dean couldn't quite follow the ingredients of, and passed around glasses. "Ah, not too bad. I joked that he was probably relieved he wouldn't be down here for me to show him up," he winked at Jo, "But he's not one to dwell on something like that. Just said to make sure I passed a little something along." Stopping for a moment, Deklin walked closer to Jo and Ellen, whispered between them, and then pulled away with a chuckle.

Jo was beaming even more like a doted on child, and even Ellen was smiling now, though she couldn't resist shaking her head again like it was all so silly. Dean really wished right then that he could have met Bill Harvelle.

While Sasha was still over at the table, liberally filling up a plate of food, Deklin keeping right on making drinks and passing them around, and conversation utterly _buzzing_ from everyone at the bar, Dean allowed himself a moment to bask. Then his Dad was leaning close to him, a halting but genuine whisper passing between John's lips.

"He's…a good kid," John said, something Dean recognized as his father's best attempt to admit approval of Sasha, his 'blessing' in not so many words, so maybe there were stronger miracles in existence than Dean had expected.

"I know," Dean said without bothering to lower his voice as John had, "He's the best thing that ever happened to me, Dad."

John didn't disagree, his smile closer to what Dean remembered of his father, sad and regretful, like he wished he could make certain things different but wasn't about to say he wished _Dean_ was any different.

Solaris had been talking with her sister a couple stools down from them, mostly because Shiarra didn't seem capable of holding back her questions or jubilance, but when Sasha came back with food that he set on the counter between him and Dean, Solaris turned on her stool to face her son. Dean watched humorously as the redheaded succubus took Sasha's face in her hands like she needed one more long look at him for posterity's sake, and was nothing but pleased with what she found.

"You're so beautiful," she said, emotion thick in her voice, "You look just like your father." She smoothed his hair, stroked his cheek once more before pulling back.

This had Sasha pink from all the attention, especially attention from his _mother_, but it was when Deklin shimmied over to them, patted Sasha's hand on the countertop with his own, and said with a grin, "I am _so_ sorry," that Sasha laughed, so full of joy, Dean was certain the incubus would burst.

It was strange, almost like a dream, and for the longest time they all just talked of nothing, of silly things that had no real meaning, only that was okay because they were together. Dean found himself caught up in several conversations going at once, calling down the rows to Sam, shouting across at Bobby, getting used to how Deklin made a joke of _everything_.

Dean's first sip of the drink Deklin made everyone surprised him because it was actually quite sweet but still promised of more alcohol in it than should be possible for how smooth it went down—_dangerous_.

By the time Dean was feeling a slight buzz, he knew he wasn't dreaming. It wasn't even noon yet, he was fairly certain, his concept of time warped after being with Malak, and with how the sky was constantly dark outside. It felt like they were around a bonfire at midnight, sharing stories and laughter with no thought of sleep.

"So there I was," Deklin began yet another hunter tale, the group having moved after awhile to sit at the tables, food and drink all around them.

"You'll eventually notice all of Deklin's stories start this way," John snarked, actually _snarked_, which proved even more that Deklin and John had to be friends and that things were very different in Heaven than on Earth.

Deklin just laughed and reached over to hook an arm around John's shoulder. "This guy," he said fondly, "He's just sore I cleaned him out last week." Solaris and Mary were sitting next to their respective husbands, both shaking their heads at what must have been familiar antics.

Not trying to pull away, John looked up at Deklin skeptically. "You cheat," he said plainly.

Snickers rose from several onlookers but Deklin only smiled wider. "John, buddy," he shot back, "It's five man poker with four former hunters," he looked suddenly at Sasha, "And your uncle." Then back to John, he shrugged, "We all cheat."

Dean was so amused by the whole thing, he couldn't quite wrap his brain around it all to ask what they meant, but Sam managed. "You have a poker night?" the tall brunette gaped. It wasn't that John wasn't an ace poker player, it had been a great way to hustle cash, after all, but playing regular with friends was a new one. Especially in Heaven.

Deklin looked like he was about to answer with some clever remark, but John, just as Solaris had earlier, clamped a hand over the other man's mouth. "Sorry, but we're not allowed to talk about what it's like up there. _Remember_?" John stressed to Deklin, "Most of it would be hard to explain anyway." He removed his hand from Deklin's face, who was still smiling but looked maybe slightly cowed for a change.

"But…" Sasha tried, sitting next to Dean, of course, and looking eager like he had so been hoping the story would continue, "You can at least tell us who all you play with, can't you? Uncle Jonathan. Who else?" Like all of the 'kids' in this scenario, Sasha was excitable over any information he could get.

"That won't hurt any," Deklin waved a hand dismissively before John could say anything to stop him, "There's us. Jonathan, yep. Bill, of course." He paused a moment. "Oh and _George_. Old bastard probably wins more hands than the lot of us," he elbowed John playfully, finally letting go of John's shoulders.

Most of the crowd had little to no reaction over this. The Harvelle's were rather unsurprised that Bill was a part of it, but Dean noticed Bobby's face fall slightly, Shiarra's too, and when he looked beside him at Sasha, he saw that the redhead's expression had sunk the lowest.

Dean played over that name—George. He couldn't remember anyone named George.

"George…Donovan?" Sasha said in a low voice.

_Donovan_. That name Dean did know and it made his shoulders tense, especially to see how ashen Sasha was becoming.

"But…he killed you," Sasha finished, incredulous tears filling up his eyes at the very thought.

Silence filtered through the group instantly, voices dropping off, Solaris looking sympathetically at Sasha, and Deklin smiling sadly. Deklin didn't excuse anything, didn't say, 'oh, no, it's a different George', so Dean knew the guess was accurate. Instead, Deklin gave the subtlest shrug he had yet. "It's hard to hold a grudge in Heaven, kiddo," he said.

Now Sasha just looked angry. "He shouldn't even _be there_," Sasha spat.

There was only one small table between Deklin and his son, the whole crew crowded around a handful of them with their chairs practically overlapping. Deklin reached across and put a hand over Sasha's clenched fist on the tabletop. "Sasha," Deklin said, and the softness suddenly in his voice, the seriousness, finally told Dean how much father and son could _sound_ alike too, "It's complicated. You have every right to be angry about it, but you don't have to be for our sake. George, he…god, if you could have been there, and don't think I don't thank the Lord every damn day that you weren't, but…if you could have _seen_ him. He panicked. That's all. He panicked and he was sorry the second it happened."

"He was…sorry?" Sasha repeated with a sneer, like he hardly believed that or it hardly mattered.

"We were going to see George and Bobby," Solaris took the story, "I hadn't met either yet, of course, and honestly it could have been either of them that we went to first. Deklin wanted to get back into things, you know, and…well, George was closer to where we were at the time."

Deklin squeezed Sasha's hand a moment more before sliding it away, not looking nearly as pleased to have all the attention on him and his wife for this story. "You remember, Bobby," Deklin looked over at his friend, "Those tricks I taught you and George for making sure the friend you let in is the friend you know?"

"Holy water in the beer," Bobby nodded, though his expression was blank, maybe holding more of his own resentment for George Donovan than he wanted to show.

"And one more," Deklin said, "Just as good in the right situation. Devil's trap under the rug in the entryway. You didn't have the right rug for it, Bobby, but George did. Thought it was a great idea. Saved his life a couple times. Fool that I am, though…I forgot all about it. Walked us right over the trap when he let us in. Poor fool didn't even notice I looked twenty years younger, too happy to see me, I guess, and Sol. But when we couldn't move off the rug…"

Dean suddenly had a perfectly clear picture in his head of how it all went down. Happy reunion, here's my new wife, come on in. Then they had been trapped, just like any other monster with demon blood, and Donovan panicked, assumed the worst, and…

"He didn't mean it. He was just scared, acting on instinct," Deklin went on with pained eyes at his son, "It was over quick for us, he was a good shot, and always had iron rounds as his default, something else I should have remembered. But even as I was falling, I saw how much he regretted it, how he knew, somehow, that it was still me, that he had made a mistake. It shouldn't have happened like that, but it did. And George…he couldn't forgive himself for it. Why do you think he kept passing it around, telling everyone that he'd killed me?"

"He wanted someone to take him out," Dean said before he knew he was speaking, knowing too well how the hunter code worked, how seriously hunters took what few friendships they had. And Deklin Kelly had had a lot of friends. It wouldn't have been hard to make things look like Donovan died on a hunt.

The stillness was too much when everything had been so light and joyous until now. Dean could tell that Bobby was troubled to hear this news, having been friends with Donovan as well. And Shiarra was hardly the forgiving type, silent and stern in a chair near her sister.

Sasha, though, he was having the hardest time with this, Dean could see it. Knowing that the man Sasha had hated for the death of his parents since he could speak the bastard's name was someone Deklin still counted as a _friend_…it just wasn't something easily accepted.

"I can't say I'm quite as forgiving as your father," Solaris broke the tension, rising from her chair to take one beside Sasha, putting one hand on his back and one on his arm, "Oh I pretend I am, all forgive and forget and all that. But truthfully," she allowed a smile to creep into her expression, "I can actually be quite a bitch."

Laughter spilled out of Sasha, even unbidden, and out of Dean and several others too, especially Deklin who gave Dean a look that said 'oh _yeah_ she can be' that had Dean laughing harder.

"_But_," Solaris continued, "I can't hate that man anymore. Even for shortening our time with you, dear," she touched Sasha's face as if in awe of him, "I won't say I'm glad things turned out the way they did simply because without all of it happening maybe you wouldn't be here. Though clearly _here_ is where you belong," she smiled around Sasha at Dean, "But I will say that holding onto hate instead of other much more worthwhile emotions goes quite against our people's ways. Or _should,_ anyway. And it just takes away so much more than it gives. We have today. That's something." She stroked Sasha's face again, holding it in her delicate looking hand, and Sasha reached up to place his hand over hers.

Dean was no longer an incubus, he could not sense their emotions, and yet he felt like he understood well enough to know that Solaris was taking away Sasha's anger and hatred bit by bit like a transfusion of _good_. It was nothing so grand as that in actuality, just a mother's touch, a mother's love, but sometimes that was more supernatural than most things.

As had come to be expected, Deklin was the one who braved breaking the moment with good humor.

"How do women manage stuff like that like it's no effort at all and we suck so bad at it?" he asked aside to John.

"That's an easy one, Dek," John replied, smiling like the man Dean imagined his father could have been, "Rule number one," he answered simply.

Almost immediately Sam and Sasha started laughing again, Sasha pulling away from his mother to look at John and Deklin like they were everything he could ever ask for to cheer him up further. Dean didn't get it at first, but as he repeated that in his mind a few times—_rule number one_—it suddenly came back to him.

'_Rule number one,'_ Deklin's apparition had said in the Animus house to a baby Sasha on the floor of their home, _'Women never make sense.'_

Dean joined in on the laughter, Mary and Solaris both apparently getting the joke too if their annoyed expressions meant anything, while those who didn't understand could only look on baffled.

After all that, Dean couldn't help imagining the two families, Winchester and Kelly, having lived alternate lives as neighbors, barbequing and getting together for the 4th of July, or something equally mainstream American, sharing food and drink and stories just like this. Dean didn't feel he had missed out on anything that it hadn't happened that way. He felt blessed that it was happening now.

As if nothing had derailed them from their previous conversation, Deklin quickly returned to his "So there I was" story and the day went on as it should. The 'horsemen' had apparently been paying enough attention to the world below that Dean and the others didn't need to tell any of their stories, and rather preferred hearing stories from their parents anyway.

Solaris always had a few words to add to Deklin's tales, John jumping in a lot of the time too, usually to contradict something Deklin had said about some creature John had faced once as well, and how "There's no way you could have killed it that way, Dek. It would have taken your head off." Or something similar. Dean was still amazed by the obvious friendship between the two men, his father calling Sasha's father 'Dek' all offhanded and easy. The friendship between their mothers was more easily understood.

Eventually, with all the tall tales passing around, Dean couldn't help turning his focus onto his mother, separate from the hunter talk and often speaking off to the side with one or more of the other women. When she eventually sat down between Sam and Sarah, looking like she was about to go into some long conversation with her baby boy's girlfriend, Dean decided it was time to speak up. Especially since there was a rare lull in Deklin's stories as he had gone back to the bar to mix up more drinks.

"Three horsemen I understand and one I don't," Dean said with a smile tossed over Sam beside him to where their mother was now sitting, "No offence, Mom, but…Dad I get. Deklin, sure. Solaris, she's a succubus, she knows all this stuff. But you were…a housewife," he grimaced as he said it, "Please don't hit me," he added quickly, holding up his hands, and thinking he wouldn't feel at all guilty about using Sam as a human shield should the need arise.

But of course Mary wasn't offended. She smiled like she had a secret, and John, who was paying enough attention to have heard Dean's question, said, "I'll let you handle this one, Mare."

It was definitely a secret, because Mary looked a little flustered about it now that she actually had to reveal the truth, meaning Sam and Dean were immediately more interested to hear what she had to say. "I hope you won't think too differently of me," Mary said, "But…there are a few things I need to tell you boys."

Several minutes later, after getting the full version of how the YED came into their lives, Sam and Dean were still gaping. Deklin was back with more drinks, something Dean needed more than before, and Sam was being pretty liberal with his too. Dean couldn't help thinking that this must have been one hell of a surprise for their father when he found out posthumously.

Their mother had grown up a hunter. A _hunter_. She wanted to give it up for John, for the chance to raise a family normally, and if it hadn't been for a run-in with the Yellow-Eyed Demon that started the family trend of Devil deals, maybe she would have gotten that. Dean also understood now why Mary had apologized to Sam the night they met her ghost in Lawrence. She hadn't understood when she made the deal, of course, but it hadn't been _her_ soul she sold the night she kissed Azazel.

"The whole family?" Sam questioned, still in awe that they came from a line of hunters, not just their Dad's vendetta.

"Well, I was an only child," Mary shrugged.

Dwelling on 'might have beens' wasn't worth their time, so Dean found himself focusing on other details. "I was named after grandma?" he made a face. Grandson of Samuel and _Deanna_ Campbell.

The others, including Dean's parents, fell into easy laughter. Then Sasha turned to his mother still seated beside him and said, "_I_ wasn't, was I?"

A good amount more laughter later, Deklin explained that Sasha was named after his great-grand_father, _Sasha Gorodetski, who moved from Kiev to Galway before meeting Deklin's grandmother.

It made so much more sense to Dean knowing his mother had been a hunter, and he was no longer worried that all four horsemen might not be able to hold their own. They seemed human, and sex demon, depending on who he meant, but there was something else about them too. They weren't immortal, Dave had said, but they weren't at risk either, since all that would happen if they died in battle was the same as their fate if they lived—a return to Heaven. That made Dean feel remarkably at ease.

Sasha made mention that he felt a little guilty, so happy right now when there were thousands of people and beings outside the doors resting in preparation for the end of the world. But Dean assured him and the others that they had Dave and Cas' leave to enjoy themselves as much as they could today, and he was going to follow through with that. It might be the last chance for peace and merriment they were going to get, especially together.

Conversation continued to flow, as did the liquor and food, but after awhile Shiarra suggested they add some other entertainment, music perhaps.

"Your mother was performing the night we met, you know?" Deklin said to Sasha, "Jazz club. I was following a lead. Damn, she was something else too," he smiled fondly, "Best pipes I'd ever heard."

"You were smoking up a chimney that night," Solaris smacked her husband playfully, "The place was smoky anyway. I mean it _was_ a jazz club. But I barely saw this man without a cigarette back in those days," she chided.

"You smoked?" Sasha said, not hiding his surprise.

Bobby made some kind of disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Stunk up my house every time he passed through," the elder hunter complained, "Forced him outside a couple a times. Figured he'd keel over before any creature managed to get the better of him."

There was a time when Dean almost took up smoking, an easy transition from drinking after a long night of hunting to drinking _and smoking_, but as used to second hand as Dean was, living in bars most of the time as he did, he could never quite stand having the smoke billowing out of his own lungs. Drinking a little extra instead just made more sense than having a coughing fit in the middle of a long hunt.

"I told Bobby once," Deklin was grinning, "That I'd quit as soon as I found a woman worth giving them up for. Guess I ate my words on that one," he tossed Bobby a friendly wink.

It was about then that Sasha started pulling out his wallet, always unnecessarily full, Dean thought, and finally he got a look at why as the redhead pulled out a thick wad of folded paper and started smoothing them out. "Hey, Dad," Sasha said, smiling so wide at being able to say that at all, something Dean could also relate to, "If we're thinking music, I've been keeping this one with me. Have for awhile. Maybe you could play it. It's yours," he passed the papers to Deklin.

Deklin was surprised and confused for a few moments as he took the papers, paging through them and seeing that it was messily written notes and words scrawled out making what looked like a song for guitar. Dean remembered Sasha saying something about finding lyrics on napkins amongst Deklin's journals, but Sasha had never mentioned a whole song.

It seemed just as much a surprise to Deklin to have the song in his hands. After a moment though, a crooked grin began to form on his face. He looked up at Sasha through dark lashes, head slightly bowed down still at the paper, a look Dean was familiar with from Sasha.

"Your mother was never supposed to know about this," Deklin said conspiratorially.

"What is it?" Solaris became instantly intrigued.

Deklin clutched the song to his chest when his wife and several of the others near him tried to snag a peek. "Now, now. This is from the halfway point when I was still pretty sure you were going to break my heart at some point, Sol. I was in love after day one, ya know, and going purely on faith and libido that you weren't eventually going to try and kill me." He was teasing her, of course.

"Deklin," Solaris said exasperatingly.

"You should play it," Shiarra insisted.

"Bill's guitar's in the back," Ellen mentioned offhandedly, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind you borrowing it for a bit. If you're careful."

The rest of the crew was looking rather eager at this point, and Dean even noticed out of the corner of his eye that his own father was smirking to himself.

Finally, Deklin, all over the top and dramatic, gave a great sigh.

"Oh, I don't know, I can't play this solo. It's written as two parts. I might remember how it goes, but…" his blue eyes flicked over to Sasha and his grin stretched, "You wouldn't happen to know one of the parts, would you, kiddo?"

Sasha beamed, clearly this having been his ulterior motive. "I'll grab my guitar," he said. Then, jumping to his feet, Sasha suddenly seemed to remember that he only had one guitar with him and that guitar had had a different owner once, an owner who was sitting in a chair directly in Sasha's path. "Uhh…I mean…it's your guitar, Sir, so…if you'd rather—"

"Last I checked, son," John broke in reassuringly, "It's _your_ guitar. Don't go disappointing everyone now," he smiled.

That was enough to assure Dean that this was going to be a good day from beginning to end, no doubt about it.

Sasha was back with his guitar, Deklin tuning up Bill's, in minutes. Dean had eaten and drank too much already, but then so had everyone else. He moved to sit next to his mother.

It all felt so domestic, not that Dean minded, especially when his mother reached over, entirely natural, and fussed a moment with his hair. He watched then, as they were all watching, Deklin and Sasha fiddling with their guitars before starting to play, laughing together like they weren't the center of attention, like it was just the two of them. Then with a wink tossed out at his wife, Deklin started them off.

It was simple acoustic, two-part guitar, Sasha taking melody since Deklin was the one who had to sing. Dean understood why Sasha had kept the song a secret, something special and private of his father just for him, and now, the only way it felt right, he could finally share that with everyone.

All Dean could think of, before Deklin first opened his mouth and the lyrics began, was the Animus house and the impromptu _Mack the Knife_ concert Deklin had given his baby boy. This song was softer, sadder, and suited Deklin's rougher voice that was and was not like Sasha's, not nearly as 'pretty' but fitting, soothing.

_If I could choose my view of you  
I would love to be a part of it  
I see what my surroundings can do  
They bring me down but I love falling_

_And all the things that I feel  
They break my heart but it still turns out okay_

Dean smiled as Sasha joined in, higher harmony to compliment his father.

_It's not finding what I want  
But what I've got today_

As the music played, conversation dulled to whispers, and the world began to fade out at its edges for Dean, surrounded by the people he loved.

He could hear his mother telling Sam how she thought Sarah was just lovely, Sam practically delirious with all this just as Dean was. Dad was by Bobby, casually leaning back in their chairs, and Dean was almost positive they were talking about how much Bobby had done for the boys after John's death, how grateful John was to his old friend for watching over Sam and Dean. Sarah and Jo, up front, were whispering about something mutinous, Dean figured, their twin giggles barely held back. And finally there was Solaris, Shiarra, and Ellen, just sitting, watching, listening intently to the lyrics being sung.

_Watching mixed up signs dance across your face  
Trepidation disappears, vanished without a trace  
And everyday that passing me by  
I look back and see that I've been trying to hide  
Never was very good at this game  
And I know that it's written all over my face tonight_

_And pretty soon I'll break  
But it's good enough for me  
It's too hard to explain_

Sasha joined in again for the chorus with beautiful tenor harmony.

_I won't ask for what I want  
Coz we're happy with today_

Dean could almost see the inspiration for this song playing out in front of his eyes, a parody maybe of how Sasha had felt when Dean, okay, hadn't _intentionally_ led him on, but…admittedly had gone back and forth with him until Sasha finally snapped in Williston for that sparring match.

It must have been a similar scenario for Deklin and Solaris, just sort of switched around, Deklin wanting what he didn't think Solaris could give him, and the succubus figuring it would be unforgivable to fall for a hunter. It had all turned out for the best, of course, even if it wasn't a storybook ending for everyone.

The end of the song was all harmony as Dean listened, still lost in the music, Sasha and Deklin playing and singing together like they never would have gotten the chance to otherwise.

_It's a win/lose situation  
You may not be mine  
But I won't lose what I've gained_

_You're everything I'd ever want  
And I'm fine with that today_

Later, Dean helped bully his dad until John eventually and humbly took his old guitar for a time and played, though he refused to sing. Who was playing and who was singing just kept being passed around, even to Mary and Solaris, who both had lovely voices. Dean shook his head when Sasha tried waving him up there, but he ended up being suckered into _Nothing Else Matters_ anyway. It was hard to say no when it was their song, and one they had sung together before.

After awhile, whoever wasn't playing was up dancing, something passed back and forth just like the instruments, until the jukebox was finally started up to give the performers a break. Deklin danced just like Sasha, Dean couldn't help noticing, the perpetually smiling man grabbing Mary at one point with a flourish and making a point to tease John about it as he did so. Dean lost track of time throughout it all, forgot even, every so often, that this was just the eye of the storm, and tomorrow everything would be different. He tried not to think about it.

Wiped for the moment, Dean walked over to the bar and reached over the counter for a glass of water. He smiled when Sam came huffing after him, having been grabbed earlier by Solaris who insisted Sam be taught how to dance 'properly'. Dean was still laughing inside about that one.

"I like that look on you, Sammy," Dean leaned back against the bar as he took a long gulp of water. He licked his lips, smirking. "Bliss and embarrassment. Just your color," he teased.

"Like you're any better," Sam nudged him, stealing Dean's water right out of his hands instead of grabbing a glass of his own, "I don't care how crazy this all is. It's _real_. And strangely enough…_fun_," he laughed before practically pouring the rest of Dean's water right down his throat.

Dean gave a nudge back at Sam just as he was swallowing, ensuring that his brother came up gasping and choking as if half the water had gone down the wrong pipe. "Sure, sure, says the guy who swears life _sucked_ all throughout childhood," Dean complained, "You and Dad haven't fought once yet and it's been hours. Must be the Heavenly influence or something."

A bit more of that embarrassment flushed to Sam's cheeks. He coughed a little more and then thrust the glass back into Dean's hands. "Yeah, well…maybe I'm starting to remember all those times that…weren't so bad. You know. When Dad would actually act the way he must have been when Mom was still alive. And now…well, they're together, right in front of us, and he's _that_ Dad again. It's nice. I was thinking…about that Christmas," Sam glanced over at Dean's prominent pendant hanging in front of his T-shirt, "I remember how much Dad yelled at you when he found out you told me the truth."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, finishing off the water, "I remember that vividly."

"No doubt, but…do you remember a couple days after? Dad was feeling guilty, I think. Maybe felt bad he'd yelled at you. Maybe felt bad he'd waited so long to tell me the truth, who knows. But he packed us up into the car and took us to this late movie in town. Like, really late, so no one else was even in there. Some horror thing. And don't forget, I was like…_eight_, and you weren't much better, but Dad takes us to this horror movie anyway."

The memory of what Sam was saying started to come back to Dean little by little. He nodded. "And I was pissed coz I thought, why the Hell is Dad doing this to you after you just found out scary shit actually _exists_."

"Yeah," Sam laughed, hazel eyes turning bashfully to the floor, "But…but it was okay, coz…coz Dad sat me between you two and…and every time something scary happened, he'd lean over and tell me why it couldn't be real, or how he knew just how to get out of that situation, or how I could protect myself. It was all this hunter stuff that should have made me feel worse, but it…it didn't. By the end of the movie we were all laughing."

Dean did remember that. It was the type of good time they rarely all had together, one of the few nights Dad had _tried_. Sometimes Dean thought like Sam did, that Dad hadn't tried nearly hard enough, and maybe he hadn't, but right now it was easy to remember the times that were good, the few times they laughed together and felt safe.

"Damn," Sam cleared his throat, like maybe there was more than water stuck in there, "Wish I could remember what movie it was. Do you?" he nudged Dean lightly.

"_**Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare**_," answered a voice that was not Dean's but that sounded a lot like him on occasion.

Sam and Dean both looked up to see their dad moving in to lean against the bar beside them. He looked so young, younger than either of their memories could have known him, but it was still Dad, and his presence still made both of them straighten.

"Guess that would have been…the sixth Freddy Krueger movie maybe?" John asked no one in particular, the three of them all in a row, not really looking at each other, "Course you don't get any points for knowing it wasn't actually the final one," he said with a smile in his voice. The very fact that John Winchester had a _smile in his voice_ was proof how bizarre this was.

"Was that the one where he squished a chic in a roach motel?" Dean asked.

"No, that was the fourth one, I think," John said thoughtfully.

Sam gave a helpless laugh. "How do you know that, Dad?" Horror movies hadn't become a family tradition or anything after that one Christmas. Usually, John just said they were a waste of time.

But this John, a John that had been dead for a couple years now, in Hell for one of them and Heaven since the Devil's Gate, replied, "I guess Deklin's a bad influence."

That had Dean laughing so hard, he could barely produce the right sounds. "So's his son," he finally managed, thinking of all the horror movies, especially zombie flicks, he had seen since meeting Sasha Kelly.

"Well, not in…quite the same way," John said slowly.

Sam choked on the last of the water caught down his windpipe.

Dean just grinned, because he could tell his father was trying to make a joke and that made everything lighter.

"God, I hope not," Dean chuckled.

It was unprecedented, this moment. The three of them. Alive, at least for the moment, when all had at one point been dead. Part of Dean wanted to ask John what Hell had been like for him. He had been there longer than Dean, so much longer, but despite what might have happened, he had escaped the Devil's Gate as himself, helped them save the day even, helped make it possible for Dean to rid the world of Yellow Eyes once and for all. That was enough. If John had earned Heaven then it was enough, and Dean didn't need to ask about Hell.

Part of Dean wanted to ask his father other things, so many others things, but he couldn't decide which of them were important enough to take up this time they had been given, so he ended up staying silent, Sam was silent too, just the three of them leaning back on the bar, watching the others dance and laugh and _be_.

Until John's voice spoke quietly above the music, "I'm so sorry," almost like a ghost of sound Dean thought he might have imagined. Then again, "I'm so sorry," John clearly said, "I let you boys down. I wasn't enough. I couldn't get you out of this mess. And I don't blame your mother for the deal she made. And I don't blame either of you for any of the things that happened with or without me. It's my fault. I could have given you a different life—"

"_Dad_," Sam cut their father off like it was painful to hear this, and it _was_. All the times Sam may have said similar things, and Dean may have thought similar things, didn't matter because right now neither of them wanted to hear this. "You don't need to do this, Dad. It doesn't matter now."

"It matters," John countered, "It does. Mary said the same thing, she said it's all over and done with now and I shouldn't dwell. And when we're looking down on you, seeing how strong you both can be even though I never gave you enough credit for that, I can believe it then. But being back down here…" he actually sniffed, loudly, and Dean saw just barely—since he wasn't actually looking, remember, and neither was Sam—that his father raised a hand to scrub down his face. Familial conditioned responses—awesome. "I put too much on you, Dean," John went on, "And Sammy…I didn't believe in you enough, the way Dean did, not enough to think you could escape what I thought was gonna happen. It didn't even happen how I thought, it was just one piece of the whole. And now you're both caught up in all this—"

"And so are you," Dean broke in this time, "We all are, Dad. We were always gonna be. You couldn't have changed that. You don't need to say all this. You said it to me already. A whole damn speech of it."

"Yeah," John huffed softly, "Right before telling you, you might need to kill your brother if you can't save him."

Not even the music over by the jukebox and the continued laughter could drown out the silence that filtered through the Winchester men. There were many things that had gone unsaid over many years, and it wasn't a lie that the day John Winchester finally admitted to his oldest son that he regretted much of the life he had given them was also the day he warned him that Sam might be counted among villains.

Dean hadn't believed that then, refused to believe it, even when Sam's powers were frightening, even when he was soul-deep petrified and had to look right into the yellow eyes of his own brother. Instead, he had believed in Sam, and because of that Sam had not fallen, and neither had Dean. Not really. Not when it mattered. And for all the things that Dean had the right to resent his father for, both of them did, they didn't want to. The truth was, even if all John gave them was the ability to have survived this long, with their destinies beckoning them all the while, it was enough. It could be enough.

Today was their day to be the family they never got to be.

"Good thing your clairvoyance sucks. Eh, Dad?" Dean nudged Sam hard enough to be sure the aftershock filtered through into John, grinning and staring down the line at both brother and father, who turned to him with equally shocked and then amused looks.

"It is more _my_ thing," Sam shrugged, playing along.

John's eyes were damp but when he smiled all that sadness washed away. "Good thing it wasn't Dean with the powers or he'd be more likely to see visions of the quickest way to take apart a carburetor," John snarked.

Damn, Dean often forgot that he got the snark from his father. "Whatever, man, you'd be just as bad. And who says I need visions to know that, anyway? Who put the car back together, thank you," he raised his hands in grand deserving of being praised.

Sam snickered and shook his head.

John gave a good laugh too, bucking into Sam to send brother into brother. "You just remember who she really belongs to. Keep her looking just as fine for another forty years, then we'll talk."

There was a little more laughter, followed by an amiable silence that was much better than the tense silence from before, and they watched the way their extended family was getting along so well.

It was hard to imagine they had a war to fight tomorrow when everything was domestic bliss right now. Dean had to keep thoughts of reality at the back of his mind even if he didn't want to. He had battle plans to make in which he would have to decide the best way to utilize everyone. Their four camps—human, sex demon, angel, and fae—would each need one of the horsemen, he figured. It probably didn't matter which horseman went with who but—

Dean's thoughts suddenly halted. He was such a fool. He had been so distracted by the horsemen being their parents that he had completely neglected to ask who each of them were.

He looked passed Sam to his father. "Hey, Dad," he said, "I can't believe I haven't asked yet, but…who's who with the horsemen? And what exactly can you guys do? Dave said you were each the opposite of one of them, right? There's War, Death, Famine, and…Pestilence," Dean counted off, "So what are you?"

John smiled. "We're not all-powerful or anything. Nothing as grand as you'd read in Revelations anyway. We can each use the ability that goes with our title. But only once. I'm Death," he said with a slight laugh, "No wisecracks about that, please. But you're right, we're actually the opposite. So really I'm Life. I can give back one person's life lost in the battle. Not to be taken lightly, Dean. The others are just as self-explanatory," he nodded over at the others, "Deklin is Pestilence. Solaris is War. And your mother is Famine."

"So that's…Health or Healing for Pestilence?" Sam started slowly, "Peace, obviously, for War." He stopped, his brow furrowing as he thought over the last one. "What's Mom then? The opposite of Famine…" he trailed.

"Food?" Dean chuckled, "What, she can whip up snacks during time-outs?"

John gave Dean a look that said he was not amused, an expression that was a bit more like the Dad they knew and…ahem, loved, of course, but it carried a hint of teasing that had been so rare while John lived. Before he could answer Dean with the truth, however, the doors to the Roadhouse opened, all merrymakers turning to see who had entered with a startled stillness.

_Great_. Dean's good humor sunk at the sight of the newcomers since he had lost track of time. It was Michael, Gwen, and Aloysha already coming to discuss battle plans. Much as Dean might want to, he couldn't avoid his duties forever.

He nodded when the three of them looked his way. It was strange, taking up the leadership role when his _father_ was here with him, someone he had always looked to for guidance, usually like a soldier did to a General more than a son did to his father. He couldn't resist a slight tease then as he made to follow the other leaders into a side room to talk.

"So Dad. How ya gonna handle taking orders from _me_ for a change?" he smirked as he headed off.

Sam, still beside John, was doing his best not to bust out laughing. John, for all he had changed and all of him that was still the father Dean had always known, managed to look deeply annoyed and humored at the same time. "Don't be a smartass," he said.

"Aw, come on, Dad," Dean walked backwards so he could keep Sammy and his father in his sights, "I'm only the Messiah. I can't be expected to work miracles." And with that Dean turned and headed through the door after Michael's retreating back, bolstered simply from the sound of laughter that followed after him.

It was a quick meeting. Dean knew what he wanted to tell the other leaders, what he thought their best tactics would be, and all three were willing to listen to him, Aloysha maybe slightly reluctantly.

The only person that might be salvageable on the other side—though Dean knew it was a longshot—was Solrin, and he only asked that the others try to take him alive. Everyone else was fair game, more than likely all demons anyway. They didn't have to hold back, and hopefully Dean's plan would help even the odds if those demons ended up outnumbering them.

Dean would tell his group of soldiers the plan and the other leaders would tell theirs, first light tomorrow, hopefully before Malak had yet started his attacks. They parted ways after that, Michael, Gwen and Aloysha returning to their groups outside, and Dean was pleased to see that the leader of the sex demons, while not one to smile or actually give Dean any nice comments, was at least congenial enough to offer a curt nod of approval. Dean's plan was sound.

Upon returning to the bar, Dean took a moment to merely look at everyone from the doorway. There wasn't much dancing anymore, but the jukebox was still playing. Food and drink was sparse now, with everyone piled on various chairs and tables chatting in groups. Dean almost laughed aloud to see how they had all segregated themselves, the women together—Sarah, Shiarra, Solaris, Mary, Ellen, and Jo—and all the men together—Sam, Bobby, Deklin…

Now really wasn't a good time to be this bad at counting, Dean realized with a shock. There were only three guys. And the two missing ones were _John and_ _Sasha_.

For all Dean's newfound admiration of how his father had been accepting and easygoing, he had a sudden vision of John with that shotgun they had all joked about earlier. Dean's dad and boyfriend alone together could not possibly be a good thing.

Just when Dean was about to have a mini meltdown, the door into the kitchen that happened to be quite close to the doorway Dean was standing in, pushed open, laughter preceding the entrance of those two missing men.

"And you actually caught them in the backseat? I can't believe Dean was only fifteen," Sasha was saying.

"Oh, he got a good reprimand for it, but as a father you just can't help being a little proud. Made him drive her home though."

Sasha laughed harder before his laughter turned into a sudden cough at turning and seeing Dean _right there_. "Dean. Uhh…I guess you're…done with the meeting then," he stuttered, jerking to a stop, his arms filled with more food, just as John's were.

"What were you telling him?" Dean cocked an accusing eyebrow at his father.

John smirked and shrugged innocence. "Now, Dean. We're just getting to know each other," he said, effectively avoiding actually answering the question and continuing on with a jerk of his head to indicate Sasha should keep on following too.

The imp of an incubus was red in the face and grinning wide as he shrugged at Dean and went on after John as asked. After a moment of assessing things, Dean had to wonder how much of this was miracle and how much was more like disaster.

They spent the whole rest of the day just like they had started it, with food, drinks—not all alcoholic for sanity and safety reasons—occasional music, some performing, and lots of talking.

Sasha disappeared with his parents for awhile to the roof to go flying, something Dean politely declined joining in on. Others came and went throughout the day, but their large family always returned to being together again. Dean wished Iain and Cas (and Jimmy, however the sharing worked) could be with them too, and he even went up to check on them once. Iain was sleeping so soundly and Castiel looking on with such fondness that Dean just smiled when Cas turned to him, before slipping right back out again.

Eventually, Dean found himself on a bar stool, alone, watching the others the way he had when it was him and Sam and Dad. He had a beer in his hand, but he wasn't really drinking it. He set it down on the countertop and turned back, grinning when he saw Sasha sauntering over, his hair windblown from flying.

"If you didn't have wings I'd worry that you're sorta hovering there, Mr. Kelly," Dean teased. He had never seen Sasha look so happy. Well, he liked to think he had a couple of times when it was just them, but this wasn't something he could ever be envious of.

Sasha took a seat next to Dean, sighing contentedly. "Yep," he said, not denying a thing, "If this was in part Dave's way of boosting morale, he succeeded."

"Ha. I'll be sure and tell him that next time he kidnaps me to the diner," Dean smiled.

They sat, enjoying the noise from everyone else and the quiet between them. Sasha stole a drink from Dean's beer but soon set it back on the counter. Dean couldn't help noticing after awhile that there was a melancholy inching its way into Sasha's expression. He thought, at first, that it was the thought of their parents not being able to stay with them long, but he knew by the way Sasha's eyes darkened that it was something else.

He knew that darkness because he had been feeling it too.

"Do you…miss what it was like?" Sasha asked, his voice soft, treading carefully like he was afraid he would anger Dean.

Dean didn't have to ask for further clarification on what Sasha meant. "Only if I think about it. And okay…sometimes it's hard not to think about it. But I'm not about to go turning traitor and calling Malak to come get me or something. I know I belong here, not with him. Being on this side gave me the chance to see my dad again, to see my mom. _This _is the right side."

"You sound like you're convincing yourself," Sasha looked at him sideways, small smile betraying that he was halfway joking.

"Maybe I am. A little," Dean admitted, "Yeah, I miss it. I feel the…absence like Malak said. But I know where I belong and who I'm loyal to. That's you. All of you," he looked out at the others.

"I miss it too," Sasha whispered so softly Dean almost didn't hear it.

Sometimes Dean forgot that Sam and Sasha had been given a taste of that power too, that it was just as difficult for them, a similar absence to bear. "But you missed me more, right?" Dean grinned and bucked Sasha with his elbow, almost sliding off his stool in the process.

The love in Sasha's eyes when he looked at Dean, gazes evenly met and such small space between them, was strong enough to bruise. "I would always miss you more, Dean. I love you. And not because it's the end of the world, or because I've been so happy today, or because I know you're the one who's going to save us. I love you because you're you. You're still the man you were when I first fell in love with you. I lost you a few times," he bit his lip, holding back the tears damp in his eyes, "But you always found your way back to me." Reaching to pull on the chain that hid a pendant beneath his T-shirt, Sasha held out to Dean the St. Anthony medallion that the incubus hadn't lost even when he was feigning darkside.

Dean took the pendant in his fingers, slowly letting it fall back to hit Sasha's chest with a dull jingle. "Guess you're mine forever then. God says so," Dean grinned.

And of course Sasha laughed. "Guess so," he said, leaning in, subtle but not, because Dean knew exactly what Sasha wanted—a kiss to feed his addiction.

Dean gave it gladly.

Soft lips, pliable, a hand soon holding Dean's face, another at his hip, partially hidden against the bar with how they were turned into each other, it was everything beautiful about Dean's life wrapped up in one moment. Kissing Sasha was perfect. All that wet and warmth, the tight connection, the way Dean shivered when Sasha's hand moved down to his neck, and Sasha shivered in answer when Dean's hand sought the incubus' thigh and squeezed.

They pulled apart, and Dean knew that a few of the pairs of eyes over at the tables were watching them. He let them watch, even if one of those pairs was his father's.

"Hey, now, go to your room if you're gonna get frisky," said Sam as he walked right over to them unashamed, not that he ever would be, carrying two fresh beers, one he passed to Sasha, the other he kept for himself, "Who am I kidding though, right? I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep a wink tonight," he said, clinking his beer to Sasha's.

Dean reached back to grab his beer from the counter and clinked it likewise to Sam's. "I hear ya, Sammy. To us, huh? Kellys and Winchesters and Harvelles and everyone," he said, raising his beer.

Sam raised his, then Sasha too, their toast quiet and intimate and just them for the moment. "To us," Sam echoed.

And Sasha finished it, still beaming. "To us," he said, and they all took their drinks, "Til Hell and damnation."

tbc...

A/N: That one took ALOT out of me and was a BITCH to write. Some lighthearted fun before things get hairy. I hope you liked. Please let me know as these really long ones can be hard for me to gauge sometimes.

Thanks so much, you guys, for being such wonderful, faithful, thoughtful readers.

Crim


	96. Part 7: War

Wow, are there some fun nods in this chapter. First goes to SavingFaith at Livejournal for her characters I snagged. Then to SalemCassidy for one of hers. A great big thanks to all of you others, as well, as we get so CLOSE. Love you, more notes to follow.

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Part 7: War

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Dean knew immediately that he was dreaming. He worried for a moment that the whole thing had been a dream—a truly wonderful day with his family, his _whole_ family, extended out into Sasha's and mixed with all those they love. But he realized quickly that that couldn't have been a dream even if he was dreaming now.

He was still in the Roadhouse, and he thought maybe this was some sort of out of body experience rather than a normal dream because when he looked down he saw himself, curled up on blankets and pillows right in the middle of the bar floor with Sasha wrapped around him. Others were similarly camped out, no one having wanted to retire to their own rooms because that just felt wrong when they were finally all together. Mary and Solaris—no surprise that it was the _mothers_—had insisted that everyone get some sleep before tomorrow.

The four horsemen were the only ones still awake, not needing sleep apparently, and Dean tried to walk toward them where Deklin, John, Mary, and Solaris were all sitting around a table talking and laughing quietly. But he only got about a step. After that he was pulled, pulled hard and swift as if a string was attached to his spine or the wind had picked up and was strong enough to carry him away. He floated right out of the Roadhouse, speeding so rapidly over land and people—some sleeping, some not—that he could barely see anything clearly.

He stopped abruptly after the images of the world around him had become a harsh blur, and he tried to reach for something to hold him steady, get back his bearings. He grabbed onto a chair, cold and plain like stone. Looking up and around at his surroundings, Dean had no idea where he was. It was a plain room, like the chair, all grey and empty. Only when he turned to face behind him, he saw that it was not empty.

Malak and Solrin were standing at the far end.

Dean tensed because he knew now that this was more than a dream, and he moved cautiously closer to the two figures. Malak was female, so much like Gwen even in that black dress. Solrin looked as he had the day Dean accepted Malak into his body—shirtless, black pants, the sword—only Malak was reaching up toward Solrin's face and after a moment she removed the black eyepatch guarding his demon eye.

"Won't it be too much?" Solrin asked in a small, subservient voice.

"Not today," Malak smiled, "This is the real battle now. And you're going to be very important. Don't be afraid, Solrin. Whether we win with or without Dean now, all the rewards will be yours." She let the eyepatch fall to the floor and reached up with both hands, taking his face and drawing him down to her lips. They kissed and Dean felt a sickening twist in the pit of his stomach.

This wasn't right. Malak was lying. Malak was lying and Solrin believed her anyway, wanted to believe her, wanted what she offered. Dean felt especially sick when he couldn't help wondering if Solrin had hoped for that same kind of reward from _Dean_ when he was the one leading Hell's side. But no, somehow Dean knew it was more than that, more than anything sexual, despite how eagerly Solrin leaned into the kiss, deepening it.

He wanted to belong. He wanted to matter. He wanted to be more than just his eye and the pain it brought to others and had for so long brought to him.

"Don't listen to her, Sol," Dean said aloud, his voice coming out like air, like wind, "She doesn't care about you. There are no rewards. It's all gonna go up in smoke! _Sol_!" He walked right up to them, yelling in Solrin's ear, and it shocked him that Solrin actually seemed to hear him because he immediately pulled back with a start.

Malak tilted her head. "It's alright, Solrin. I know you're apprehensive, but it is almost time now. We are ready. Dean will either join us again or we will take all he has away from him. You understand what you need to do? This is important, my dear," she stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers, "This is the right thing. The world will only stay the same if we do nothing. But if we _win_…then we can change it as you have always dreamed of."

"Even without Dean?" Solrin asked quietly, pain and uncertainty clear in his dual-colored eyes, admitting that he was not so confident anymore, not so sure of the choice he had made.

"Even if all that remains is you and I," Malak said, the fingers she had on his cheek turning so she could take his chin and keep his eyes focused on her, "Now prepare yourself. The battle begins soon. You will lead. But this time I will be with you. And everything will be okay."

Those words. Dean had spoken them so often when he was Malak, to those he loved, to those that doubted him, and he trusted it far less now, being merely Malak alone, then he had when it was spoken in his own voice.

Dean watched with hatred as Malak turned and walked away, leaving Solrin alone, sword at his side, body so terribly scarred and eyes bare. Dean wanted to talk to Solrin, to convince him to stop this, to tell him that it _would_ be okay if only Solrin would see that it wasn't too late to switch sides, to join Dean and tell Malak to _fuck off._ But even though Dean had thought he got through to Solrin for a moment before, he knew he hadn't really. This was more than a dream, yes, but he was still only a shade, not tangible or real to those he saw.

He reached out and touched Solrin's shoulder, squeezed it, even though he knew Solrin couldn't really feel him. "I'm not giving up on you yet," he said, looking into Solrin's eyes, into that drawn face that doubted. _Doubted_. But resigned itself and stood tall to remain Malak's General.

That pull came again, the tug at Dean's spine, the wind, and he was twirled up and away, off somewhere else just as swiftly as he had been brought into the scene with Solrin and Malak.

He landed on a hill, the tallest amongst the fields outside the Roadhouse other than the one the Roadhouse itself was on. Michael and Gwen were there, looking out at their troops. They were both still just as sparsely clothed as before, their bodies flawless and unnaturally beautiful the way only a fae and angel could be, even in simple human guise. They were so different from Malak, who Dean always saw as made of stone and ice and cruelty. They were made of something else, something warmer.

"It's going to be close," Gwen said, hand on her hip as she surveyed the thousands below them.

"Dean will lead us to victory," Michael replied plainly, no room for other possibilities in his mind, "He is more than capable. When the time comes, he will know what to do."

Gwen nodded. Then she said, "Many will die though, especially if he fails."

"It is to be expected."

"_Michael_," Gwen turned to him.

"What, Guinevere?" he met her gaze with a smile, "You worry the same mistakes will be made again, I understand that. But as your friend, I ask you to have faith. And don't turn your nose up at that," he frowned since 'turn up her nose' was exactly what she did, "It takes great faith to see demon where it is hidden and greater faith to see light where it is buried even deeper. And it is not always faith in oneself."

"Riddles," Gwen shook out her long red curls, crossing her arms defiantly.

Michael merely smiled, not taking his eyes off her. "Perhaps. But I have faith that Dean will see the answer. Don't hold onto your bitterness for that demon you lost. Look what your love gave us." With the smallest tilt of his head, Michael directed Gwen's, and Dean's, attention to the gathered incubi and succubae soldiers. "They are beautiful, powerful beings."

"Don't lecture me on the good that came from my tragedy," Gwen said with something of a sharp tongue that Dean was not used to from her, "I know how beautiful and powerful they are. How ironic that one of my…children," she smiled a little bitterly, just like Michael was accusing her of being, "Is destined to play so important a role. He loves Dean with such abandon."

"Yes," Michael smiled with her.

"He reminds me…of the son I first had," Gwen admitted, and Dean thought he finally understood why she was bitter, and angry, and a little sharper than usual.

"Your son lived a long life. Happy," Michael said.

Gwen nodded, not looking at her companion. "I know. But I wonder sometimes if this isn't all happening now because I—"

"Don't take a cue from the Winchesters," Michael rolled his eyes, a moment of seeming so very human, like only these two were really capable of, "At least not that one. No one is to blame. It's destiny. I spent too long blaming myself too. I was the closest to him, you know. Brothers in every sense. I was the first one he asked to join him when the rebellion began. If we want to start pointing out blame, dear, then it really begins there."

"No," Gwen shifted, glancing up finally to meet Michael's gaze again, "You're right. No one is to blame. I just hope…I hope he lives through this."

"Dean? Sasha? Or do you mean someone else?"

Dean was very confused listening to this conversation, because Michael seemed to have touched on something there, but Gwen didn't say anything more. It was obvious that Dean was missing some important piece of information, that there was something hidden in the undercurrent of what angel and fae had discussed, but he couldn't place it, couldn't grasp the real meaning.

In the next moment he was whisked away again, tumbling through the air until he landed within the sex demon camp not far below where Michael and Gwen were surveying. Incubi and succubae needed sleep, even if angels didn't, but while there were heaps of winged and clawed creatures curled together sleeping, some heaps of those in their human forms too, Dean noticed Aloysha walking over to a small bit of empty space to meet his grandson.

Dean stepped carefully around the sleeping sex demons, even if he was fairly certain they wouldn't feel his step, and approached the pair as they began talking. He could see Charis asleep not far away, close to Cam, the twins, even Arthur, though Dean was glad Adrian wasn't anywhere around. The kid was hardly a soldier, after all.

Lindsey's expression was solid, almost cold, appearing human before his grandfather who in contrast had not once left his true form, wings and claws and all. "Of course I have faith in them," Lindsey was saying.

"_Them_," Aloysha sneered, "What's them? I mean Dean specifically. I may have led our people here, I see the good in this, but I want to be certain. You've spent time with him, normally and when he was…corrupted. Do you think there is a chance he would betray us again?"

That _dick_. After everything, Aloysha still didn't believe Dean was the real deal? Dean almost punched the guy on principle.

What stopped him—besides the lack of impact a punch in this state would have—was how honestly affronted Lindsey looked on Dean's behalf.

"I doubted him and he came back having planned everything perfectly to ensure no one lost their life, to hold off the battle until our side was ready. Now we have a chance to fight this war at our best. Because of _Dean_," Lindsey stressed, "Sasha has every—"

"_Sasha_," Aloysha sneered even more prominently than before, "Sasha is a kinslayer and a deserter. He is hardly a character reference I trust."

Dean cheered to see how Lindsey's hands tightened into fists, blackening, ready to defend Sasha the way he should have years ago. "You don't even know the details. You don't know why. You think he would have left if he had another choice? You think he would have killed his own family if it hadn't been the only way? You're why his hearing kept getting caught up in red tape, aren't you?" Lindsey narrowed his eyes and spoke with rising venom, "All we were petitioning for was for you to give him a chance to speak his peace!"

"_Mind your tone_," Aloysha warned, tall and menacing in his true form when Lindsey appeared only human, something Dean thought the white-haired incubus was maintaining purely to piss his grandfather off more, "Now is not the time for this. I merely asked your opinion about Dean. I have your answer. We shall see the truth revealed tomorrow. To think," Aloysha huffed, "That you would trust him so easily even after knowing his father—"

"His father saved my life," Lindsey broke in quietly, a fierce whisper, his fists still tight.

Dean's throat clenched.

Wait. _What_?

"I remember his face. Dean and Sam look so much like him, _feel_ like him, I knew…" Lindsey allowed himself to trail, but stood taller when he continued, "No one believed me when I was older and said I remembered a man being there, telling me to go home, not even you. I thought it was just a man, just some human who had found me. I didn't know then that he was a hunter, that he was with the man that killed my parents. But what does that even matter? I told you the story just as Sasha told it to me, what was written in the journal."

A chill rolled down Dean's spine. Sasha told Lindsey about the journal entry?

"He told me only because I confronted him, but I know he spoke the truth. I begged him not to tell the Winchesters that I knew so I could come to terms with it myself, and I _have_. I hated to think that the man I remembered saving me was another hunter. But he tried to stop it, he tried to save my parents. All he could do was save me. At least he did that much."

"Enough," Aloysha spat, "So you've come to terms with it? Fine. I will not trust hunters so easily. We will watch our backs as much as we watch the demons in front of us. We'll see tomorrow how trustworthy the hunters really are. Go to sleep, Lindsey. You are not only responsible for your own life, remember? Watch over the one who was promised to you." With that, something cold and disapproving lingering in the way Aloysha turned to walk back through the sex demon camp, he left Lindsey alone.

Of course Dean should have guessed that Sasha wouldn't have outright told Lindsey. Sasha was the one who said they shouldn't. Dean also could understand why Sasha didn't tell Sam and Dean about it. Promises to friends are important. Dean knew that even if he hadn't had many of his own friends to prove it.

He was allowed only another moment to watch Lindsey standing there, staring after his grandfather's retreating back. Dean heard the brief, angry growl of "_Fool_" that Lindsey spoke before moving to join his sleeping wife, and then Dean was taken up again, pulled further along the troops to the hunter camp.

This crowd Dean knew much better. He was not surprised to find a handful of them still awake, probably never having slept or rested as they were instructed.

That couple, Tamara and Isaac were dozing by the fire in the center, curled together and listening in to the conversation of those fully awake. Rufus, Creedy, and the two crotchety old hunters Dean really should have learned the names of by now were playing poker in the dirt. They could use a fifth man and Dean couldn't help thinking that Bobby would fit in well, though Deklin would probably fight him for the spot, having known all these guys once, Dean was fairly certain.

There was a bottle of blue-label Johnny Walker whiskey next to Rufus, half gone. Dean caught the end of something Creedy was saying about worrying that their great leader, Dean Winchester, might be leading them into a trap.

So good to know everyone was behind him and all, Dean thought with a grimace.

"You watch it now, Jackson," Rufus waggled a finger over the top of his cards that Dean could see were crap, "Just because I'm technically retired doesn't mean I wouldn't still school you in proper manners. Winchester's on the level. No doubt in my mind. Got plenty of backers," he slowly arranged his cards as if building something substantial, while Dean could see that it was purely random, "Even the Lord Almighty. Or did you miss the battalion of _angels_."

The two older hunters chuckled low and hoarse.

Jackson Creedy shifted nervously then threw down his cards, folding.

"I was just sayin'," he grumbled. One of the other men was already out. The last folded too. Rufus won with a few sharp looks and a hand full of nothing.

"John was always a wild card," Rufus raised his whiskey bottle to his lips for a slow pull, savoring the expensive liquor's taste, "Dean's even wilder. Pulled one over on the Devil himself. Well now. I'm just fine with that. Deal 'em again, Jackson," he tossed away his cards.

Dean couldn't help noticing that the hunters weren't playing for anything but company.

Then he was off again, one last fly by of the assembled masses, right back through the doors of the Roadhouse—_through_ as in without them opening—before landing a little off-kilter beside the table the horsemen were all still gathered at. Dean steadied himself, his hand on the back of his _mother's_ chair. _Shit_. There was no way he could ever get used to that.

Of course what sucked was that he wouldn't get the chance to anyway. This was the only time he would get with his parents until the day he bought the farm too. Much as he loved and missed them, he hoped that day wasn't tomorrow.

Deklin had his arm wrapped tight around his wife, going over that song Sasha had revealed, talking about when he wrote it, what he was thinking at the time, how it was the only thing he had ever finished because everything else always stuck to just fiddling on the guitar or lyrics that never got a melody. John was listening to the story too, but Dean found himself drawn to his mother, who was turned away from the others and seemed to be looking right at him.

Dean turned to look behind him, understanding that she was looking at something else, and saw again the form of himself lying all curled up with Sasha on the bar floor. He turned back to his mother, noticing how she was smiling, her eyes soft and filled with fondness. He wasn't sure if that look was purely approval or something sad too, because her time was short being with them this close.

"Mary," John leaned into her, whispering, "Leave the boys their privacy, huh?"

Mary's smile stretched. "They're just sleeping, John."

"Even so."

"They're lovely together, aren't they?" Solaris jumped in, Deklin having folded away the papers with his song scrawled across it, "We can look if we want," she threw back at John, "Warms my heart, knowing my baby's so happy. Maybe they'll get more time than we did. I hope they will." She cast her gaze on the sleeping Sasha and Dean too, with the same fondness and sadness as Mary.

Deklin tugged his wife closer against him. "That's what we're here to make sure of, Sol," he said, "Dean'll do a fine job. We just have to do ours. You sure you can handle not trying to take over and lead tomorrow?" he grinned over at John.

Since they were across from each other at the table, it was easy for John to kick out his legs and strike Deklin good and hard in the shin. "Smartass," he said as Deklin laughed and reached down to rub his leg. But John's expression quickly fell. "I don't envy Dean the role he has to play. I don't think anyone would."

"It's all my fault," Mary sighed, "Because of that first deal."

"Would you have rather gone on without me? Had it so our boys never existed?" John countered. He pulled Mary against him like Solaris was close beside Deklin, and Mary sunk in eagerly. "Don't tell me not to second guess things and then go ahead and do it yourself. The boys don't blame you. Or me. I think they might finally be realizing they don't have to blame themselves either. About damn time too."

They were silent for a moment, both couples huddled close. Then Solaris shivered in Deklin's arms, "Cold," she murmured, and a moment later her tight top was replaced with a large teal sweatshirt that hung off her shoulder. Still a succubus, clearly, with all glamour abilities intact.

Dean laughed at how John blinked a moment like he wasn't sure he had seen that right, and then they were all falling back into congenial conversation. No matter what they talked about, Mary's gaze wasn't the only one occasionally drifting over to Sasha and Dean, or to Sam and Sarah, or even to some of the others.

It made Dean want to get up, _wake up_ so he could talk with his parents more. There hadn't been enough time for everything he wanted to tell them. There hadn't been enough time for anything.

Standing there, watching his parents, watching Sasha's parents, Dean thought of everyone he had been shown tonight. Solrin needed him. Michael and Gwen, they had their own demons to face, personal demons Dean didn't fully understand. Aloysha barely trusted anyone. Lindsey was caught between family and faith in new friends. And the hunters, most of them were just along for the ride because they saw this as their job, their responsibility.

There were so many more people and agendas out there, as well as here inside the Roadhouse. Dean thought of Iain upstairs, still recovering from Malak's dark touch while Castiel watched over him. He thought of the people right here around him, and for a moment Dean fell prey to real panic, real terror, because this was really happening. He was leading a whole damn army against Hell and the Devil himself. If he failed, it would mean the end of everything.

Dean clutched at his mother's chair again, trembling from the weight of all that rested on his shoulders. "What am I supposed to do…?" he asked the room and whoever might be listening.

He did not expect the large, firm hand that came down to rest on his shoulder, a presence Dean knew well, recognized easily, and that carried with it an immediate sense of peace. "You'll know," said Dave's smooth drawl, right there with Dean, real and solid.

All Dean wanted to do was turn around, feel that peace wash over him fully, but when he did, Dave wasn't there, and Dean wasn't there anymore either. He was waking up, Sasha warm behind him, a slight crick in Dean's side from sleeping on just a few blankets and a pillow on the bar floor.

Dean was angry at first, having woken up right then, but he thought he kind of got it. Beating Malak was something he had to figure out on his own. But that didn't mean he had to _fight_ _him_ on his own.

Malak was coming, Dean could feel it. It wasn't yet dawn—whatever that meant without the sun actually rising—but it was time to face the day, even if half their soldiers were still sleeping. Dean wasn't sure he knew what to do, but he had to believe in Dave and everyone else who had faith in him that when the time came he would figure it out. He knew how to begin, he knew how to fight. The rest, he hoped, would come.

-----

It was chaotic at first, even just gathering up the hunters in front of the Roadhouse while Gwen, Michael, and Aloysha gathered their own groups to them. It was time to tell everyone the plan. There hadn't yet been any true sign of Malak's approach, but Dean could feel it in his bones, right to the depths of his very marrow, as if some part of him were still connected to Malak, and as much as he hated that thought, he knew that was more than likely true.

They were still getting everyone together, still making sure everyone was accounted for, Dean waiting for the chance to explain the battle plan, when Ula came running up to him from the fae camp with Danny in tow. Dean gave the shapeshifter that he knew to actually be the Trickster in disguise a pointed look, but turned his focus to Ula.

"I want to stick with whoever stays at the Roadhouse," Ula said before she had even caught her breath, "You have to be keeping some people back to help with wounded and supplies, right? I'd be no use in the front lines, Dean, I just needed to see my friends before this started. Do you have any room for me?" Her blue-green eyes were hopeful, so heartfelt Dean wouldn't have been able to refuse her even if he had reason to.

"Right here is just where I want you, Ula," Dean patted her shoulder, "Glad to have you. And, uhh…what about _Danny_ there?" he raised an eyebrow at the Trickster.

Before Ula or 'Danny' had the chance to reply, the Kellys—and wasn't that crazy to say—came walking up. Deklin slapped Dean's back in greeting and then passed his gaze over the shapeshifters. "You know," he said as if he had already been a part of this conversation, "Funny thing about being dead is there are a few perks. One of those," he grinned at the Trickster, "Is being able to see through guises. Hey there, old friend," he nodded his head like tipping a hat.

"You weren't trying to hide from us now, were you, Eugene?" Solaris stepped up next to her husband.

That had Dean and Sasha's heads swiveling first to the succubus and then to the still disguised demi-god with dropped jaws. "_Eugene_?" Dean repeated, "Your name is…Eugene?"

"One of many," the Trickster said defensively, looking rather ruffled as he faded to his natural form. He gave the stunned Ula an apologetic look. "Sorry, sweetheart. Meant to tell ya before the battle started and all. I may not have been quite as honest about a few things as I lead you to believe," he grimaced.

For a moment Ula just stared. Then she looked at Dean, at the Kellys, and shrugged. "Figures," she said, before heading over to join up with Ellen and Jo.

The Trickster, in his defense, did look fairly guilty, though not nearly as much as he did when Deklin and Solaris started walking closer to him.

"You lying son of a bitch," Deklin crossed his arms, much as he was smiling, "We had a deal. Doesn't count past our deaths?" he huffed, looking back at Sasha as if to say the younger redhead had filled them in on a few things.

"I thought you had more integrity than that," Solaris chided him, "Don't think we're not grateful for your intentions, but we didn't need you avenging us in any way. Though I suppose if you hadn't done the job, some hunter would have killed Donovan eventually."

"Wait," Sasha stepped forward, "_He_ killed Donovan?"

"And spent the following twenty-five years trying to watch your ass," the Trickster jumped in to his own defense, pointing a finger at Sasha like the redheaded incubus was all the Trickster needed to prove he didn't need scolding, "Told you I owed your parents, didn't I? What, you think a guy like _Gordon Walker_ wouldn't have noticed a box marked 'iron alloy' instead of 'iron'? And you know," he looked to Deklin and Solaris again before that last sentence could truly sink in, "Some random hunter wouldn't have been nearly as nice about how Donovan died as I was."

"Uhh, guys," Dean tried, since it looked like things were settled finally and everyone was waiting for him to begin.

The Trickster and the Kellys didn't seem to hear him. "You switched the iron in that warehouse in New York? Why didn't you just make it steel or something?" Sasha was sputtering.

"Well that wouldn't have been as believable a mistake now, would it?" the Trickster countered.

"Eugene," Solaris shook her head in exasperation.

Deklin was trying not to laugh, hardly as upset as he had been feigning earlier.

"_Guys_," Dean said more firmly, finally getting them all to remember he was still standing there, "Thank you. Apocalypse approaching, remember? Time to get this show on the road. You stay put," he told the Trickster, "Everyone's important in this so pay attention." He looked at all of them to make sure they were evenly cowed then stepped close to the Trickster, smacked him lightly on the chest and said, "And if you really were the reason Sasha didn't croak that first scare we had…thanks, man," he smiled.

Dean couldn't help noticing the matching smirks on all of the Kellys' faces as he walked back through them and hopped up onto his little makeshift soapbox to call everyone to attention. It was insane the way so many people silenced and so many heads swiveled Dean's direction purely at the sound of his voice.

"Now…I know we don't know what to expect," Dean began, glad he didn't have to yell quite as much as he had yesterday when addressing all four groups, the humans being the smallest anyway, "And that's why I don't want to take any chances. Keep this goal in mind: protect the Roadhouse. That's what we're doing here. We're not fighting back Hell's army. We're not keeping the apocalypse from spilling over any further into normal people's lives. We're _protecting the Roadhouse_. Understood?"

There were several understanding shouts and calls of approval, as well as proud nods from several older hunters who understood Dean's method. It was easier to imagine winning if all they had to do was keep the Roadhouse from being overrun. The outlook was smaller, less 'save the world' and therefore seemed more doable even to the most inexperienced.

"Good. The other thing is I just don't see it as smart to keep us segregated. I know some of you don't like the idea of working with the sex demons, or the fae, or even the angels in some cases, but this is the army we have, and we are all on the same side. We're going to have a few soldiers from each camp crossing over to make sure we cover all bases. I'll be sending some hunters over to the other groups too. But this group, _our_ group, our job is to be the last line of defense. From here around the Roadhouse we can see the entire fields. We'll know who needs help and what areas are most sparse, leaving openings for demons to get through. Our job is most important. The people I'm keeping inside the Roadhouse to hand out rounds and supplies know who they are. Fall back to them when you need something. Fall back if you get injured. I know most of you won't listen to that, but I had to say it anyway."

Smirks were Dean's reply, of course, because hunters, whether young, old, male, female, gritty, or smooth-talkers, never backed down from a fight. If they did go back for a fix-up, or for more ammo and weapons, which was more likely, Ellen, Jo, Ula, and Iain were amongst those staying behind to offer aide. Dean wouldn't trust anyone else with the responsibility.

"We hold here," Dean stressed again, "If help is needed up ahead, I'll make the call who goes. Chances are we're all going to be seeing action right from the start, so don't go getting cocky. These are gonna be real as life demons, not hosts, so don't hold back. Iron will bring them down. They're not as invincible as when they're possessing someone. Take out as many as you can, but protecting the Roadhouse is priority. Nobody goes ahead unless I say, even if I've gone ahead myself. _Especially_ if I've gone ahead myself. No matter what, we _hold this line_."

Dean hopped to down to the exclamation of cheers and readying whoops. He wasn't used to using so much authority on people who weren't Sam, and Sam had gotten so good at telling him to shove it or calling him bossy that he forgot how good he actually was at being commanding. Nobody had any questions, any dissention. They split into groups to hold the area secure without barely any prompting, and Dean turned to those he would be sending away.

This next part would be harder—dealing with family and friends.

"I need the reps going to the other groups to be the people I trust most. Which means most of you aren't going to be here with me when things get rollin'," Dean cast an apologetic look around the group, just outside the Roadhouse doors close to where Ellen and those staying behind were setting up supplies, "There'll be one horsemen per group. Just makes sense. No way to predict where they'll be most useful until things start, so better to split up. Dad, you're staying with me. Lindsey and Charis are coming from the sex demon camp, that fire chick from the fae, and—"

"I will not leave your side, Dean," Castiel announced proudly, though lately it had been difficult to pull him from _Iain's_ side since the angel seemed to blame himself somehow for the librarian's near-death experience—or maybe that was Jimmy's influence.

Dean turned to his angel with a wide smile. "I know, man. And I don't want you to leave. You're staying with me too. Have to have at least one angel back here with the lowly grunts," he winked. Then he looked to Bobby. "I want you with the rest of the angels, Bobby. You'll take Shiarra and Solaris. A fae rep will meet you there."

Bobby looked a little stunned, maybe to be taken away from the hunter crew he had assumed he would remain with, or maybe because he was assigned to the angels. Dean couldn't help noticing how the elder hunter swallowed before nodding his acceptance.

"Sammy," Dean looked to his brother, "Best place for you is with the sex demons. If things get crazy, you can use your powers to guide them. Aloysha already knows I want you to do that, much as he hates it, so don't worry about stepping on toes. They're closer to the front and…I'm pretty sure we're going to have some trouble with Solrin stealing our soldiers. You up for that?"

It was easy to forget about Solrin, the lone human amongst Hell's army, _leading_ them, but recognition laced with apprehension filled Sam's face at the mere mention. "I…I'll try. I mean, of course I'll do what I can, Dean, but…he might be stronger than me."

"Then I guess you're gonna have to step up then, aren't ya?" Dean grinned and smacked his brother on the shoulder, waiting for the inevitable smile that Sam could not stop himself from offering in reply, "Good. You're taking Mom. Keep Sarah with you too. Fae and angel backup are probably already there." Finally and worst, because Dean knew this wasn't going to be easy, Dean turned to Sasha. "Last is you, baby," he said.

Sasha's eyes widened. "What? Dean, no. I'm staying with you," the redhead said as if that settled it and there was no room for argument.

Only Dean had to argue, because he needed all four groups solid, and that meant he needed Sasha with the last of them. "You're helping Gwen with the fae. Your Dad's in that group too. And the Trickster," he eyed the demi-god that had at least listened to him and stuck around. "Please," Dean returned to Sasha, "I need you to do this. Four groups. Four horsemen. Four leaders."

"_Gwen's_ the leader, not me," Sasha countered.

"Yeah, and technically it's Michael not Bobby and Aloysha not Sam, but I need you guys there too. You're the ones I trust most to help where the leaders can't. Gwen was practically giddy with the thought of getting you as her right hand. You wouldn't want to disappoint her," Dean finished with as warm a smile as he could muster, considering he could still feel the approach of Malak deep in his soul, warning him that time was very short.

"I don't want to leave you," Sasha said as if the mere thought wounded him, not caring or maybe even remembering right now that there were others around, including their parents and friends, "I can't. I _won't_. Not if it's the last time…I…" and then Sasha trailed because that wasn't a thought he could finish. He looked away, flushing as if just then feeling the many eyes on him and Dean.

If Dean thought it was the best route then he would have Sam and Sasha at his side in a heartbeat, but it wasn't the best or the smartest. Dean would have his father and Castiel at his side, counting on Sam, Sasha, and Bobby to help lead the other groups. That was where he needed them. Even if he wanted to give in, say, 'okay, baby, stay with me, stay by me through all of it,' Dean couldn't.

He had to be a leader. And leaders didn't always get what they wanted.

"I need you to do this, Sasha," Dean dropped his forced smile, wanting to reach for Sasha but needing to be strong more, "This is important. This is how it has to be. I'm pretty sure things are gonna get nuts fast, and then who knows who will end up where anyway. I'm counting on you guys," he turned from Sasha to Bobby and Sam, "To decide if and when the horsemen need to switch groups or whatever else. You use your judgment too," he looked to his and Sasha's parents. At last he looked again to Sasha, not wanting to have to argue any more. To his relief, Sasha gave a tight nod, much as his agony over being separated from Dean showed clearly on his face.

They had to split up now. They had to get to their posts. Dean couldn't let Sasha pull him in for a final kiss or embrace this time, not today. He wouldn't be able to think of anything else if he allowed that, or if any of the others attempted to snag a hug. So Dean turned away, grabbing up weapons for himself and heading to the tallest point to watch the fields from the Roadhouse's hill. There were shadows in the distance, the various soldiers further out on the fields beginning to scatter and create a defensive line. It was already starting.

Dean said one final thing before the others took off. "I can't be everywhere. But together…we can come close. Let's watch each other's backs out there," he said, not looking anywhere but out at where the battle would soon begin.

And then it did.

-----

Bobby was still reeling from the thought of being assigned to help the _archangel Michael_ lead an army of _angels_ against _Lucifer_ and _Hell_. It was too god damn surreal. Not something he ever imagined for himself even after he had first become a hunter, learning, as he had, that there were nastier things out in the world than sociopathic human beings. That alone had been a cruel shock, one that cost him dearly.

This put every fear Bobby had ever had to shame. End of the world? _Shit_. It tasted bitter on his tongue and he hadn't even said it aloud. Bobby had had a wife once, a life that had nothing to do with hunting. Sam and Dean had never had that, born into it like only a very unlucky few. Sasha had chosen it, and at an older age, but he wasn't much different. Those boys, they deserved the chance for something more. They deserved to have this war won and their lives made easier, however brief that lasted.

They also deserved to have more time with their long dead parents, but that wasn't going to happen. Bobby almost felt guilty having Solaris along with him, ravishing succubus that she was. Sasha deserved to have both parents with him since their time together was so short. But then that wasn't practical.

God _damn_ did Bobby hate practical, no matter how often it saved his life.

"So I take it the term 'horsemen' is a relative thing," Bobby mentioned to Solaris as they were finally nearing the angel camp at the frontlines. They could see the demon army on the approach now, clear as anything.

Solaris smiled, and while Bobby knew how much more Sasha looked like his father, there was something in the way the succubus turned her head, her eyes glittering, that looked so very much like Sasha. "We thought it might be a bit too tacky," she snarked.

It was an amazing thing, being able to laugh in the middle of the apocalypse, but somehow Bobby managed. "I'll bet," he said, catching Shiarra's eye just passed Solaris, similar face and just as beautiful, "Well, didn't I just grab the long straw, getting to fight with you lovely ladies. I'm sure we won't have much trouble at all." His comment made the sisters smile, but it was about that time that the angels they were making their way through, looking like normal humans mostly, began moving about in a flurry.

The demons were coming in fast.

Bobby, Solaris, and Shiarra reached Michael at the front, knowing him not only by sight but by sheer commanding presence. He was still in his human form as well, but he seemed to glow, emanating light that was almost too brilliant to look at. Bobby hesitated as he reached Michael, not knowing if he should bow or salute or what.

The archangel saved Bobby the trouble, turning at their approach and giving them a firm nod. "We have no time. Your presence is welcome, but we will be discarding our human guises and bodies for the battle. It will be blinding at first, but you will not be harmed." He turned to Solaris. "Save your power for the moment when there is no doubt in your mind that it is the right time to use it," he said, and then the light shining from within him began to glow brighter.

Calling the transformation of the angels 'blinding' was a vast understatement. It happened so fast, Michael the catalyst that was quickly followed by all of the others, and there were so many. Bobby had to close his eyes, shield them with his arms, almost right away, and even that wasn't enough to keep out the light.

It seared painfully and Bobby wondered, foolish as it might be, if Michael had been wrong, if this angelic light would blind him before the battle even began. Bobby could not see Solaris and Shiarra, but he felt Shiarra grab his arm and turn her face into his body. Then he heard Solaris' voice, who was apparently unaffected by the light.

"It'll be alright," she said, loudly, the light so powerful that it brought with it something like sound, "Only another moment more. They're _beautiful_," Solaris finished like an afterthought, reverent and soft. She wasn't wrong, either, because it was only a few moments later that the light began to fade, and when it was dulled enough that Bobby dared look, he took his arm away from his eyes and opened them.

There weren't words. The greatest of writers and poets had yet to come up with anything worthy of describing what Bobby saw. He knew that all the other groups, all of the people he cared about and knew well, could see this too, but not this close, not right amongst them as he was.

Shiarra's hand on Bobby's arm tightened into an almost painful hold, her face having turned away so she could look as well. It was just…_light_. Gold, but filled with color too. So many colors, there weren't names for them all. The angels had wings but they weren't fluffy and feathered the way Bobby had always imagined, or maybe they were only they were so brilliant with that kaleidoscope of light that Bobby had to squint to really see them.

His eyes adjusted but his brain couldn't grasp how to really see the angels or how to describe them with any justice. It was as if his senses were confused and he was seeing them with emotion instead of with his eyes. Bobby could _feel_ the sight of them all the way down to his toes.

"They're here!" Solaris shouted, readying herself for the demons that would reach the angel camp first, and brandishing an impressive sword Bobby swore he did not remember her having a moment before. Solaris may represent 'Peace' but 'War' was still at the core of her being. She wielded its sword with ease. It made sense to Bobby then why Dean had chosen her to be at the forefront.

Shotgun in hand, the aged hunter could only hope he lived up to whatever Dean hoped of him. There were several other guns and weapons on Bobby's person, since he was farthest from the extra ammo and first aide. Then again he was amongst _angels_, maybe he wouldn't need first aide, though Bobby had no real delusions that being with Team Heaven would save him. This was not a battle he expected many to survive, save maybe Dean, and he hoped others.

The women on either side of him had transformed as the angels had transformed, creating such a stark contrast with their white and black skin, their great gargoyle wings and deadly claws, while Solaris still carried her sword. Bobby felt small beside them, beside the shimmering angels, but Dean was counting on him, and Bobby Singer was no pushover in a fight, however daunting.

He fired before anyone else had thought to attack, meeting his mark on a demon even from a distance that shouldn't have been close enough. The blast caught the demon full in the chest, but it immediately got back up again and continued coming for them. This was only the first wave. Bobby could see Solrin far in the distance commanding the demons. These first few minutes had to count.

Bobby cocked his gun again and went for the same demon just as the fighting truly erupted and the lines of demons and angels met. It was a clash of light and darkness like an explosion and Bobby was nearly knocked back from the force of it, but he had a demon to finish off and he was not about to lose his first kill.

Shiarra stayed close to him, flying ahead only slightly to tackle a demon yet unclaimed by angels, while Solaris soared ahead into the air looking as impressive as Michael. Solaris grabbed a demon as she went and lifted it high above the fields, striking it true with her sword before letting it fall dead to the ground below. When Solaris dropped down again, she swiped with her claws at yet another demon, then aided her sister in dispatching the one Shiarra had tackled, and continued on after that in an almost mad fury.

Horsemen of the apocalypse indeed.

Bobby, focusing on the task at hand, aimed at the demon he had shot once already. These iron rounds were fierce. He could see the way the first wound on the demon was sizzling. And damn the thing was ugly, all the demons were. They were the exact opposite of the angels, and fittingly so, Bobby supposed. He had only ever seen them inside people, their black eyes showing, or yellow ones, or red, or whichever. He saw mostly black eyes now, though a few were colored, Generals and Dukes of Hell.

Still, he kept his sights on the demon before him and fired right into its face, as it snarled with a charred lack of mouth and jumped for him. Son of a bitch was dead before it landed.

With the pistol from his belt, Bobby got another shot off quick at a demon that almost managed to flank him, catching it in the shoulder. He got another shot off before it could swipe at him, bringing this new ugly bastard down too.

Taking only a moment to look up, Bobby realized that the only reason he wasn't overrun was because the angels were taking three demons at a time in some cases. Even more the cause was that most of the demons weren't stopping to fight but were rushing onward to reach the lines further back. It was massive chaos and the demons were getting through their ranks too easily. They were fast. They were without fear. They were heading straight for _Dean_.

Taking up his shotgun again, Bobby rushed ahead to rejoin the succubae. The light of fighting angels was all around them, the deep shadows of the burnt and ugly forms of the demons, making the two succubae stand out like vicious beacons. There was a fae with them as well, but only one, all glitter and light similar to the angels. It was that pixie they had met, Bobby thought, Serileth, but just as Bobby spotted her, he saw her go down, jumped by several demons and torn apart before he could think to yell for someone to help her.

Knowing there was nothing he could do for the pixie now, Bobby joined Shiarra and Solaris, firing at anything ugly that crossed his path. The demons would be beyond them in no time, rushing through their ranks to reach the Roadhouse. They had to hold back as many as they could. For _as long_ as they could. Even though their chances were looking bleak already, they had to.

No matter the cost.

-----

The angels were magnificent to watch, so awe-inspiring when they shed their human forms and became figures of color and light, that Sam stood frozen for several moments even as he saw how quickly the demons were rushing through that first line of defense and would soon be upon him and the sex demons.

Aloysha was not being very forthcoming in sharing his role as leader, but Sam saw the futility in fighting about it. He took up his own stance, Sarah close beside him, Mom on his other side, and was proud to have what incubi and succubae would stand with him. Cam of course. The twins. There were the fae and angel representatives as well, which made Sam mildly nervous but also grateful for the added firepower.

The angel, remaining in his human form for now—though whether it was one the angel had borrowed or one he manifested, Sam couldn't be sure—had introduced himself as Gabriel. He looked a bit like that one Pacey guy from Dawson's Creek but Sam didn't say anything, he just nodded and tried to remember that he was as much in charge in Dean's eyes as Aloysha right now, and that meant something.

The fae with them was a small, though probably not truly young, banshee. That made Sam especially nervous, but he reminded himself that not all normally evil or dangerous supernatural creatures had to be a threat to humans. Collin, thin and graceful with long lavender hair, had said simply that he sung for the dead, he didn't _make_ them that way. Sam decided to take the young-_looking_ fae at his word.

From this vantage point it was easy to see that the angels were not doing well. Sam could only faintly see Bobby, Shiarra, and Solaris. He had seen the fae in their group go down, saw even a few angels fall—no pun intended—and the sheer madness of how the demons were rushing through them worried Sam that they would not be able to keep the demons back for long. The demons were already upon his group and Sam could see Solrin moving forward from the back of the horde, quickly as if very intent on his direction, which seemed to be a straight path through everyone right to the Roadhouse.

Right to _Dean_.

Sam was too far left with Sarah and his mother to make a play for Solrin directly, and that was bad, because that meant Solrin would at least make it to Sasha and the fae. Sam considered going for Solrin on his own. He had the authority. Aloysha certainly wouldn't care if he left. But all it took was one look at Sarah and Sam knew he couldn't go.

He was thankful to Dean that he was allowed to have Sarah with him, even though, as a sniper, she probably would have been better suited to stay with the hunters at the back. Sam knew that Dean had purposely avoided close contact, any cheesy, heartfelt moments that might have gotten the better of him at this important time, even where Sasha was concerned. Sam didn't need to do that to keep his head. He pulled Sarah in with his large hand at the small of her back and kissed her.

Mary was smiling when Sam pulled away from Sarah and turned to the others to give orders. They had to pick up the slack where the angels were failing, keep the demons back, keep them from getting through to the next wave. Sam knew they would only be able to try, to succeed for maybe a short time, but it had to be enough to make things easier on the fae, and therefore, easier on the hunters at the end.

Sarah had the best sniper rifle they could drum up for out here on the fields, and with the twins at either side of her to keep her guarded, the huntress was able to take out several demons before the horde even reached them. After that, the battle was upon them, and Sam had a gun in either hand, as well as a hell of a lot of power to fight back with.

The first thing Sam did was take control of the demons closest to him and send them back into the line to attack their comrades. It worked so well at first that Cam even came up and smacked Sam supportively on the shoulder. Not wanting to risk branching out too thin, however, Sam took further demons only one at a time, successful again and again at twisting them to his control. Successful until a demon with green mottled eyes started rushing right for him.

This demon was not swayed even when Sam pushed at the bastard with TK.

Just behind Sam, Sarah was continuing to pick off demons in the advancing crowd, the twins ready to take on anyone who might be a threat to her, which Sam could not have been more grateful for. If he went down, he just wanted to know that there was still someone watching out for Sarah.

Another push of TK, a good shot from Sam's gun, but nothing brought the green-eyed demon down. Gabriel immediately dropped away his human form, a sudden flash of light almost blinding Sam as the angel rose into the air. Sam saw Cam lift off too, both of them moving to rush the demon before it could reach them. But before either could actually attack, Mary leapt in to kill the green-eyed demon first.

She had a long knife in either hand, almost like short swords, a perfect _balance_ as she fought with all the training she had told her boys she had gained from a childhood as a hunter. The demon fell headless and very much dead at her feet.

Sam stared for only a moment, awed yet again, before joining the fight, running forward to cut as many demons down as he could. He caught up to his mother, grinned at her because he couldn't hold back his admiration, and was so confident then that he was even able to fire at a demon with his melting power like force lightning that surely would have made Dean proud.

Gabriel flew on ahead of them into the demons while Cam stayed back to help his brethren. Sam almost threw away his gun then, tucking it back into his jeans instead, and killed demon after demon easily with his powers. He was fighting side by side with his _mother_, sending just as many demons off to kill for him as he killed demons himself. Everything was working out just as it was supposed to.

Right until Sam saw Solrin again, far away still but close enough for Sam to notice when the white-haired traitor turned and saw him, saw what Sam was doing, and quickly stole the power right out of Sam's hands like it was nothing.

The next thing Sam knew, he had lost all of the demons he had been controlling, and worse, several incubi and succubae around him were starting to shake their heads, hazy, before finally being taken over by Solrin too.

Sam didn't wait, didn't look. He turned and ran back to Sarah, already seeing the way the twins were losing themselves too. He ran without thinking, calling out to Sarah to 'watch out, run!', when Cam rammed into Sam from the side and took him down like being struck by a car.

_No_. It was all happening too fast. Solrin could control so many more at a time than Sam, and without any effort, without having to focus on them for more than a moment.

Sam struggled to get out from under Cam, who was strong, so damn strong. Sam was strong too, but he hated the thought of having to kill his way out of this. He had to find the strength to beat Solrin's power back. The bastard was already moving on, closing in on the fae and Sasha, and if Sam didn't come up with some way to stop Solrin right the fuck _then_, they were going to lose half their army to Hell before they had even truly begun fighting.

-----

Things were not looking good.

Sasha had watched with wide, frightened eyes as the demon army blew passed the angels, the glorious gold and colored _angels_, and were now quickly overtaking the sex demons just as adeptly. There wasn't any time. The demons would soon be upon them too. _Solrin_ would soon be upon them.

A snarl formed on Sasha's face so fast just at the sight of him—Solrin, traitor, _hypocrite_. Sasha wasn't a fool. He knew that the chaos in the ranks of the sex demons was because Solrin was turning them to his power, controlling them, and Sam was struggling to keep up, to even fight back. Solrin was the one they had to stop. Solrin was the one who needed to fall, even if Dean had still been adamant that Solrin could be saved.

The fae were arguably the most powerful in this fight, the angels being on equal footing with the demons purely because of the land they fought on. The fae were depowered somewhat too, something about these fields, the way the battle had to be waged, but they were still strong, still capable of using most of their abilities. Sasha knew that to be true when he heard the banshee up in Sam's group _scream_ and several demons fell simply from the sound of it.

Deklin squeezed Sasha's shoulder, smiled at him when Sasha turned and met his father's eyes—eyes like his eyes—and then it was already time. Deklin brought up a crossbow and fired into the throng of demons approaching them, firing again and again with no need to reload, the weapon surely mystical. Sasha was both hunter and incubus for this group, but he chose his heritage's side and left weapons behind, changing into his true form and flexing his claws. He wanted to tear these demons apart with his bare hands.

Right in the middle of the demons that were rushing them, the land suddenly shifted, becoming rockier and uneven so that most of the demons fell, tripped, and stumbled. Sasha knew it was the Trickster's doing. If only he had enough of his power to summon them a hundred more soldiers.

Gwen, even more so, was a sight, fully revealed as a true fae, something few mortals ever saw, just like with angels. It was difficult to explain how she truly looked when her human form was shed, not light like Afriel, the beautiful angel with them, but of the Earth instead, as if Gwen was made of everything that made the Earth beautiful. It was almost painful to look at her. She fought with breathtaking cruelty, calling on the elements as much as she was able, to burn and smother and wash away the demons.

It was not enough. Sasha was still needed, Deklin was needed, all of them were, so many other fae of various kinds with them that the battle was a colorful mess.

Sasha leapt into the air and dove for a demon about to take out the Trickster, who was already grappling. It was easy for Sasha to tear into the charred flesh with his sharp, black claws. He pulled the other demon from the Trickster as well, covered in a dark, sticky blood at the end of it. The Trickster merely winked at him before racing toward the back of the line, better for him to actually use his powers effectively.

Solrin was closer now. So close. And Sasha knew just where that bastard was headed. He would not let Solrin reach Dean. He would not.

Deklin, still sniping demons with his crossbow, called after Sasha when the determined redhead took to the air again and went for Solrin directly, but Sasha didn't hear his father because he wasn't listening. Solrin was the one that mattered. Solrin was the one _Sasha_ needed to stop. He didn't realize that it was not entirely his own will pulling him forward.

It was so easy, flying over the battle, over the many demons and fae to where Solrin was calmly walking through it all as if nothing could touch him. Sasha had to take this chance, pray he could catch Solrin by surprise. Without their leader, these demons would be nothing but fodder. So Sasha flew on, fast as he could, straight for that pale, scarred skin and white hair. He was almost upon Solrin, so close he could taste the victory of it, when Solrin turned and looked at him.

The red on black eyes shocked Sasha right out of the sky. He fell. And when he rose up again, he was no longer in control of his body.

-----

Dean saw it all happening, every last bit of it, and he prepared for the fight that would soon reach him. His father, his angel, and what remained here of his friends were at his side. He would not let the lone thought that was plaguing him cloud his mind in this important time. He would not listen to it. He would not heed its call or admit its taunting had merit. He would not believe what he knew, deep down, to be true. The impossible, awful truth…

…that they were _losing_.

tbc...

A/N: Dun dun DUHHHH! Ahem. So, Gabriel being Josh Jackson, and the mere mention of Afriel--aka Anna--all credit goes to SavingFaith. Collin was SalemCassidy's from a little yaoi fic on y!gallery with Sam and the banshee together, set in Incubus!verse. Would love if she wrote more of that...

Please, please review! We're getting so close to the end now and I want to know what you all think. Next is the conclusion of the battle. Thanks for all your comments thus far, folks!

And if you don't know, Chase Crawford, my chosen actor for Sasha, got People's Sexiest Bachelor of the Year! Go, baby!

Crim


	97. Part 8: Showdown

Please leave me a cookie. There's only one chapter left. *sniffle*

-----

Part 8: Showdown

-----

There had to be something wrong with the thoughts Dean was having as the battle began to escalate.

_Anyone but Sam. Anyone but Sasha. Anyone but __the people I love._

Dean knew that he was hardly the only person who would think that way in such a dire situation, but he didn't want to wish death on anyone else either. He just didn't want to lose his family again. He couldn't take it. Not _again_. So when he saw Sam get tackled to the ground by Cam, so far away, _too far away_, and then saw Sasha foolishly going for Solrin only to be stolen away to Hell's power, Dean's thoughts were on nothing but getting to brother and lover as soon as he could.

Some of the demons were already about to break into their camp, having moved so quickly passed the angels, and the sex demons, and finally the fae to reach the hunters in front of the Roadhouse. Dean was ready to fight, everyone was, but they were already _losing_. Dean had to fix that.

"What are your orders?" Lindsey asked from behind Dean, Charis tight beside her husband, and both proud to serve Dean directly, which Dean never would have guessed when he first met the couple.

He looked back at them, transformed fully into their true selves—Lindsey green and fierce, Charis viciously beautiful like new copper. John was beside Dean and looked back at the pair as well with something like pride. Dean thought maybe it was because John had played a role in making sure Lindsey grew up into such a strong adult, with such a lovely and devoted wife. Dean knew John recognized Lindsey. He knew, after his dream that morning, that Lindsey recognized John. Neither of them had said anything though, even after meeting.

It was a gamble to leave the hunters to their own devices. They were strong, they had powerful allies—that salamander chick, Kaley, had created a line of fire in front of the hunters that had taken down a few advancing demons already—but Dean would be leaving them vulnerable. Still, he knew he couldn't stay. Not only because Sam and Sasha needed him, but because the lines were already falling and if they didn't end things at the heart of it then they would all be swept up in battle and overrun too quickly.

"Stay and fight," Dean told Lindsey, told all of them, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear him, "Remember the real goal. Hold the line. The Roadhouse cannot fall. I'm going on ahead." Dean grabbed his father's arm, his voice lowering, intimate between them. "Come with me, Dad. I think you're gonna be more needed out there anyway."

John nodded without hesitation. He was armed with guns Dean had not seen his father take from their stockpile—handguns, one black and one silver. Dean had the Colt, his knife, his ankle blade, an extra gun tucked into the back of his jeans. They didn't have time to contemplate if they were ready or not, they just had to go.

"Cas!" Dean looked up into the sky and yelled, calling his angel down to him.

Castiel had been hovering just above the hunter camp, watching and feeding Dean intel on things that were difficult to see from so far away. Unlike the angels up ahead, who by now had all shed their human vessels and manifested forms, Castiel was still wearing Jimmy's body. Jimmy had insisted, Castiel said, refusing to be left out of the fight, and without Castiel inside of him, Jimmy would not be much of an asset.

So rather than gold and colored light, or the shadows Dean had been allowed to see when he first met Castiel, there were impossibly large, feathered wings that had sprouted out of Jimmy's back, subdued by humanity but still glorious. They were not entirely white, but more like a hawk's wings with feathers of golden brown as well, all tipped by black. Considering Castiel was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt, it made for an interesting sight.

Dropping down at Dean's command, Castiel's wingspan forced Lindsey and Charis to step back. The angel bowed his head to Dean with far too much reverence for Dean's liking. "Yes, Dean. What is it? Have you decided on our next plan of action?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, knowing Castiel would not like what he was about to say, "Dad and I are going ahead. I need you to stay here and watch over the hunters."

As expected, Castiel's vibrant blue eyes widened, his brow furrowing as he spoke quickly in dissention. "I said I would not leave your side, Dean, and I mean to honor that promise."

"Cas, we don't have time to argue about this," Dean glanced back at the battle, seeing only chaos, unable to pinpoint where his loved ones were anymore, "Please, Cas," he turned to the angel again, "I need you to stay here. You're still by my side if you're doing what I ask. If I really need you, I promise, I'll call. Please," he said once more.

The fierce loyalty in the angel would not let him refuse Dean again. He nodded solemnly, feathers bristling in agitation.

Dean wasted no time after that. He grabbed his father's arm again and pulled, taking off over the hill that was their last barrier to the demons. There were a few demons already that had gotten through Kaley's fire, closing in on the waiting hunters, and Dean and John picked off those that they could as they ran.

Solrin was up ahead, making a steady approach. Sasha was up there too, twisted against those he should be fighting alongside. Sam and Sarah could be dead already. Dean couldn't allow anything to stop him from reaching them.

But as Dean leapt through a hole in the fire, his father right behind him, he was caught off guard by a demon not focused on reaching the final line of defense, but very intent on _him_. It slammed into Dean from the side out of nowhere, sprawling him to the ground and loosening the Colt from Dean's hands.

"Dean!" called John, sounding too far away with how much battle noise filled the air around them.

Dean fought to get away from the demon clinging to him, clutching and clawing like a beast, which this thing definitely was, damn ugly bastard. Dean managed to roll from his side onto his back, but that didn't help since the demon merely crawled on top of him like an eager lover, and that was just _wrong_. The damn thing smelled like sulfur and ash and old, dried blood. It might have been grinning at him, but it was hard to tell with how charred and cut up and all around distorted its body looked. Dean could barely tell the thing was female, but somehow he knew this creature had once been a woman.

The clincher in recognition was her large _white_ eyes.

"Lilith," Dean growled.

Sickly teeth shone as Lilith's not-there lips curled back further to form a wider smile. "Hello, Dean. You've been a naughty, naughty daddy."

-----

It was not his place to fight. Iain knew that. He was no fool; he knew he couldn't be of any real help on the battlefield. Even if he hadn't been weary and nauseous as hell still from what Malak had done to him the day before, Iain would never be at the caliber of the hunters.

Sasha had taken Iain out to practice shooting on occasion, Dean a little too, both very good teachers, patient. And sure, Iain had gotten fairly good at hitting a nonmoving target in a nonthreatening situation. But this _was_ threatening and every god damn target was a madly moving blur.

All Iain could do was hand out extra ammo and weapons to the hunters, hoping the fight wouldn't reach him or the women with him while they waited for when the demons would attack and flood their camp with injuries. It was all happening too fast. The demons had reached their lines and Dean had left them to better serve the heart of the battle. Iain couldn't _fucking stand_ being so useless.

Having taken up Dean's place on the hill, at the very forefront as the demons reached them, Castiel was magnificent in Jimmy's body, his wings large and beautiful, but the way he glowed and how his mere touch burned demons to nothing still wasn't enough. Castiel was only one being; the demons were many.

There was also Lindsey and Charis, the sex demons, who joined the fight with vicious accuracy in their strikes. Kaley, the fire elemental, was masterful in battle as well, able to control and mould and _become_ fire. But hunters were falling to the demons already.

They were still losing.

Ellen's voice was constant, calling out to hunters to take weapons, asking what ammo they needed, yelling at Iain and Jo and Ula to be faster. When the lull hit, and it hit fast, the hunters too caught up in battle to make it back to them, to even consider going for more weapons or extra ammo, Jo took up guns of her own and fled. The only warning of her departure was the brief call of, 'I love you, Mom!' before she was gone, leaving Ellen to scream after her.

Iain lost sight of Jo in the fight almost right away. He wondered if Ellen would go after her but the owner of the Roadhouse was insistent that they had to stay. If they were needed, someone had to be here to help the hunters. Iain got that, he understood that Ellen was forcing herself to be smart for the sake of the greater good. But all Iain could see was disaster, see his own death waiting in the hands of one of those demons that would reach them eventually. Malak had sworn that Iain would die today, that they would all die, and maybe it was true, maybe they couldn't win.

The lone thought that coiled over and over in Iain's mind as he watched the battle worsen was that if he was going to die then he wanted it to mean more than just standing on the sidelines.

"I'm sorry, Ellen," he turned to her, looking remorsefully at Ula as well, a weapon already on him and mind already made up, "I'm sorry."

He took off, racing into the fray, looking for the clearest path out of the hunter camp. He ignored Ellen's angry, desperate call after him, knowing this was a stupid, selfish move, but he still had to do it. No matter what, he had to get to Dean.

-----

If someone had told Mary Winchester that she would go from hunter, to wife and mother, to ghost, to Heaven, to _horseman_, even with her less than ordinary upbringing she would have thought they were out of their minds. But here she was, laying waste to demons with power and ease even more enhanced than her fighting skills had once been, with the balanced blades of Famine as her weapons.

Mary's true power was for something far different than what the other horsemen could offer. Her power could only really be useful if they survived. So she had to make sure that they did. Nothing was going to hurt her children while she was here, this time, to do something about it. And she'd be _damned_ if some demon was going to take her baby boys' loves away from them again either.

Racing back toward where she had seen Sam get tackled by the bronze incubus, Mary sliced at demons in her path without care. She saw the petite banshee boy rushing over as well, opening his mouth for another piercing scream. The power of it killed several demons in an instant, just as it had when he screamed the first time. It also caused the incubi and succubae great pain, enough that Sam was able to push Cam away from him and get back up onto his feet. Mary turned to Sarah.

The twin succubae had not been shaken by the banshee's scream, still circling Sarah by her sniper rifle. Mary could see the hesitation in Sarah to defend herself because Epica and Attoinette were their friends, but that hesitation was going to cost her dearly. Mary hated that it was the only way, but Sarah had to live, and if that meant the twins had to die then so be it. She sprinted ahead, her blades brandished.

Light erupted overhead, forcing the twins and Sarah to shield themselves from the brightness. Mary was not similarly blinded. This was an angel's light and she could look upon it with ease.

_Gabriel_.

The great golden angel landed between Mary and the succubae, forcing them back. Mary immediately ran ahead, passed Gabriel, and took Sarah by the hand. The dark-haired young woman could not see Mary for all the light of the angel shining more brightly to banish the sex demons, but somehow Sarah trusted that it was okay to go with the hand pulling her.

Sam met up with them back passed Gabriel again, having escaped Cam. Collin, the banshee, came up to them as well. Gabriel's light was forcing all of the sex demons back. Mary could see now that they had all been turned by Solrin, even the great and proud Aloysha. Gabriel's light was worse on the normal demons. Some died, some turned and fled, but the angel was already dimming, and the sex demons were only momentarily pushed back.

"It will not last. They will attack again," Gabriel said in a voice that was not a voice to untrained ears, but more like the rush of water and wind trying to form words.

Sam, so instinctually like his father, held Mary and Sarah back behind him, one hand rising toward the twin succubae as he struggled to take control back from Solrin and free Epica and Attoinette. Mary had faith that he could do it, she believed in him and told him so, close beside his ear as encouraging words rose from Sarah as well.

Then it was happening, Sam was doing it, the twins were shaking their heads like coming out of a deep sleep. Sam spun around to Cam, all of the turned sex demons already advancing since Gabriel's light was back to tolerable. Again Sam was successful, pulling Cam back to them, and once free, Cam, Epica, and Attoinette all quickly rejoined them. Sam tried to bring more of the sex demons back to their side, but it was too much, Solrin's pull too strong, and Mary told him to stop, save his strength. Sam's powers were otherwise needed.

It would be an uneven fight—an angel, a banshee, three sex demons, one horseman, one psychic, and one young female hunter against a horde of demons out for their blood, some that should be their friends.

Mary readied her weapons. No one was taking her son.

-----

The first thing John noticed about the demon pinning Dean to the rocky ground was her awful white eyes. John knew this demon, this _Lilith_ that had been the final trick, the supposed final demon for his boys to get rid of to save Dean from Hell. It had proved to mean nothing because John had escaped the Devil's Gate too. It was a vile trick, one John would never forgive these damn demons for. He knew Hell. The last thing he would have ever wished upon his sons was for one of them to follow that closely in his footsteps.

There were other demons, so many of them, swarming about, and John had to pick them off one after another to even move forward in hopes of reaching Dean. He could hear Dean and Lilith speaking to each other over the din.

"Amon is gone, you know?" Lilith was saying, "Killed by that blonde bitch you call a mother. I'll be sure and pay her back for that, don't you worry."

"Amon?" Dean spat back at her, surely remembering that green-eyed Duke of Hell, "Good riddance! Would have killed that bastard myself for what he did to Sasha."

Lilith's changed horrid growl of a voice chuckled darkly. "You didn't seem to mind a couple days ago, _Daddy_."

"Stop calling me that!" Dean howled.

John was close now. He would rip that damn demon off of his son in pieces if he had to. He would not fail his boys again. Not _again_.

Just as John was readying his guns to shoot Lilith, another demon came charging toward him. He caught sight of it almost too late and shifted his aim. He was about to fire when the demon jerked back and crumbled, a perfect shot to the chest bringing it down that had not come from either of John's guns. Risking a look back, John saw a boy back up on the hill. He did not know him well, but he knew his name—_Iain_. Iain, with a god damn _rifle_, had just saved John the fate of being tackled like his son.

Iain shot again, this time aimed where John had first wanted his own bullets to go. Into Lilith. It was not a perfect shot this time—that other probably having been pure luck—but it struck the bitch in the shoulder and she tumbled back off of Dean. Dean immediately scrambled to his feet.

"Iain!" Dean yelled when he saw who had rescued him, "What the hell are you doing?! Get back to the Roadhouse!" That was a Winchester for you, too busy trying to save someone else's ass to even say 'thank you'. It almost made John proud.

John reached Dean and grabbed onto him, scanning him quickly to check for any wounds. Dean looked fairly unscathed, much as he was seething, because Iain wasn't listening, but remained standing on the hill. Worse yet was that Lilith was still alive.

"Dad!" Dean called before John was roughly thrown to the ground, not realizing exactly what had happened until he rolled over and saw that Dean had pushed him and then thrown himself to the ground on the opposite side to make sure they both avoided Lilith's lunge. She recovered quickly, however, and turned immediately for Dean again.

Where was Dean's weapon? John looked frantically around, knowing that Dean had had the Colt at one time. Dean was currently sitting on the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, and had no time to pull out a knife. John's own guns had skittered away when he fell. Then he saw the Colt, only a few feet away where Dean had initially lost it. John dove to retrieve the mystical gun, but too much time had already passed.

Lilith did not jump Dean or use what could only be described as talons to tear into him. Instead she raised one hand towards him, bright white light growing from her palm. Sam had once withstood this power of hers, but for as special and important as Dean was, he was still only human.

"No!" called _Iain_ before John's voice had finished wrapping around the word. John looked and saw Iain sprinting for Dean, the kid only caring about _protecting Dean_, not that the white light had to already be horribly painful even just standing in its path. Iain threw himself onto Dean and the light flared, so bright, John had to shield his eyes. He heard both Dean and Iain scream before they fell silent.

With thoughts on nothing but reaching them, John snatched up the Colt finally when the light began to fade and aimed it right for Lilith. She must have sensed him, remembered that he was there, because she turned with a snarl on her face, her hand already rising again and beginning to glow. John fired, hitting her square in the forehead, and she convulsed with the added power of the Colt, the gun that could kill _almost_ anything, before falling to the ground dead.

The sight of Iain and Dean was unbearable from the moment John got up and could see them clearly. Iain had taken the full brunt of the blast, sprawled motionless over Dean, charred and melted down to an awful mess. But Dean was not much better. His green eyes were wide in pain when John dropped down beside them, carefully pushing Iain off and seeing for certain that the young brunette was dead. Dean was only barely alive himself, just as horribly burnt and trembling from shock.

It couldn't end this way. John wouldn't allow it to end this way.

"D-Dad…" Dean groped for him, a blackened hand twisting in John's shirt and pulling, "S-Save…save Iain. Bring back _Iain_. He wasn't…he wasn't even…s'pposed to be here. _Please_." Dean cringed, panting with the effort to even speak, a gurgle rising in his throat that made John sick, this sight of his son, ruined.

"Dean," John shook his head, wanting to touch Dean, pull Dean to him, but knowing it would only cause his son more pain.

"Bring back _Iain_," Dean commanded again, body still shaking, back arching with a wave of pain that contorted what was left of Dean's face, and then he went still, so suddenly, his hand dropping from John's shirt, just…still. Gone. _Dead_.

John could not honor his son's final request. For the second time he was going to make a decision for Dean that Dean would never forgive him for. Glancing at Iain's burnt body, John understood well how much the kid meant to Dean, how Iain didn't deserve this end, but even at the risk of Dean hating him more than he already had to, John couldn't do what Dean asked. The world needed Dean.

So Dean, John's son, was the one he used his one-time power on to bring back into the world of the living.

He placed one hand over Dean's heart and one on his forehead. Closing his eyes, John simply began to pull, seeking out Dean's soul before it could get too far away. He felt heat filling his hands, a comfortable warmth that was not at all like what had burnt his son, but something soothing, luring Dean back. John could almost see Dean's soul in the dark of his mind, a bright spark, brighter than anything John had ever seen, even brighter than Lilith's awful power. He pulled and pulled until finally he heard Dean gasp beneath him.

John opened his eyes to the sight of a whole, healed, fully restored Dean, coughing up into him as Dean tried to sit up. It was the greatest gift John ever could have been given to be able to do this for Dean again, even if it meant Dean looked at him like _that_, with a heart shattered into fragments.

"Dad…I-I said…I told you to save _Iain_," Dean said mournfully, bitterly, despite how strongly he was clinging to his father's shirt, pulling John in instead of pushing him away.

"I know," John said, "But if I let you die, Dean…then none of this would mean anything."

Dean looked as pained as he had when he was dying. "I don't matter that much," he said miserably, for a moment returning to his self-loathing, to his lack of belief that he was worth anything in another's eyes, especially in his own.

John could only blame himself for that, for Dean ever thinking he wasn't good enough. There weren't words to make up for the things John had done to his sons, actively and in apathy. All John could do now was grab Dean's shoulders, grip tightly, and say, "You matter to _me_."

He pulled, forcing Dean to his feet. Dean stumbled at first, disoriented from being brought back, but when he looked to John it was with something like acceptance, maybe even gratitude despite the sorrow that was still there.

The battle had not stopped, had not even remotely slowed down, but for them it would pause long enough for a moment. John watched as Dean looked down on Iain's body, fists clenching at Dean's sides. Dean closed his eyes soon after, lifted his head and called out into the sky.

"Cas!"

-----

"Sol!"

Solaris' head jerked to where she had heard her name called so urgently. It hadn't been her sister, or Bobby, or one of the angels. Only one man called her 'Sol'.

Deklin was too far away for the sound of his voice to have been that audible, but Solaris had long ago stopped caring about things making sense when it came to her love for that man. She could hear him in her heart, and something had gone horribly wrong to make him call out for her like that.

Lifting up into the air, Solaris hovered a moment over the battle, looking toward where she knew Deklin had to be. She spotted him sprinting from the fae camp to reach the very heart of the demons. Why he was going there, toward Solrin, was beyond Solaris at first.

Then she saw her son.

Sasha was fighting with the demons, fighting against the fae and whoever else dared attack him. He had been swayed by Solrin's power.

"I'm needed!" Solaris called down to where her sister and Bobby were fighting off the remaining demons in their camp. They were alright for now, though Bobby's left arm had been cut up enough that it lay useless at his side while he continued firing his gun with his right. "I must go!" she said, not waiting any further for understanding or given leave before taking off at great speed straight for her husband.

Deklin was close enough to Sasha that he could pick off the demons that were right around the frenzied incubus. He was also shooting arrows as warnings to the fae and others daring to attack Sasha directly. Deklin was potentially making enemies by doing this, but he couldn't risk anything happening to Sasha, Solaris understood that well and loved her husband even more because of it.

A sword was easier to handle than a crossbow with claws for hands, so while Solaris had been in her true form from the beginning, Deklin had only released his wings to give him extra speed, his hands remaining human on the trigger of his bow. He was holding off from actually reaching Sasha, waiting for Solaris, because Solaris was the one who could help.

Solaris could not have been more thankful for her lineage and how fast she could travel with wings, aided even further by her horseman status, she was sure of it. At last she dropped down beside Deklin, who looked terribly out of breath but so relieved to see his wife that he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her.

"Thank God, Sol," he spoke against her lips, pulling back only to keep an eye on their surroundings and explain the situation, "Dean's not far off," Deklin pointed over the next hill, "They're heading for him, but we can't let it happen like this. Use you power. Use it on our boy." Deklin's blue eyes were brilliant beacons in the otherwise dark din of the battlefield. He was sincere and pleading in his request as if he thought Solaris might refuse.

Knowing too well how these demons thought, and that Solrin—_Malak_—would use Sasha against Dean directly, there was no way Solaris could just stand idly by. Deklin was right; they couldn't let it happen like this.

Together Deklin and Solaris raced that final distance to reach Sasha, ridding the area of demons easily and tossing fae aside with warning glares to get out of the way. There was no way to know how much damage Sasha had caused while fighting on the wrong side of this war, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered but fixing this.

Solrin was far enough away, too intent on reaching that hill that Dean was on the other side of to pay attention to what the Kellys were about to do. They flanked Sasha, Deklin dropping his crossbow and transforming fully, claws ready as he grabbed for Sasha and tried to tackle him to the ground so that Solaris could better use her power on him.

Sasha was fierce and unforgiving as he fought them off, not recognizing his parents and not caring about anything but attacking all that stood in his path. He was vicious, a frenzied animal reveling in the fight. He slashed Deklin across the chest before Deklin could even begin to grab him, and once Deklin finally had a hold of Sasha, gripping his son by the forearms and pulling him in close, Sasha lunged forward, biting hard into the tendons of Deklin's neck.

"Sol!" Deklin cried out through the sharp pain.

It was a horrific thing for Solaris to watch, seeing her son this way, so unlike himself. But Deklin had enough of a hold on Sasha that she knew they could do this.

As soon as Sasha pulled up, his mouth and fangs tinged with blood from biting Deklin, Solaris was right there, grabbing Sasha's face, her black claws on either of his cheeks, as she simply called to him.

"Peace, baby. _Peace_."

The harsh light in Sasha's eyes instantly dulled, his struggling against Deklin's continued hold going limp as he fell like dead weight and all three of them went down. Sasha started shaking, coughing, gulping for air and looking around him like he had no idea where he was.

"Oh sweetheart," Solaris embraced her son as best she could with Sasha still mostly in Deklin's arms, "It's alright. It's alright. He won't be able to take control of you again."

For a moment it was as if they had always been there, part of Sasha's life, helping him through every stumble, and he might have been a child in their arms, needing only simple comfort that they were finally with him to give.

But Sasha was not a child. He was a fully grown incubus with a marked mate waiting for him somewhere out on those fields. Even if Sasha had wanted to stay in their arms awhile longer, he didn't pause to consider it. He pulled out of their collective embrace.

"Mom, Dad," Sasha looked to each of them, "The others. Sam can't handle all of them. There are too many." He stared beyond them at the sex demon camp in the distance.

Solaris turned, looked over at the distant chaos of her people, only a handful of them in their right minds fighting alongside Sam, Sarah, Mary, and the others that were with them. Solaris could not use her power again, could not give Peace to the struggle for control in all of them, but her and her family could still be of help. "Okay, let's go to them," she turned back to her son.

To Solaris' surprise, Sasha shook his head. "No. No, we can't help them by fighting. The others under Solrin's control don't deserve to just die. Not if I get to live." The anguish that passed through Sasha's eyes had Deklin immediately opening his mouth to dissent, just like Solaris knew it would, but Sasha shook his head again and spoke on. "It doesn't matter. Nothing will matter if we don't stop the source. I was stupid to go at Solrin alone. But _Dad_," Sasha gripped Deklin arm, "You're Pestilence. The opposite of it. You can _Heal_. Do you think you can heal the demon blood out of Solrin's body?"

Uncertainty spread across Deklin's face, then deep thought, then he looked up with a growing shimmer of pride in his expression that proved Sasha had hit the nail on the head. "Kiddo," Deklin grinned, clawed hand tenderly touching Sasha's face, "You just figured out how we're going to win this war."

-----

Dean's call was always so much more than a voice to Castiel, but something that sought out the angel's very being, pinpointing for Castiel exactly where Dean was and how to reach him. The other angels could not travel instantly across these fields, but because Dean was Castiel's charge, his and his alone, Castiel would always be able to go to where Dean was. Only Malak had been able to prevent that.

The humans could certainly be doing better, even with the help of that incubus and succubus couple, and the lovely fae with fire at her fingertips, but the hunters were still _surviving_, and Castiel had promised that if Dean called for him, he would be there without fault.

Blinking out of the hunter camp to wherever Dean was, Castiel found himself just down the hill, facing Dean and John Winchester who both looked drawn and beaten. "What is it, Dean? Are you alright? What do you need of me?" Castiel asked quickly, knowing that time could only be short in this dire battle.

Torment marred the usual bravado and handsome features of Dean's face. Castiel realized then like a shock that Dean's body was new, remolded. Looking then to John, Castiel could see that the reserve of power within the horseman of Life had been used.

Dean had fallen and Castiel had not been there. It tore at him to realize that this battle, the fields, whatever it had been, had kept Castiel from feeling the loss of his charge when Dean died. But the angel was not given time to voice his remorse. Dean was not looking at Castiel. He was looking just beyond him.

Castiel turned, looked down at the body lying practically at his feet, that was burnt beyond recognition but still whole enough that Castiel knew exactly who it had been. He understood immediately what had happened and it pained him.

_Iain_. Iain had sacrificed his life for Dean. It ached in Castiel's borrowed chest, in Jimmy's chest, compounded because both vessel and angel were feeling the loss of that loving young man all at once.

"Get him outta here, Cas," Dean spoke brokenly, "Bring him back to the Roadhouse. I don't want him left out here. I can't leave him out here. Please…will you carry him back?"

Such a horrid request. Horrid because it was necessary, horrid because Iain was the last person Castiel or Jimmy expected to see fall in this battle. Iain never should have left the safety of the Roadhouse. Castiel should have seen him, should have known somehow and stopped him.

"Cas," Dean said again, desperate since Castiel had not responded.

Castiel could feel the dampness of Jimmy's tears on his face, and maybe some of the tears were the angel's own, when he turned back to Dean and nodded. "Of course, Dean. I will return him."

There were further questions, further words that could have been spoken, but Dean said none of them. He merely nodded back, grateful without having to say anything, and then grabbed his father before hurrying on further into battle.

Castiel was left with what remained of Iain's body, the soul, the truth of Iain long gone now, but being in a human vessel Castiel could not help feeling a deeper remorse. Knowing Iain had gone on to a place without further pain or fear was little comfort when life right now felt so much more immediate. And it might have been blasphemous for an angel to think that way, but Castiel did not try to shake the emotions free from himself. He clung to his right to mourn.

Gathering Iain's body carefully, Castiel could not blink back to the hunter camp as he had blinked to Dean, so he flew, took to the sky on his more mortal-like feathered wings, and returned to the hunters through the air. He landed behind the stockpiles of supplies where only Ellen and Ula remained. They both looked at him with such honest pity and remorse when he laid Iain's body down, wishing he could do more than simply place it on the earth. Castiel knew Dean would want to burn this body, a ritual for hunters that Castiel understood, saw that it was a symbol of great respect and honor even more than it was an act of precaution.

Even an angel only had so much power in the dawn of the apocalypse, unfair as that may be. Castiel placed a kiss to the charred skin of Iain's forehead. "May your sacrifice bring you peace, child," he whispered for Iain alone.

Then he left the body where it lay, leapt back into the sky, and returned to the battle lest Dean should call on him again.

-----

This was the turning point in the battle, Deklin was certain of it.

The angels were still fighting the straggling demons that did not seem to stop coming from the far fields. The sex demon camp was overrun with unwilling traitors, pulled to Solrin's power, and there was no telling how long Sam and the others could hold things together. The hunters would be overrun if this didn't end soon. But the heart of the matter was several yards from the center of the fae camp where the Kelly family was hurrying to reach Solrin before the man Sasha swore was possessed by Malak himself could reach Dean and end everything.

As for Dean, Deklin could finally see his son's love approaching from the hills of the Roadhouse, followed closely by John. Everything was coming to a head. They had to finish this now.

Solrin was frighteningly powerful, and not only because of how aptly he could command the demons nearest him, but how the gesture of his hand, his touch, his stare, was all it took to bring those before him to their knees. Fae were dropping like wilted grass at his feet and Solrin merely stepped on over them as if they were nothing but a nuisance.

It sickened Deklin. Fae were as holy as angels in some respects, just more closely tied to the Earth than to Heaven. Solrin's careless cruelty was awful to behold. It spurned Deklin on faster, desperate to reach the white-haired young man and see if Sasha's plan of healing out the demon blood would actually do the trick. Deklin would be more confident if he wasn't about to heal the kid while Solrin was possessed by the Devil himself, but then this was Biblical healing he would be wielding, so anything was possible.

Gwen, the leader of the fae, had moved from the center of her people's camp to launch an attack on Solrin as well, and she reached Solrin first. She really was magnificent to watch, as if she was made of the earth, plantlife, and water, and wind, and fire all at once, all the while still appearing to be a redhead, which Deklin had always been partial to.

Gwen's powers were indeed great, but even she was not enough to slow Solrin down when he sent all of the nearby demons under his command to swarm her in a mad horde of moving black bodies.

This was it. Deklin had to act now, while Solrin was focused on Gwen, even if his instincts made him want to rush to the fae's aid first. With Solaris and Sasha backing him, Deklin dove right at Solrin, tackling him to the ground and rolling rapidly from the momentum until the two of them stopped short with Deklin on top. Solrin was furious and practically growling beneath him.

Those red on black eyes were enough to send chills racing down Deklin's spine, and he was already _dead_, for chrissake. But he didn't pause to give Solrin—_Malak_—a single moment's chance to fight back. Placing both of his clawed hands on the scarred, bare chest beneath him, Deklin poured out all of that rich, pure healing energy in one great go.

"Ahhh!" Solrin screamed like he was in the worst kind of pain, back immediately arching up and eyes flickering. Just as Deklin had hoped, black, sulfuric, flame-licked smoke began to pour from Solrin's mouth as he screamed.

That was only the first step. Once the smoke had vanished—simply _vanished_—something black and very visible beneath the surface of Solrin's skin, like actual black blood in his veins, started coiling its way toward Deklin's firmly pressed hands where it fizzled away into nothing.

Solrin gasped, trembled, his eyes clenched tight. When he began to still, Deklin finally getting a moment to breathe relief, the kid opened his eyes wide like waking from a dream. They weren't red on black anymore or one jade green while the other was a sickly dead grey. They were both green, both exactly the same. Malak's eye, his blood and influence in Solrin, were gone.

Deklin wasn't foolish enough to just give the kid the benefit of the doubt, however. Even with demon blood inside of him, it was no excuse for the choices Solrin had willingly made. But whatever doubts Deklin may have had, they faded when he heard his son call out, "Dean!" and saw how Solrin's eyes lit up at the mere mention.

Coughing and shivering still, Solrin tried to roll over and see where Dean was coming from, not appearing at all like a threat. He looked to where Dean and John were finally approaching them, Deklin looked too, and there was no mistaking the relief in the way Solrin echoed Sasha's exclamation. "_Dean_…"

-----

Everything about this day royally sucked. Dean was never going to be able to think otherwise on that one. But if they could still win this, come out of this with a few of them still intact at the end of the day then maybe it would all be worth it.

Seeing Sasha back to his senses, both Kelly parents okay too, and Solrin with two green eyes looking like he had never been happier to see Dean, like he finally knew he didn't need Malak in his life, it was almost too good to be true.

There was something like an explosion off to their left where Gwen was breaking out of her swarm of demons, all of them seemingly disoriented now after losing the calm, cool direction of their leader. Gwen and a few other fae nearby started picking those demons off with far more ease than before.

Dean was being allowed another moment, and a moment was all he needed to remind himself that they could still win. He would mourn deeply for Iain when the battle was over, and for others, no doubt, but for now the only thing Dean could do for the friend who had tried so valiantly to save him was make sure they did not lose now. With Solrin free from Malak's control, free from Malak's blood, even, by the looks of those jade eyes, they might just stand a chance.

"This your genius idea, baby," Dean patted Sasha's chest as he reached him, thinking it a genius idea indeed to use Deklin's 'Heal' power to root out all of the demon from Solrin's system.

Sasha twisted his claws into Dean's shirt, pulling Dean close and obviously wanting to kiss the living hell out of him right there, but somehow the incubus refrained, for the sake of close company and the battle that still raged. "Well you know me, always using my brain first," Sasha smiled a little deliriously at being together again.

Grinning as he patted Sasha's chest once more to ask for a moment's reprieve, Dean stepped away, crouching down where Deklin was rolling off of Solrin. Dean reached down to offer Solrin a hand. The white-haired hunter—for he was a hunter again, Dean knew that without having to ask or second guess—accepted that hand gladly and Dean hoisted Solrin to his feet.

"Welcome back, man. You okay?" Dean said.

"Dean," Solrin replied, still saying Dean's name with an undeserved reverence, but Dean figured they could work on that, "Please, I…I did not want to come into battle again. I did not know what to believe before, but I know now. I was clouded, I was a fool, I thought…" he closed his eyes a moment, opening them again to show that they were growing damp, "I thought it was the right thing once. But you, the light I know is still in you, has always been more real than Malak. I want to fight for you," Solrin gripped Dean's hands as he had long ago with very different motivations, "I tried to refuse him before the battle began but he…he took me. I had already given myself to him, he said. I could not resist it. Forgive me, Dean, _please_."

"Hey," Dean began, feeling a little overwhelmed with this devotion.

"Dean!" came a sudden call, not nearly as far away as it should be, but Dean knew that voice too well to have to wonder who it was. It was _Sam_.

Looking beyond Solrin, beyond Deklin and Solaris and Sasha, even beyond the fighting as the demons frantically continued to attack, Dean could see Sam, Sarah, and Mary, his mother, running across the fields to reach them, having left the now freed and right-minded sex demons to themselves. Aloysha looked to be fighting particularly viciously now.

Dean felt his father's hand come up and squeeze his shoulder, something wonderful filling Dean at the thought that it would soon be all of them, the two families together to finish this fight once and for all. Dean barely had to look around to know that the demons were faltering without their leader. Solrin had been able to lead most of them uniformly, a great mass with singular goals, the very thing they had lacked that first time they escaped the Devil's Gate. Now they were back to personal agendas, and that was always weaker.

The good guys' camps could easily beat them now, Dean was sure of it. He was also more than ready to rejoin the fight. He had been right that it was necessary to keep those most important to him separate at first, better to help the different camps, but now they were needed together. Dean couldn't imagine a better way to end this.

He waved at Sam to say it was alright, urging his brother onward to join them. Then Dean turned back to Solrin. "Glad to have you with us, Sol," Dean said, reaching out to smack Solrin's arm in a friendly gesture.

But Dean's hand froze just as it was lifting. Solrin's face had suddenly gone from a pleasant, grateful smile to wide eyes and a blank, almost pained expression. Dean didn't know what Solrin had been startled by, what could possibly make him look like that, until he heard Solaris scream.

Dean's eyes darted to the succubus, off to his right with Deklin and Sasha, John still close to Dean with his hand on Dean's shoulder. The Kellys were staring behind Solrin, all equally horrified and rooted to the spot. Dean's eyes snapped back to the man before him just as Solrin lurched forward, face filling with further pain, and then, like some awful scene in a horror movie, there was a hand, an _arm_ punching its way out of Solrin's chest, bloody and covered in gore.

Bile rose in Dean's throat instantly, aghast as Solrin crumbled straight down, eyes already glassy, already gone. What remained behind him when Solrin finally fell limp was _Malak_—male, his black suit marred by the blood soaking all the way up his arm.

"Idiot. There are no rewards for _traitors_," Malak hissed, his breathing strangely labored, face damp with sweat, and blonde hair mussed for the first time in all the many situations Dean had seen the demon, "I should know," Malak added with a twitch that wasn't quite a shrug, something mad, _wild_ in his red on black eyes as he reached for Dean with the bloody hand that had just killed Solrin, and pulled Dean from his father's hold, "Not unless you take the rewards for yourself."

Something indefinable began to fill Dean's chest, not pain, just pressure, pressure so great that Dean was screaming anyway, screaming and hearing a chorus of cries from the others to match his own, until finally, in one great rush, Dean was no longer on the battlefield at all.

-----

Coughing haggardly into the ground—into the _floor_, the hardwood floor beneath him—Dean tried to get his bearings. He was inside a building, no longer out on the fields of the Roadhouse. He had to take stock of his surroundings _now_.

"Well aren't you just a huge disappointment," Malak's voice spoke snidely from above him, the bitter voice accompanied by a swift kick to Dean's ribs that doubled him over further, "Oh, your crew deserves some credit, I'm sure, but from my point of view it doesn't look like you've done much of anything. Have you, Dean?" Another kick, too hard, a _crack_—damn it, there went a rib—and Dean was trying desperately to roll away from Malak. He wouldn't be of any use if he stayed on the floor.

To Dean's surprise and relief, Malak allowed him to scramble to his feet this time, the demon holding back but looking just as wild and strangely disheveled. Deklin's healing touch on Solrin must have done more damage to Malak than Dean would have thought.

"Really, Dean, what did they even need you for, hmm?" Malak continued to taunt him, moving in close suddenly, fast, until he was right up against Dean, breathing in the air between them. "I smell the death on you. You couldn't even survive the fight long enough to get to me. You're just recycled parts now. You haven't accomplished _anything_."

As dire as the situation seemed just now, Dean had to focus on what he knew, and what was painfully obvious was that Malak was desperate, angry, weakened. The other thing Dean couldn't help noticing was that they hadn't gone all that far. It looked like they were in the bar of the Roadhouse.

"Nothing to defend yourself with?" Malak sneered in Dean's face.

Dean dropped the hand that had been clutching at his ribs, standing taller despite the sting of pain. "Part of being a good leader is in knowing how much your soldiers can accomplish without you," Dean spoke firmly, knowing he had to be sharp now, quick, ready for any opening and any potential attack, "And ya know, I think they did one hell of a job. What about you? Lost your one ace in the hole so you kill him? Real show of power there," Dean mocked, even though it pained him to speak of Solrin's death so flippantly.

Not surprisingly, a fresh grin twisted its way onto Malak's face. "So easy to pass on the blame, isn't it, Dean? But I wasn't the cause of Solrin's death. _You_ were. You're the reason he's dead. The reason _Iain_ is dead. And, oh, what was that little blonde thing's name? She fell just a moment ago, torn apart by my eager children."

Dean's heart sank. _Jo_.

"Her death is on your shoulders too, Dean, and so many others. All I asked of you, all you needed to do was remain with me. You tricked me out of that deal, fine, I admit defeat. But if you had chosen to stay with me then none of this would have happened. You could have saved all of them. You could have prevented this."

"At the cost of what?" Dean spat right back, "Don't try to pretend like the battle wouldn't have happened. Michael, Gwen, they all would have fought against us anyway."

"And you could have sent them away without harming a single one of them," Malak pushed even closer to Dean, forcing Dean to stumble a few steps back in order to avoid the heat of Malak's body pressing to his chest, "You could have kept the fae, incubi, and succubae safely in the fae plane, and all of the angels in Heaven. You could have dismissed the demons entirely, you just didn't want to. Those decisions were yours, Dean. I'm only saying, that if you had chosen me truly, you would have had the chance to make things different. You could have saved lives. Now you are the cause of a hundred deaths, _more_ by the end of this."

There was a wall suddenly at Dean's back, jarring him as he attempted to escape Malak's proximity. They were near the jukebox and it was crackling as if the very presence of Malak caused it to fritz.

Dean wouldn't close his eyes, wouldn't wall himself in to avoid what Malak was saying. Part of the demon's words might very well be true, but it didn't matter, Dean couldn't let it matter. If he had chosen Malak then he would have lost everything that really mattered to him. He would have lost himself. Nothing could make him regret the choice he had made.

Even if a part of him mourned the loss of the power Malak offered, the way it had felt, the way it had made him more than himself. But _no_. Dean didn't need to be anything other than what he was, because he was Dean Winchester, god damn it, _human hunter_, and the Devil was not going to get the better of him.

"Nice try," Dean smiled around any fear left lingering in his belly, "But I'm not crawling back to you, asshole. We're gonna _win_." The belief in that lifted Dean's confidence high in his chest, swelling with resolve.

Malak snarled, pain spiking through Dean's head as the demon grabbed him roughly by the hair and yanked him over to the windows. "Win? You think you're winning? Look at the whole of it, Dean, and tell me if you still believe that."

Defenseless against Malak's superior strength, and hating that like nothing else, Dean found his face pushed harshly to the glass of a window that looked out over the fields beyond. With the way the land had been changed, Dean could see everything, from Ellen and Ula practically right outside the doors, to the angels far off, Michael high above the rest, commanding them.

So many had fallen. More than a hundred, Dean saw now. So many angels, like bulbs burnt out on the ground, so many fae, even the sex demons had lost dozens and they had spent a good portion of the fight on the wrong side.

Worse was seeing how few hunters actually remained. Castiel could only do so much to protect them. That fire chick was going strong, but the hunters Dean knew best—that young black couple, Creedy, _Jo_—they were lying motionless, in some cases in pieces. Lindsey was pulling his injured wife back behind the stockpile with Ellen and Ula and the body of Iain, one of Charis' wings looking half torn off.

Bobby and Shiarra still seemed to be alive out there, so far away that Dean could barely spot them, but out on the middle of the fields, Sam, Sasha, Sarah, and their parents were being hit by wave after wave of fiercely fighting demons that were not stopping even though they had lost their leader and any true direction. In chaos they could still be effective. Dean worried that he couldn't see the Trickster, wondering if the demi-god, too, was dead.

"You see now, Dean, how much you're _winning_," Malak snarled beside his ear, breath hot and body tight all along Dean's back, "It all looks so promising until you step back and see just how much I surpass you with sheer numbers. Your horsemen can accomplish little, their powers almost all used up now, and for what? You're going to _lose_, Dean. You made me stronger with every decision you made this past year. I don't need you anymore to win. And do you know what happens if I win without you?"

A shudder ran deep down Dean's body at the way Malak whispered damply against his ear, an audible gasp leaving Dean that he hated to give Malak the pleasure of hearing. The scene outside began to change, morphing and shifting into something else that Dean could see just as clearly as he had seen the battle. The landscape was still the same, it was still the fields, but what was happening on them was something far more horrifying than war.

It was the aftermath. And Hell had won.

The few that survived of Dean's soldiers were on racks scattered throughout the mass of dead bodies. There were demons clawing and tearing and biting into the flesh of the living, some pulling off the limbs of the dead for fun, some pulling off the limbs of the _living_ for fun. Everyone on a rack was someone Dean knew.

Another Malak was walking amongst it all, pulling another Dean along behind him, and suddenly Dean wasn't just watching, he was out there, he _was_ the Dean being pulled after Malak on the fields.

The most awful scent filled Dean's nose immediately—charred flesh, decay, sulfur, so much god damn _sulfur_. Dean actually had to stop and vomit at his feet, the smell was so powerfully rancid. He felt sick immediately again afterwards when he realized he had thrown up on the bodies of angels.

"Come along, Dean," Malak said almost singsong sweet, "Let me show you what awaits you after I win this war. Look there," he tugged Dean forward and then stopped, "Why it's practically artwork, don't you think?"

Malak's tone was enough for Dean to know he didn't want to look up, not that looking down was anything better since there was nowhere to walk but on bodies. Slowly, Dean started to lift his head anyway, perversely curious, seeing the base of the rack first, then feet, then bare legs all the way up a naked male body with _Sam's_ face.

Dean jerked away from Malak in an attempt to free his arm, get away, but Malak's grip was like iron. Dean wanted out of this illusion. It wasn't real. _It wasn't real_. He knew that. But the sight of Sammy, _vivisected_, bleeding freely, and still fucking _alive_ on that rack was almost worse than the things Dean had seen in Hell.

"S-Stop…" Dean shook with the struggle to keep from vomiting again, bile burning his throat as he swallowed it back down.

"Look around you, Dean. Look at all of them," Malak twisted Dean's wrist as he tugged him close again, "It gets so much better."

Moving onto the next rack, Dean was presented with the figure of his father, only that wasn't right, wasn't possible, because the horsemen would go back to Heaven after the battle ended, Dave had said so.

"Only if you win, Dean," Malak stole Dean's thoughts effortlessly, "But if you lose then I get to play with everyone. No more souls get to Heaven. Only if I allow them, and I just can't imagine I'm going to feel all that generous after all the trouble you've caused me."

Pushing Dean forward into the rack with his father on it, Malak held Dean there so he had to look, had to see his father shredded, gurgling as he struggled to stay alive through what had been done to him.

"I look forward to having your father back, Dean. He was rather fun, you know. He held out longer than you, but everyone gives into me eventually, begs me to stop, willing to offer up…anything. And now I'll have your mother too," he grabbed Dean's head and forced it to look to the next rack where Mary was likewise mutilated, "Imagine that. And Sasha's parents as well, of course. Oh! Wouldn't want to forget about your darling Sasha, now, would we?"

The force of Dean's struggling increased at the mere thought of what Malak was going to show him of Sasha, but no amount of tugging on his arm was enough to free him of Malak's hold. Dean could only stumble along after the demon toward some makeshift center amidst all the racks, all the _bodies_, where Sasha was easily distinguishable.

The incubus was not on a rack, but chained into a kneeling position, arms and legs bound, wings wrapped up painfully with further chains, chains that looked like iron slowly cutting into Sasha's prone flesh.

"You know, Dean, I think the Hell I created for you before was rather inspired," Malak said as he pushed Dean forward until Dean fell onto the blood and gore covered ground in front of where Sasha was chained. Dean tried not to look up so he wouldn't have to see Sasha in front of him, but it was impossible not to.

Sasha's red eyes, catlike and beautiful, were looking right at him, _pleading_.

"I think I'll follow that original scene," Malak spoke on, "Torture and starve him until he frenzies. And then just when he's so ravenous he would tear into anything…" Malak moved around closer to Sasha, and as he spoke, Sasha became more and more ferocious as if living out what Malak was saying, "...when he's so hungry, he won't even recognize you. Then, Dean…I'll release the chains." Malak did so with a snap of his fingers, the chains unraveling as Sasha stood up and shook them from his shoulders. "And let him _take you_."

Dean froze, unable to move, just like in Hell, even as Sasha lunged for him and a scream strangled its way out of Dean's throat.

He came back to himself gasping, face still pressed to the window inside the Roadhouse. Malak's hold had loosened enough that Dean was able to push away from him, stumbling back and gulping down air.

"_Cas_," Dean whispered for help without thinking.

"Not this time, Dean," Malak answered with content arrogance, "I have every right to be here and to do to you what I please. Your angel can't help you now. No one can."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean gasped, trembling all over, his ribs stinging from excess movement, "You think you can get me to choose you again by threatening me? Fear's not enough to do that," even though it was _potent_, "Nothing is enough to make me throw everything away again."

Calm now, confident, Malak smoothed his mussed hair back and approached Dean slowly. "Who says I want you back, Dean?" the demon raised a taunting eyebrow, "Even if you crawled and begged and pleaded for your fellows' lives, remember I don't need you anymore." Reaching Dean with a sudden surge forward, Malak grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and lifted him straight up off the floor. "I'd rather watch your world burn. _Especially_ yours, Dean. And all the people in it."

Fear, futility bubbled up from Dean's stomach and into his throat, his trembling continuing, and he hated that, hated that Malak could still turn him into the weakest version of himself. But not all of him felt weak. Part of Dean—and it sickened him to admit this—felt some twisted pleasure in everything Malak had said and shown him. Because Malak was still a part of him, still wrapped up inside of him, and Dean had to fight that every moment to remain solely himself.

Suddenly, the remnants of disheveled wildness in Malak's eyes looked like more than just recovery from what Deklin had done to him, or from any consequences from the fighting outside the Roadhouse walls. Malak was struggling just as Dean was struggling, fighting against how wrapped up they were _in each other_, not just Malak in Dean.

The dawning of that, the revelation if it, had a smile spreading wide across Dean's face. He got it. He finally got it.

"What's so amusing, Dean?" Malak asked with a touch of frustration.

It was hard to breathe, lifted up as Dean was, but he had dealt with far worse. "More like…fucking hilarious, pal," he choked out, "You don't even....mean half of what you're saying. Kinda pathetic if ya ask me."

The red on black eyes glaring up at Dean flashed in warning. "You think I won't honor what I've promised you?" Malak sneered.

Dean grinned. "Maybe. But there's…doubt written all over your face. Guess being an evil…overlord _prick_…gets a bit tougher…when you got a little _human_ inside of you."

If Dean had had any doubts that he was right, the way Malak's face twisted angrily rather than in simple denial or dismissal proved otherwise. "Human? I have been many things, _am_ many things, but never human, like you miserable _wastes_ of flesh," Malak growled, raising Dean higher.

The added pressure on Dean's neck made it even harder to breathe, but he wasn't admitting defeat yet. The conversation Dean had overheard of Michael and Gwen's was starting to make sense. "I think…you're lying," Dean managed, "I…think…you _have_ been human, and not just…from sharing a little…body space with me." Dean focused his already hazy vision on Malak's snarling face. "I think…you were the demon Gwen fell in love with."

In an instant all of that anger on Malak's face went utterly blank. "That's…ridiculous," he said in a voice Dean would swear was almost trembling, "You know well yourself that the demon that _fae_ loved, she also murdered. How could I be him?"

The bastard kept giving himself away, Dean thought wickedly; he couldn't even look at Dean. "Yeah, well…I don't think it's that easy to kill you," Dean said, "See…I think she just sent you back to Hell. That musta been…one helluva rude awakening, eh, _Mal_?"

Malak's eyes flashed back to Dean, burning with fire the way Dean had only ever seen when Malak was truly enraged beyond reason. Then suddenly Dean was coughing, gasping into the floor again after Malak dropped him. Dean looked up to see the demon looming above. "You think you know so much," Malak sneered.

"I know…enough," Dean gasped out, "Only part…I don't get…is why you even bothered. Why come in human form? Wouldn't have been…like you are now, playing at human but being something else. You were more human then. And I gotta wonder, like I said…_why_? And see…I think I might know."

"Do you now?" Malak spoke menacingly, poised to kick Dean's ribs again maybe, or more than likely something worse.

"Yep," Dean kept right on, pushing up onto his knees, "I think I do. See, I know my lore. You didn't have a grudge against God. You didn't think you were better than _Him_. Just better than us."

Malak snorted, "My thoughts haven't changed on that."

"Maybe not. But maybe, a few thousand years ago, figuring it was time to make an appearance again, you _wondered_. Maybe it was another chance like this. Like _now_. And you had a human body all your own. You probably planned your whole lay waste and world domination bit and everything. But something changed, didn't it? You met a pretty redhead and it changed everything. Believe me, man, I can relate," Dean smirked. His vision was still a little cloudy but he could see the way Malak was staring maliciously down at him. It sparked more fear in Dean, but he was not about to listen to it.

Whether it was against his better judgment or not, Dean spoke on.

"I don't think you were playing games. You really loved her. She really loved you. You were gonna change your tune, even, I think. You finally saw something in humans you couldn't just pass off as corruptible."

"And I was _wrong_," Malak snarled, his tongue snaking out of his mouth and looking, for a moment, forked, "I was wrong not only in believing humans have something to offer, because she wasn't human, was she? I was also wrong that it mattered _at all_."

"Why?" Dean countered with honest and even sympathetic curiosity, "Because she killed you? Or _tried_. So what? She panicked. Plenty of people panic. She's regretted it every day since. I heard her practically say that word—_regret_. What about you? See, I don't think you've ever been the same. I think there's still some human in you from back then, and hey, mix it up with a little of _me_," Dean placed one foot on the ground and rose back up to his feet, "And you start to wonder again, don't you? You start to doubt. It was a great plan and all, this round, get back at God using his own lesser creation against him—_me_—to prove your point. Genius, really. Too bad the joke's on you."

"Enough," Malak snapped, grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt again and pulling him in close, "You think you can appeal to me this way? Appeal to my sense of _humanity_? You are a fool, Dean Winchester. There is no humanity in me."

Dean wasn't giving up, he couldn't, not when he was so close. "You're lying," Dean spoke right in Malak face, "Why else would you have been so interested in Sasha? You said yourself that he wasn't part of your initial equation, but you just loved when he became part of the package. I heard Gwen say that Sasha reminded her of her child. The first incubus. The son she had with _you_. That's why you wanted him, isn't it? Though I gotta admit it's kinda creepy you were so looking forward to _fucking_ him, even if you were in my body. Or maybe that was more because Sasha reminded you of Gwen. Hmm? Is that what it was, _Mal_?"

"_Stop_ calling me that," Malak bit out, bordering on losing control, maybe already gone, and echoing what Dean had yelled at Lilith when she wouldn't stop calling him 'daddy'.

"Why?" Dean said again, facing Malak without fear, because even if a part of him was still very much afraid, that didn't matter now, "Huh? Tell me. _Why_? Is it because that's what _she_ used to call you?"

BAM.

Good guess on Dean's part. Or at least he assumed so considering he was seeing stars moments after saying that, his jaw having cracked from the force of Malak's punch and the whole room turning topsy-turvy as Dean fell, once again, to the floor.

Spitting blood onto the hardwood beneath him, Dean's vision was a massive blur again. "It's okay…ya know," he figured he'd go for broke, doubled over on the floor and half-blind after that hit, "If you…wish you could take it all back…it's okay. That's why you came to earth that time, wasn't it? Coz you wondered if you were wrong. Coz you wished you could _take it back_. I can feel you, asshole," Dean laugh/coughed once more, "And you're not all dark like you pretend. You feel even more human coz a me. I know you do, I can feel it too. _I can feel you_. But you just won't let yourself say you're sorry. _Can't_. And all because of the same thing that started this mess in the first place. Your god damn _pride_."

A fresh kick was slammed into Dean's side. Then again. _Again_. Vicious and unceasing for what had to be several minutes. Dean coughed more blood onto the wood. His vision was practically black now, but he kept on talking.

"I figured…something else out," Dean sputtered and shook as he spoke, "I know…now…I can let it go. The things I've done…that I can never…forgive myself for. I can _let it go_. I can let it all…go. Because what's done…doesn't matter anymore. You can feel that too, I know you can. But you don't know how to let things go anymore. That's why you're so _pissed_. It's why you wanted me. So you could…feel human again…without having to admit that's what you wanted. It's why…this whole time…I needed to be—!"

Malak struck Dean again, a hard kick that broke a few more ribs and had Dean gasping painfully for breath. If a lung hadn't been punctured yet, it was damn close to happening soon. "You are nothing," Malak hissed, grabbing Dean roughly from the ground and holding him up by the shirt to hang like a ragdoll, "After this is over, you will keep feeling the loss of me, Dean, and it will pain you. I will feel the loss of you and be _grateful_."

Dean looked up, forcing his eyes to focus, forcing himself to stay conscious just a little longer. He looked at Malak, at the snarl that was accompanied by so much fear Malak would never admit to feeling, and then turned to look out the window again at the battle outside. What Dean saw made him smile.

"What's funny?" Malak demanded, shaking Dean roughly again.

The whole damn thing, Dean thought. "You…always…needed me…to pull this off," Dean said without turning his gaze from the window, "Whether I chose you…or not, that didn't matter. You needed me…to either be with you…or to fall to you. But I'm not wavering. And if I'm not…letting you get the better of me…" Dean rolled his head forward again to smirk into those red on black eyes, "Then I'm not losing either."

All that rage slipped from Malak's face, leaving him blank as he had been before. He turned his head, staring out the window as Dean had, and his eyes went wide with disbelief.

What had looked hopeless minutes ago was a totally different picture now. Outnumbered or not, the losses still great, the angels, and fae, and sex demons, and _humans_ were winning. Dean had only had to glance to know that.

Malak's grip on Dean faltered, enough for Dean to pull away, unsteady on his feet but standing. Malak ignored him entirely, going to the window, staring out of it, a hand pressed to the glass. "Impossible," he breathed, "They are tied to me. I cannot lose."

"See…that's what I figured," Dean said, "You're the key. If you're confident…they do better. But you're not so _confident_ right now, are you? It's hard, I guess, to be sure of yourself when you know the other guy's right."

Malak's focus snapped back to Dean, his expression furious again but faltering, uncertain just as Dean was implying. "Do not presume to—"

"_Know_ you?" Dean cut in, taking a couple difficult but necessary steps so he could lean against the windowsill, "Dude, you were _inside of me_. I know you. You're gonna lose. But you know," Dean cocked his head, lolling it back against the wall, "It doesn't have to end like this." He wasn't being patronizing by saying that. He wasn't. Much as Dean knew Malak would never accept the offer, Dean still meant it.

They had been one, and maybe they would always be connected because of it, but as much as there was humanity in Malak, there was also cruelty and vengeance and hatred in Dean that he mourned over for Malak's sake. It was awful to feel all of that, compounding on Dean's own dark emotions.

A smile that Dean did not expect was Malak's response. It was not a kind or understanding smile, but something like pride, pride _in Dean_, respect, even, for how Dean had managed to beat him.

"You think you can offer _me_ a deal now?" Malak scoffed.

"Nah," Dean shrugged, "You wouldn't accept it anyway. Just saying. I beat you, yeah. But I don't…hate you. I _should_. Damn, I really should. You're a fucking bastard, and the god damn Devil. But…" Dean couldn't help smiling, "It's hard to hate someone you understand."

Malak huffed. "How very _human_ of you," he turned to the window again, scraping his nails down the glass, defeated, accepting of it, but still bitter. Always bitter. "This isn't over," he said with a sharp look cast back on Dean.

Dean rolled further along the wall until he was leaning back flat against it. He smiled crookedly at Malak. "I think it is."

Smoothing his hair once more, straightening his red tie, Malak gathered control of himself, watching as his demon army fell one by one, the outcome easy to predict now. How the war would end had always been tied up with him and Dean. "My time will come again," he said, something he had likely also said after his great 'failure' with Gwen. It was twisted, but Dean understood why Malak chose her form when he was female, even if Malak truly was both personas now.

"If it's gotta be that way, just know this," Dean said, vision clear enough for the moment to finally look Malak dead on and steady, "There will always be hunters to stop you, no matter how many decades, or centuries, or a few dozen millennia might pass in the meantime."

Malak returned Dean's stare, calculating, proud, and still angry, still bitter, still all of it. He would probably never change. And that figured, since he was the Devil, infected by humanity or not. "You better hope you are right, Dean," Malak replied almost like a friendly warning, though it was clearly a warning, a promise of a future standoff to come, even if Dean would not still be alive to be a part of it.

"I don't need to hope," Dean said, thinking of all the people he believed in enough to let them find their own way through this battle, most of whom had survived, those who hadn't having died with honor, no matter what anyone might say against them, "I got more than enough faith these days to _know_."

No further words passed between them. Malak stood awhile longer by the window, watching. And then, one moment, when Dean blinked and cast his gaze over, Malak was simply gone. It was a relief, the whole thing, Malak's departure and the battle ending favorably outside those doors. More than relief was that Dean was so damn tired, and all he wanted was to sleep now that he had completed his duty and had leave to rest.

Sliding down the wall he had been leaning against, Dean tasted blood in his mouth, felt it sticky on his chin, his ribs in painful pieces, his head pounding. It was the sweetest release, sitting there on that floor, when he slipped, quiet and eager, into unconsciousness.

tbc...

A/N: Don't worry, Dean will be fine. Like? Not like? Any comments at all? One more chapter for the main story and Incubus is complete. *weeps for the wonderful last two years* You all are so amazing. Thank you to those who have stuck with this from the beginning and to those who have only been here for awhile. You are loved.

Crim


	98. Part 9: Sun Without Rain

Good news! There will be one more chapter after this of the main story! It just got way too long on me and I have more I want to do. So. There will be another after this, promise. ;-)

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"_God didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way."_

_-Anonymous_

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Part 9: Sun Without Rain

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Everything ached. It was a sensation Dean was used to. He was a hunter, after all, and hunts rarely ended without a few new bruises being added to the masterpiece of his colorful flesh and collection of scars. Normally, he wouldn't mind—the harsh awakening, the dull ache of pain from wounds sustained—because 'waking' and 'pain' also meant 'alive'. Dean was always thankful for somehow ending up _alive_.

What bothered him, though, was that someone was shining a light directly at his scrunched closed eyes and he was not in the mood to be blind as well as sore.

"What's the…deal," Dean huffed out, arm lifting instinctively, heavily, to shield his vision further, "Who's got the damn flashlight?"

There was a laugh, one distinctly of relief, and coming from a voice Dean knew well. _Sammy_. "No one's got a flashlight, Dean," Sam said through his chuckling, "It's the _sun_, dude."

Dean's arm immediately dropped, his eyes squinting open against the unfamiliar brightness filling the bar of the Roadhouse through the windows and doorway. Had the sun always been this bright, or had Dean just grown too used to Malak's world of darkness?

Squinting further and waiting for his eyes to adjust, Dean began to make out the form of his brother kneeling beside him, and Sarah on his other side, and Castiel standing right in front of him, hovering all perched angel and protective. Dean couldn't have been happier to see them. The slowly encroaching sounds of chatter and movement beyond the trio told Dean that there were others inside the Roadhouse too—_many_ others.

"We did it," Dean grinned all tired and lopsided, so damn exhausted that he almost wished he could fall over and curl up on the floor for a few more winks. But he was too excited, not only in remembering that Malak was gone, but in knowing that his soldiers had been winning when he passed out, and clearly hadn't disappointed him while he slept.

"_You_ did it, Dean," spoke Castiel, ever magnanimous and proud, "The demons fell apart without Malak's confident resolve. You saved us."

"Guess you and Malak had one hell of a conversation," Sarah smiled, hand squeezing Dean's shoulder, the other wrapping around Dean's waist to begin helping him up, Sam having already moved to do the same.

"Wait!" Dean gasped, waiting for the cringe of pain that being hoisted up would inevitably cause, since several of his ribs were broken after Malak's brutal kicks. Sam and Sarah froze at Dean's cry, worried looks springing to both their faces, but even though Dean was prepared for that sting of pain, it never came. He took a deep breath. "My ribs were…I thought…" he was very confused because as sore as he was generally, it wasn't as sore as he should be, and his ribs weren't giving him trouble at all.

Sam and Sarah released Dean, Sam taking a more cautious approach as he tugged up Dean's T-shirt to get a better look at the supposed damage. Dean looked too and it was glaringly obvious that, despite having been unconscious for a good enough while, there was no bruising. Sam ran cool fingers across Dean's ribs and down, applying the barest pressure, but even when he pressed more firmly, Dean didn't feel any pain.

Swiping his tongue around the inside of his mouth, Dean sought out the familiar taste of blood that had been there when he fell unconscious, but couldn't find even the barest tinge of it. He reached up to touch his chin that should be sticky from when he had spat blood onto the floor earlier, but his skin was clean too. No evidence remained of his beating, as if it had never happened. But Dean knew it had. There was still the faint ache in his jaw from when Malak punched him, regardless of the lack of bruising. And his ribs, they were _sore_, just not broken into bits.

Had that bastard healed him?

"Dean?" Sam asked, concerned, "Your ribs seem fine. I can't feel any broken ones. What happened? Are you hurt? Where's the pain coming from?" Sam was always so quick to find a diagnosis, to fix Dean up the way Dean so often fixed up Sam, and when there was no obvious cause for concern, Sam would simply rattle through every possibility until he stumbled upon the right one.

It made Dean smile to know that after everything, after this whole damn year and all they had been through, Sammy was still Sammy, and always would be. "Nowhere," Dean said, sitting up and reaching out to Sam to indicate he was ready for that help in getting up now, "No pain, bro. Guess I just figured there would be. Insane battle and all. I'm okay."

"But what happened with Malak?" Sarah pressed, aiding Sam in helping Dean up even though Sam was more than capable of doing it on his own, "Specifically, I mean."

Dean shrugged, a little unsteady on his feet at first, but fine. Actually fine. "I beat him," Dean said simply, "Guess he couldn't stand up to my superior intellect," he added with a crooked smirk.

A brief twinge of pain, like an aftershock, made Dean cough, choking on the laugh that had formed on his tongue. He thought better of saying anything else along those lines. Best not to tempt karma.

Sam was laughing for him anyway, as if the idea of Dean beating the Devil with wits was plain ridiculous, until Dean really looked into his brother's eyes and saw that Sam wasn't laughing out of disbelief, but out of reverent, brother-worshiping awe. It was a look Dean never tired of, no matter how old they got, no matter how much they went through, because it was something special, that knowledge that at least in _someone's_ eyes Dean Winchester would always be a hero. In Sammy's and in…

In…

_Sasha's_.

Dean gripped Sam's shirt, clutching more desperately than before and hating himself for not noticing the important missing person from this happy reunion. "Where's Sasha? Is he okay? What happened out there after Malak took me? He's _okay_, right?" Dean was blathering almost too quickly for normal ears to understand him.

Thankfully, Sam was used to moments like this. He placed his hands over Dean's, holding them firmly. "Dean. Sasha's fine. He's outside helping the soldiers further off. Somebody had to lead after you ditched us," Sam said with a slight smirk, "But he's okay. There's a lot of damage out there, a lot of injured, and…" the light dimmed in Sam's eyes and he trailed.

"A lot _dead_," Dean finished. It was never an easy thing to say. Dean knew of some of those who had lost their life, a handful of them having died right in front of his eyes. His own brief death seemed so inconsequential in comparison, and maybe that was because some part of him had always known John would bring _him_ back, even before the battle began. Dean just wished his death hadn't meant that Iain had to die too.

Glancing past Sam, Sarah, and Castiel to the large amount of survivors slowly entering or being brought inside the Roadhouse, Dean saw his father, horseman of _Life_, along with his mother, Mary. They hadn't simply vanished when the battle ended, a possibility Dean had greatly feared, and he was thankful for that, for the chance to say goodbye before his parents were whisked back to Heaven.

Before Dean had the chance to ask about others, about who amongst the dead he would most mourn that he didn't already know about, Ellen's voice preceded the next entrance of survivors into the Roadhouse. Dean expected the older woman to sound distraught, broken, even, knowing as he did that Jo had fallen, but it was a more common tone to Ellen's voice that filtered into Dean's hearing.

"I don't care what you _thought_ you could accomplish. You know better than to go off half-cocked like that, especially when you're needed elsewhere. Ula and I could barely keep up just the two of us. You should have stayed in your place like Dean asked of you."

"_Momma_," replied a hoarse and utterly impossible voice from the makeshift gurney being brought in by hunters. Dean saw Rufus first, the back of him, some other hunter he didn't know as well holding up the other end, Ellen of course, and then, laid out on the gurney, breathing and _alive_, was Jo Harvelle.

Dean's knees went weak, his hold on Sam the only thing keeping him up.

Jo. It was Jo—_alive_.

"Don't you 'Momma' me," Ellen scolded her daughter, no _visible_ remorse apparent for being so stern, though of course anyone who knew Ellen wouldn't have believed for a moment that she was anything other than wholly relieved.

Just like Dean was.

Hell, Dean might have been more relieved, because he had been told pointblank that Jo was dead. Seeing otherwise was a god damn _miracle_ and had him pushing from Sam to stumble over to where the hunters were carefully setting Jo's gurney down on the nearest available floor space.

"Jo!" Dean called, practically falling to his knees beside the huntress and looking over her beaten but _living_ body with saucer-shaped eyes, "You're not dead."

There was a moment of silence as Jo blinked at Dean, Rufus and the other hunter having already gone back outside, probably to grab more wounded, while Ellen crossed her arms and stood vigil. "Uh…no," Jo croaked at Dean, worse for the wear, certainly, but, again, _alive_, "Had a close call though. Dislocated both shoulders when some damn demons thought it would be funny to draw and quarter me," she smiled weakly, "But I'm okay. Thanks to Castiel," she turned from Dean to smile up at the angel. Dean looked up too.

"It was my pleasure to assist you," Castiel smiled serenely down at Jo, smudged and dirty and so normal looking, so _Jimmy_-like, save the angel's formal speech. Castiel turned his eyes onto Dean. "She might not have made it if I hadn't been so close, but she wasn't so far gone that I couldn't pull her back from the brink. I suppose you might say—"

"She was only _mostly_ dead when you found her?" Dean broke in, smiling wide.

Jo, and Sam and Sarah, who had also walked over, chuckled lightly. Ellen shook her head, and Castiel looked amused as he nodded. "Indeed. But if you'll excuse me now. There are others who need what healing I can offer." Castiel bowed his head at Dean before heading off, again so damn formal and reverent, though Dean didn't really mind right now.

Rufus came back in, this time helping the salamander chick, Kaley—fire fae extraordinaire. Kaley looked well enough, but Dean could see now that Rufus wasn't completely free of injury himself. They seemed to be helping each other toward a pile of first aide while Rufus went on about what a damn good fighter the fae was.

It certainly was a special day for the relations between hunters and non-humans. Dean could only hope it stayed that congenial after the war was long over.

There were others, Dean noted, that had made it out of the fight alive. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and enjoy that. Charis and Lindsey, among them, were across the bar, Charis resting on yet another makeshift gurney, her wounded wing being bound carefully by Aloysha while Lindsey stroked the hair from his wife's face.

There were also angels, fae, and sex demons Dean didn't know, some more heavily wounded than others, but as full as the bar was becoming, it was easy to tell that this was not even close to how many still had to be out there. Dean saw no sign of Bobby or Shiarra, Sasha's parents, or Michael and Gwen. He also couldn't deny that he really wanted to see Sasha. Simply knowing that the incubus was alive was not enough. He needed to see Sasha, _feel_ him and touch him for himself.

"We gotta keep helping everyone," Dean said, looking to all of those around him, including his parents who had wandered closer. If Sasha was helping lead the cleanup outside then Dean was glad for that, couldn't imagine many others who would do a better job, but he needed to get out there too. "I have to see Sasha," Dean admitted, "We have to help whoever needs us. And…and take care of the bodies of the ones who didn't make it…" Dean trailed a little, his eyes looking up at John, his father, who knew Dean meant Iain, the others all knowing that he meant Solrin too.

No one questioned Dean, no one tried to stop him when he rose from Jo's side. Dean wasn't all that visibly injured after all, and he could feel the not-quite miracle of how he was internally fine too. Dean was certain now that Malak had healed him, like some peace offering that felt more like mockery. Maybe there wasn't any mocking in it at all, but chances were Dean would never know.

Leaving the others to help however they could inside the Roadhouse, Dean took only a moment to smile down at Jo, squeeze his father's arm, his mother's, glance back at Sammy and Sarah with a large, thankful smile, and then he was out the doors, stumbling into the sunlight.

Dean was almost knocked back by the glare of sun illuminating what remained of the battlefield and all the bodies on it, and by the smell rising up from the fields of blood and flesh and death. It reminded him too closely of the vision Malak had showed him, but in this reality the many bodies were mostly of demons.

The first thing Dean noticed when his eyes adjusted further to the bright light was Ula. There were several hunters helping bring in wounded, but Ula and a handful of others were gathering bodies. The _dead_ bodies of their comrades.

There was a neat pile of them along the front of the Roadhouse, starting with the charred remains of Iain. It all felt so much realer to see Iain again, see what was left of him. Dean hadn't had time to think much on his own death, brief as it had been before John brought him back. Most of the others besides John probably didn't even know it had happened. Dean couldn't help wondering a few 'what ifs' as he thought about it.

What if Iain had never left the Roadhouse? What if he had been more accurate with his shot at Lilith? What if John had been able to kill Lilith before she used her power? What if Iain's protecting of Dean had kept Dean from dying too, and then John could have used his power on Iain without second guessing or regret?

It killed Dean to think of them all.

"Dean?" a small, prompting voice spoke close beside him, closer than Dean realized Ula had become. She smiled somberly when Dean glanced at her. "You okay? I know that's a pretty dumb question, right, but…well…_are_ you?"

Ula was too sweet for her own good. And to think that she was a shapeshifter, something Dean thought he would only ever be able to hate. "Good as I can be," Dean said, "What are you doing this work for Ula? Help wounded if you want, but…it's not your place to handle the dead. You don't have to do this." The other hunters, including one of those old crotchety guys, they were one thing, but _Ula_? Dean swallowed deeply when he looked again at the line of bodies gathered so far and saw crotchety guy #2 among them.

"I want to do it," Ula said, walking up even closer to Dean, her manifested face smudged with dirt and blood and who knows what else. She reached over hesitantly to squeeze Dean's arm, smiled again, and then looked down at Iain's body nearest them. "He was so sweet. So nice to everyone. I know you were close. I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean nodded, more like a reflex than an admission of anything, because he was too busy looking, seeing the mess of brown hair, the brown eyes that had thankfully been closed.

"Dean?" Ula asked with another squeeze of his arm, "If you're heading out into the fields, do you think you could…maybe…" Ula's eyes darted down to the ground, a mild flush filling her cheeks, "Could you look for Danny? Or, I mean…the Trickster? I haven't seen him, and…I just want to know if he's okay."

The honest concern from Ula for the Trickster was soothing in a way, that similarity of caring for one another that was true for everyone whether fae, sex demon, shapeshifter, or whatever else. To think, Ula had a soft spot for that wily demi-god. But then, if Dean was being honest, he sometimes had a soft spot for the guy too.

Taking a breath to come back to himself, Dean mustered a smile, nodded, and gripped Ula's arm in kind.

"You bet. Got lots of ground to cover. I'll see you later, okay?" Dean turned to head off, then turned back a moment and added, "And if you need to break from this, do it. You don't have to be a saint. You already are one in my book," he winked. His words and simple action had the desired effect, because Ula lit up with a fresh smile and blushed a little deeper.

For a good while after leaving the front of the Roadhouse, Dean didn't come upon much, not many wounded or alive, anyway. Most of the people who had been closer had already made it to the Roadhouse.

It was difficult for Dean to work his way over the rocky terrain with so many demon bodies littering the ground, and it made him wonder how they would ever be able to clean up the fields completely.

Coming upon the point where the fae and sex demon camp had eventually intertwined, Dean finally came upon activity, many survivors helping the wounded and bringing in the bodies of their fallen friends. Dean spotted some familiar faces heading his way as he walked through it all, limping in some cases, but alive.

The twins, Epica and Attoinette, looked well, cooing over some fae kid that was with them, who had waist-length lavender hair miraculously free of dirt and blood. Had to be a fairy thing. Cam, in contrast, looked to be in pretty bad shape, no missing or half torn off wing like Charis, but he was actually being _carried_, hoisted up into the arms of someone who looked kind of like that guy from that _**Skulls**_ movie. Dean tried not to snicker.

"Glad you guys are okay!" Dean called since they were still a ways off but had already noticed him, "You alright there, Cam!?"

The bronze incubus was close to being passed out, it looked like, but he smiled weakly and managed a nod. The twins started bounding ahead to reach Dean faster, leaving that fae kid in the dust. "Dean!" Attoinette called first, "You did it! You're alive! You totally kicked ass!"

Epica laughed at her sister's jubilance, but when they reached Dean, the force with which they threw themselves at him was equal. "It was touch and go, ya know, the whole damn time," Epica squeezed Dean a little tighter than Attoinette, "But we never doubted you for a second."

"Sasha's so worried!" Attoinette bounced, not quite letting Dean go even after Epica had, "But he said he knew you'd want him to keep everything together. He's back at the angel camp, just left us."

"Are…are Charis and Lin…okay?" Cam asked in a small, exhausted voice when he and his helper finally caught up to the twins. Another look at _**Skulls**_ guy had Dean thinking the man had to be an angel, just back in his human suit for easier going. Eyes like that just weren't normal.

"Looked like," Dean nodded, "Though Charis is a bit wrecked. Aloysha must have booked it after the fight to get to them. He's helping her heal up. You guys get on back too. Get treated." Dean smiled, accepting a passing squeeze of Cam's hand. The angel, that Dean did not get the name of before the group moved on, offered Dean a firm nod while passing by, like approval.

It was strange being considered the hero by people who weren't Dean's love or his little brother, especially since it was actually kind of…_true_. Dean wasn't about to let it go to his head or anything though.

Continuing on, Dean stopped occasionally if it looked like someone needed a little extra help, there being a few survivors that were buried under bodies and in need of as many hands as possible to help dig them out. Dean was thankful that for every severely wounded person there were also plenty of whole and healthy ones to bring those that were hurt toward the Roadhouse.

Dean had just about made it to the start of the angel camp finally, thinking he might have even spotted Sasha up ahead, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a demon starting to get up from the corpse-covered ground. Immediately reaching back for the gun that was thankfully still tucked into his jeans, Dean steadied himself enough to aim, acting almost wholly on instinct. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't a demon getting up, but something underneath the demon _pushing_.

Another buried survivor!

Quickly, Dean stowed his gun again and ran over. He had passed so many people, angels, fae, everything under the sun—the freaking _sun_ that was shining above him—but where he was right now there was no one close other than him.

"I gotcha!" Dean called to whoever was under that body, or _bodies_, Dean soon realized, as he began to push dead demons aside. No wonder no one had found this person so far if they were buried so deep. They might have even been unconscious until now. They could be suffocating under there. "I'm hurrying, just hang on!"

Moving more and more demon bodies aside, Dean could tell that the person underneath was strong, because the push up was constant. Finally, after tossing away yet another demon, Dean saw a human hand reaching up toward him. Grabbing that hand and promising, "I'll get you out!" Dean used his free arm to toss away the last of the demons, and just when he worried that the grip of that hand was slackening, he heard a gasp for air as a head surfaced.

"Oh…are you one…helluva sight for sore eyes, Dean-O," the Trickster's face grinned up at Dean, "Kinda got myself in over my head, if you…catch my drift," he winked.

Son of a _bitch_. "You lucky bastard," Dean returned the Trickster's grin, pulling the demi-god the rest of the way up and out from under what remained of demon bodies, "What the hell were you doing under all those demons anyway?"

"Would you please…keep moving," pleaded another voice, female, and definitely coming from _beneath_ the Trickster.

Shocked, Dean gave the Trickster's hand another hefty tug, pulling him fully free from where he had been buried only to discover the body of a lovely young redhead still lying amidst the mess. "Uhh…" Dean really didn't know what to say, but instinct had him letting the Trickster go and offering his hand to the young woman instead.

"Afriel," she introduced herself as she took Dean's hand, either sensing his question or having grabbed it right out of Dean's mind, "Angel," she added, a small smile on her face, her _human_ face that Dean had a feeling was manifested, not borrowed, because it had a personal touch that he could just _feel_.

"Red here was with the fae camp too," the Trickster explained, "Our 'Team Heaven' rep. Got a little overburdened so I…" he trailed, shrugging like he was actually embarrassed to say anything further.

"He threw himself on top of me and…exploded," Afriel dusted off her jeans and camo-green jacket, fitting more Castiel's T-shirt and jeans look than how the other angels had been armored up and in skimpy wraps of cloth.

Dean gaped at the Trickster. "You _exploded_?" he repeated.

Again, the Trickster shrugged. "Not my best trick, I'll admit, but gimme a break here, I was depowered and struggling for inspiration. Killed all the demons around us, didn't it?" he raised an eyebrow at the fiery-haired angel.

Afriel dusted herself off a little more, a skeptical but amused look on her face. "Yes," she said, "And after exploding into the air they all came back down to land right on top of us. Thank you, Dean," she turned to Dean with a smile, "I'm going to see what help I can be with the wounded at the Roadhouse." Then, without so much as an added 'thank you' to the Trickster, who had more or less saved the angel first, Afriel leapt up into the air and was suddenly a being of light again, soaring rapidly away from them across the fields.

"_That_ is unfair," the Trickster frowned after her, "Flying, not exactly my thing. Kinda like you, buddy," he patted Dean's chest all friendly and intimate.

It wasn't that Dean didn't appreciate that the Trickster helped out in the battle, but he really couldn't resist raising an eyebrow of his own and staring at that patting hand.

The Trickster cleared his throat, smiling and retracting said hand obediently. "More of a poof my way there sorta guy. Can't do it on these fields though. Guess I'm walking. Good job on all this, Dean," he looked around, smirk ever-present and face strangely un-smudged suddenly, as if he had never been buried under demon bodies, "Seems like you proved everybody _right_, after all, huh?" the Trickster winked again.

"Seems so," Dean admitted, still hard-pressed to understand how nearly everyone had had such immovable faith in him. "And hey," Dean smacked the Trickster's arm, "Be sure and stop in front of the Roadhouse and let Ula know _Danny's_ okay. She asked after you. Something…going on there maybe?" Dean added slyly.

In true Trickster fashion, the demi-god didn't give anything away, just smiled crookedly and smacked Dean right back. "I'll never tell. More like I hope she doesn't skewer me alive for lying for so long now that there's time for it," he made a face, "Good to know she's okay. I'll catch ya later, Dean," he gave a little salute before heading off.

"Long as 'catch ya later' doesn't have any hidden meaning!" Dean called after him, even as he was starting to finally move into the angel camp.

Dean could admit that he was glad the Trickster was alive, like so many of the people Dean cared about—not that Dean was suddenly going to count the Trickster among people he _cared_ about, but still. The good guys had come out ahead in this more than Dean ever could have hoped for.

Hands a little dirtier and grimier than they had been before, Dean moved on feeling better by the moment, and still injury free, crazy as that still was for Dean to believe when he could remember every blow Malak had dealt to his ribs.

Best of all, Dean was certain now that the not-so-distant figure he had thought was Sasha was indeed his incubus, red hair deep and shimmering in the sunlight, bare chest, and dirt-covered body that was _human_-looking again, as he spoke with Mike and Gwen and his also human-looking parents.

Along the way, and to Dean's great relief, he spotted Bobby and Shiarra. Another angel was helping wrap Bobby's arm in a sling made from part of her skimpy warrior angel coverings. It looked like Shiarra was offering to fly Bobby back to the Roadhouse but Bobby was shaking his head in firm opposition, despite Shiarra being clearly healthy enough, black wings out and ready.

Bobby looked up, annoyance in his eyes and that stubborn glare that meant there was no way he was budging on this one, just in time to catch sight of Dean. That grouchy expression immediately fell away to one of joyous relief. "Thank God, boy!" Bobby called, "Had me so damn worried I was half a nag away from accepting this woman's offer to fly me."

_Right_. "Sure you were, Bobby. Good to see you both okay," Dean smiled at Shiarra and squeezed Bobby's good shoulder once he reached them.

"Okay 'cept for this damn arm," Bobby grumbled, looking up apologetically at the angel who had patched him up as she excused herself to go help the others. Bobby was sitting on one of the few clean patches of grass on a small hill, Shiarra and Dean standing over him. Dean reached down to help Bobby get up. "How did you manage to come out so clean?" Bobby asked Dean, eyeing him appraisingly, "Heard through the grapevine you got whisked off by Malak before the end."

"Yeah," Dean breathed out, hardly able to believe it himself since he was still alive and all, or at least alive _again_, "Talked him down. Well…talked him _out_ maybe, til he wasn't so sure of himself anymore. That filtered down to the demons and…he left pretty quietly after that, if you can believe it. Patched me up, even. I wasn't nearly so pretty half an hour ago," Dean grinned.

Shiarra and Bobby stood a little amazed for a moment, probably more from the idea of Dean being healed by Malak after defeating him. "Wonders never cease, I suppose," Shiarra huffed, shifting back to human, back to her 'Slayer chic' look with jeans and tank top. She took up Bobby's good arm defiantly and he gave her a wary look. "I won't fly. But I'm still walking you back to safety, Mr. Singer," she said loftily with a hint of teasing, "No complaints. The angels can handle the rest of the cleanup out here, especially with all Sasha has done to assist them."

The mere mention of Sasha's name made Dean's heart trip-hammer in his chest and he glanced around Bobby and Shiarra to find the redhead again, who was still standing there with Mike, Gwen, and his parents, without an ounce of inferiority in his stance in keeping such company.

"He's been like a damn robot," Bobby said, knowing of course where Dean's distant gaze had settled on, "Dove right in and got the whole rescue operation started, just him, ordering everybody around like he'd been leading from the start. Tell you the truth, I think he was worried that if he let himself go straight back to the Roadhouse and look for you like he wanted…it would have killed him to find you gone. Go set him straight, boy," Bobby nudged Dean in Sasha's direction.

A smile wormed onto Dean's face where longing had settled. He had done his duty, and everyone had picked up the slack to continue on while he was lying unconscious on the Roadhouse floor. Dean was lucky to have such friends.

With Shiarra helping Bobby back to the Roadhouse, and the angels doing pretty well on their own, considering the many wounded, Dean was more than okay with the idea of listening to Bobby's order to go see Sasha. And it _was_ an order, accompanied by a warm, urging smile from Shiarra as the pair left.

Sasha's back was to Dean, speaking calmly with Michael, Gwen, Deklin and Solaris. About what, Dean couldn't be sure, but they seemed to be surveying that distant darkness where the demons had come from, the 'portal', maybe discussing how things would go back to normal when everything was cleared away. Dean needed to know all of that too, it was important, he got that, but right now all he cared about was seeing Sasha's face.

Deklin noticed him first—Dean's slow approach—a smirk stretching up one side of Deklin's mouth as he inclined his head, saying something to Sasha that Dean couldn't hear, but that had the redhead immediately spinning on his heels.

What Michael, or Gwen, or Solaris, or anyone else might have looked like in that moment, Dean had no idea. His eyes were only on Sasha's face, those too blue eyes, the way Sasha's mussed red hair fell across his forehead, sweat making it cling to his neck in the heat of the newly reborn sun. Sasha's pale skin was streaked with blood and dirt, a few cuts that were slowly healing. Dean didn't care how ridiculous this was; in that moment Sasha was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

A dozen words and phrases passed through Dean's brain, none making it to his tongue, seeing as how that _tongue_ became so suddenly occupied, leaving no room for even a single word to get out.

Having run full speed to meet Dean, Sasha didn't pause, sputter, or hesitate. He grabbed Dean by the waist and lifted, spinning by sheer momentum and claiming Dean's mouth, and lips, and tongue with such possession that the weight of all the 'bad' over the last few hours, days, _years_ just washed away.

There was a slow savoring in the kiss that reminded Dean of the first time they had ever touched lips and intertwined tongues, back in that alley in Minnesota. Dean had felt a shiver all the way down to the base of his spine that day, knowing in that moment that he was utterly _screwed_, because no one had ever kissed him like that. Today, right now, _this_ kiss was just the same—life-changing, earth-quaking perfection right to the laughter that bubbled up from both of them in the aftermath. Sasha kept Dean lifted in his arms, making Dean taller and able to look down into Sasha's face.

"You treating me like the girl?" Dean accused, grin too wide for the tease to be anything but playful.

"Never," Sasha said like a breath, like a great exhalation of relief, so much god damn _relief_ that he kissed Dean again, just as wonderfully bruising.

They remained lost in each other for what must have been several minutes, all that pent-up need that Dean had refused to release before the battle, unable to lose himself in Sasha then because he didn't want to think about losing Sasha later. Now that threat was gone, and Dean returned Sasha's kisses and touches like he was starved, like _he_ was the incubus and needed 'touch' and 'kiss' and 'love' to survive.

Winning hadn't been enough for Dean to feel like he had won. This, being with Sasha at the end of it all, _this_ made him finally feel it.

"Well…I think we're probably needed back up front," came Deklin's amused voice, closer now, as if he and Solaris were only a few feet away from Dean and Sasha.

Dean managed to pry his lips from Sasha's, sliding down the front of Sasha's bare chest as the incubus finally lowered him. A glance told Dean that he was right; Deklin and Solaris were right there, but moving quickly around Dean and Sasha as they made for the Roadhouse. "Uhhh…thanks. For everything," Dean tried to say, a little too breathless to be totally eloquent, "You're not…gonna go poof before we get to say goodbye or anything, right?" Dean was fairly certain on the answer, but he still wanted to hear it, for Sasha's sake too.

Solaris answered, "As if we'd allow that. We'll see you back at the Roadhouse," she nodded her head, approval and that glow of pride about her that Dean had seen bare and open in his dream before the battle began. Deklin wasn't much different, just pleased to see their son happy.

Turning back to Sasha, who still had his hands around Dean's waist even if he had lowered him, Dean saw again that spark that proved Sasha looked a lot like his mother too. Something in the eyes, in the sheer joy Sasha was exuding at having found his mate. Dean could accept that now, being someone's _mate_, even if it still mostly weirded him out and he wasn't quite ready to send out 'Save the Date' cards yet.

Not that he knew what those were or anything.

All Dean wanted now was to pull Sasha back to the Roadhouse and not let his incubus leave his side while they cleaned up what they could, healed who they could, burned and buried who they could. And then, when it was really over, he just wanted _Sasha_, all to himself for as long as he could have him.

That dream was going to have to wait though, because Dean saw Mike and Gwen approaching now, the same bemused expressions on their faces as had been on Deklin and Solaris', but with more to say than just a blessing. Dean had the strangest feeling that they knew more about what had happened between him and Malak than anyone else.

He shifted in Sasha's embrace as they approached, taking Sasha's hand instead. "You could have told me, you know," Dean said with a feigned accusatory glare, "Might have helped things go a little smoother."

"I'm afraid we weren't allowed to tell you everything," Michael said, shifting from his armor and meager covering to the suit he had been wearing the first time Dean met him, blue with a white button-down, no tie.

"Most of it you had to figure out for yourself," Gwen added, shifting as well into that classy red dress that somehow didn't clash with her Sasha-like red hair.

Dean knew Sasha was in the dark about most of this, everyone was, so he squeezed Sasha's hand just a little tighter as he said, "Brother…and _lover_, huh? Sounds like a familiar trio," Dean smiled, "Good thing I figured out the punch-line when I did. Seemed almost obvious when it finally came to me. Kinda crazy to think…how similar me and Malak really are." Dean could feel Sasha's eyes on him, how Sasha's attention moved to Gwen then, widening in realization of what Dean's words really meant.

Gwen was the mother of all sex demons.

And Malak was daddy.

"We are glad, Dean, that you made the better decision," Michael said, with several millennia worth of regret in his tone.

"I'm sorry he didn't," Dean replied, feeling a deep connection with that type of sorrow, with Malak, even, and with everything that had happened.

Gwen spoke softly, her voice holding an ancient wisdom it usually didn't since she was more often human-acting rather than mystically powerful. "So are we," she said.

They walked on by, heading for the remaining angels that were helping the last of the wounded, Gwen taking Michael's arm, not in any romantic way but still with a connection that was wholly intimate. Dean thought he understood exactly how they felt, but he was most pleased in knowing that Sam and Sasha would never have to be like them or live with what they lived with.

The warm hand in Dean's laced their fingers together tighter. Dean turned, finding those blue eyes that were so brilliant, so expressive and full of bare emotion. Right now Dean saw remorse, sympathy—ha, _Sympathy for the Devil_, just as Dean had felt it—and also, _always_, so much love, more for Dean than for anyone or anything else. Sometimes Dean still doubted he deserved that kind of love, but not today, not now. Right now he believed he deserved everything Sasha had to offer, and damn it, he was going to take it.

"I can't believe…" Sasha barely managed to breathe out. He glanced at the retreating Michael and Gwen before looking back at Dean. "Gwen and _Malak_?"

Dean resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he tugged on Sasha's arm, leaving the role of leader behind for both of them, because they didn't need a leader anymore, just each other. "Crazy, I know," he said.

"It's just all so messed up," Sasha shook his head, even as he was willingly being pulled along after Dean.

"Sure, but…we won, yeah?" Dean cracked a smirk, head tilted adorably toward Sasha, "I can handle this part, I think. Cleanup. Rebuilding. Surviving."

"Mourning," Sasha added, a frown settling.

Dean didn't have to respond to that, he simply looked at Sasha and let his smile drop too. There was silence between them, walking step by step through the bodies of demons, the last few stragglers around them either limping toward the Roadhouse or being helped by others.

Dean couldn't help this awful, nagging feeling, reminding him that there was still some part of him that mourned…_Malak_. Mourned what might have been.

"I can't help…wondering," he began hesitantly, "Just a little, ya know. What if—" but Dean didn't get to finish his sentence, his 'what if' pondering, because Sasha pulled him in again, kissing the very thoughts right out of him.

"Don't be an idiot," Sasha said between their mouths, against Dean's lips, kissing a little longer before pulling back.

Well. The incubus did have a point. Dean shook the traitorous thoughts from his head. "Deal," he said. There was no point in wondering what would never be. Doing so would only make moving on harder, and Dean really wanted to _move on_.

They continued walking back, silence reigning again for awhile, until Sasha asked, "So…what exactly happened with you and Malak after he took you? You weren't even out here fighting anymore but you're still the reason we won. I know that much, I just don't know any of the how. What did you do, Dean?" Blue eyes glanced between them almost sheepishly, ashamed maybe of having to ask, of bringing it up when Dean had only recently lived through it.

But this wasn't something that would be hard for Dean to explain. Those few minutes with Malak, hard as some of them were, were not like Hell. "I'll tell you all about it," Dean said, smirking to himself as an idea struck him, "On one condition."

"What?" Sasha asked with a touch of amusement, already suspecting that Dean was up to something.

"At the end of the day, when we're settled and this is all sorted out," Dean paused in their walking, hand still gripping Sasha's tightly, and looked into his lover's eyes, "There is _so_ going to be victory sex," he licked his lips pointedly.

Awkward tension broken.

For several minutes after that, Sasha's boisterous laughter followed them along their way, until finally they returned behind the Roadhouse walls.

-----

Later, after all of the wounded had made it back to the Roadhouse, and the dead had been gathered, the remains of the fields, covered with dead demons, vanished. The land simply shifted, changing back to the way it was meant to look, grass-covered and even, as if no battle had taken place and no lives had been lost, save those that had been brought in.

The dead and wounded of the angels, fae, and sex demons were taken away by their fellows to their own homes for burial and treatment once it was safe enough to travel, leaving behind only a few stragglers and those that had their own place among the hunters, like Ula, the Trickster, Castiel, the sex squad, and the Four Horsemen.

The hunters that had fallen each had their own pyre, spreading out almost all around the Roadhouse to encompass them all, but despite the great mass of it, Dean had insisted they each have their own. He stood now before Iain and Solrin, lives lost that he felt the most personally responsible for. The joy he had felt briefly in seeing those that lived, in seeing his brother and lover and those closest to him, flitted away while he watched two undeserving dead bodies burn.

The others, who weren't inside recovering, were all out with him, Sam and Sasha closest beside him. There had been so many pyres Dean had stood before, including his father's, that seemed so surreal now since all Dean had to do was look to his left and he could see his mother _and_ father standing amongst the other grieving hunters. Dean had been granted so much despite everything he had lost.

"Take care of 'em, Dave," Dean whispered into the fire, a new kind of peace washing over him as he said that, knowing more surely than he had ever thought possible that there was indeed a Heaven, a God, and there was something wonderful waiting for those who lived good lives. Not necessarily _righteous_ lives, or pious, or any of that other crap, just _good_.

Iain and Solrin had been good men who came upon bad circumstance. Dean knew that Dave would listen to his simple prayer and keep them safe.

Once the fires had died, the ashes spread, everyone who remained gathered in the Roadhouse, all in the bar where some wounded were still resting. Some of the hunters left, not ones for community even after saving the world together, but those that mattered were still with Dean.

After awhile, Dean knew before he even glanced up and saw the horsemen, his and Sasha's parents, starting to say goodbyes that they had to leave.

Castiel took Dean aside, always patient and understanding with him, his guardian. "I will take them back, Dean, since I was the one who lead them here," the angel said, "But I will return, ever-watchful by your side, as I promised. Should you need me, Jimmy has agreed to let me step in and speak with you directly, just as we have been able to over the passing weeks. I am very grateful to him for that."

"But…doesn't that mean Jimmy's gonna have to stick around?" Dean couldn't help saying with a touch of dissention, thinking of the guy who would be left behind, meant to just hang around until needed, "I figured he'd want to go home. Is it really okay?"

Rather than answer on Jimmy's behalf, Castiel merely smiled, closed his eyes, and was suddenly glowing. Having been the one angel that did not take its true form in battle, Castiel stepped from Jimmy's body now, leaving Jimmy whole and in control, but also standing before Dean as himself, simply as _Castiel_, the bright, glorious, and golden angel.

Dean's breath was lost to see Castiel standing there _beside_ Jimmy, as he had never been able to see his angel before. "I'm looking at you right now," he said to the bright light of Castiel, "Can't you come to me like this?"

The voice that answered was not a voice, but emotion and communication that simply _was,_ without human understanding. "You have been guarded, Dean, while on this path, in this war. After I have gone, things will become normal again. My light will be too great for your human eyes to see. But I wanted you to see me now, before it all changes. It is my greatest pleasure to be the one to look after you, Dean Winchester." And Dean could feel the love in those words that weren't words, feel it wash over and caress him gently like feathered wings.

Jimmy was smiling wide, looking upon Castiel with awe equal to how Dean was sure he too looked. "I don't mind staying to be a vessel when needed," Jimmy said, at first transfixed with looking at Castiel, but then his head turned, and he looked with that same reverence at Dean, "I want to be here, Dean. I want to stay. I…" his smile faltered, eyes dropping in the aftermath of a somber thought, "I want to continue for _Iain_. Someone needs to look after that library," Jimmy looked up again, proud to be able to offer that, not only for Dean, but for the memory of Iain, no longer here.

"Thanks," Dean said to Jimmy first, because he knew Iain had to be beaming somewhere knowing that someone worthy would be taking over. Dean looked with gratitude to Castiel, as well, taking in the sight of a true angel for the last time while mortal and alive.

The usual rapid flow of time took over after that, moving things too quickly toward the moment when the horsemen would leave. Dean only briefly shook Deklin's hand, let Solaris embrace him and kiss his cheek, both expressing their approval of Dean in Sasha's life, their extended love of him, but then Dean left them with Sasha, because their time together was more important.

Doing so gave Dean the chance to speak with his father one last time, alone, while Mary was talking with Sam and Sarah. "So how'd I do, Dad?" Dean grinned crookedly, elbowing his father more like he would horse around with Sam than he ever would have done with his father in life. It felt good that such an act wasn't awkward or out of place now.

John was already smiling, dimples prominent like Sam, but with a smirk to it that was definitely more like Dean. "You saved the world, Dean. Kept a lot of people safe, including your brother. Are you looking to hit me with an 'I told you so'?" he raised an eyebrow, "Coz I never doubted you were capable. I just didn't want to leave you unprepared, and maybe I pushed you too hard most of the time to get you there. I'm glad I could give you as much of a happy ending as I had the power to, son, even if that's not what you wanted from me."

It pained Dean that his father was regretful, sorrowful, even, right now, but when John had chosen to save Dean instead of Iain, yeah, it had pissed Dean off, because he couldn't believe in that moment that he was more important. Dean doubted he would ever feel that he was worth more than someone else, but he wasn't going to grudge his father something like that. Not anymore.

He nudged John again.

"Knock it off," Dean chided his father, "All that broody crap's bad for your health. I should know," he grinned a little wider, though a little sideways too.

It did the trick, because John laughed. Then Dean's father turned, and hooking a hand behind Dean's neck, he pulled Dean in, hugging Dean so tight that he could barely breathe, and that was just fine, just perfect.

Goodbye came easier with Mary, Dean knew it would. He hadn't known his mother as well, and couldn't have expected to get much chance to change that in just the two days he had been with his parents again. That was okay though, because he knew they were looking out for him, and all he really wanted was the touch of his mother before she left, something that would always bring him back to when he was still just a boy and she would hold him close as he drifted to sleep, singing that lullaby…

_Hush now baby don't you cry… _

Before Mary came over to Dean, he saw her lingering with Sarah, having pulled Sarah away from Sam, whispering something to her. Dean couldn't help noticing how Mary's hand drifted down to rest just over Sarah's flat stomach as she spoke.

Mary came to Dean soon after, they hugged, tightly, of course, and she said again how proud she was of both Dean and Sam, how proud they made her every day. Just the sound of her voice made Dean glow. He had to ask though, because it had dawned on him just then that there was still an unanswered question.

"Hey, Mama?" Dean said, still holding her close even as he pulled her more in front of him. She looked into his eyes expectantly and Dean hesitated. "Uhh…well…I was just wondering, ya know…about the whole horsemen thing. Dad, he brought me back to life. And Solaris gave Sasha peace to break Solrin's control. Deklin healed Solrin of the demon in him. What did you do? Did you use your power?"

"I did," Mary nodded, a secretive smile on her face.

Dean got the impression that he was being purposely led along. "And…what was it? What were you? Opposite of Famine. I never figured it out."

Smiling a little wider, Mary touched a hand to Dean's face, leaned in, and whispered, solely for him, "It's simple really. In this case, this time, the opposite of Famine…was _Fertility_."

Fertility. That word echoed around in Dean's mind for awhile, not quite settling. Then he thought of Sarah and how Mary had touched her so gently. He pulled back, practically eyeing his mother accusingly.

Mary just shrugged, laughed. Dean couldn't help seeking out Sam amidst the crowd, finding his brother over with Sasha and the Kellys. Sam caught Dean's stare, which must have been pretty goofy or something, because Sam immediately mouthed, "What?"

There was no way Dean was going to spoil _that_ surprise.

It was hard, soon after, watching the horsemen, their parents, their _family_ fade away with the bright form of Castiel until there was nothing left. No amount of goodbyes would have been enough, so they all made a cumulative effort not to shed any tears or grieve. This was a happy time. This was a time for celebration.

Okay, so it was more like a time for rest, because everyone was exhausted and practically falling over, the wounded left in the bar finally stable enough to be moved to rooms so they could rest on actual beds.

Dean made a point of pulling Sarah aside though, having planned on asking her what exactly Mary had whispered, if she had revealed anything like she had revealed to Dean. But when Dean finally had Sarah alone, a different question sprung to his lips, as if an old memory had finally surfaced.

"Hey…I was just wondering," he said, "You know back when I was still rocking the whole incubus thing? I kept picking up on these weird feelings from you and Jo. Couldn't figure out what they were for, though I definitely got the impression it had something to do with Sammy. Mind me asking?" he prompted with a gauging look, fully prepared for Sarah to evade.

She didn't. Instead, a slight blush filled Sarah's cheeks, she glanced around to make sure they were far enough away from curious ears, and said, "It _was_ about Sam. When things were getting so close to the end, scary, you know? Sam made me a promise. He said when the war was over, if we lived through it, that afterwards…he'd propose."

Dean's face fell blank with shock.

Sarah laughed. "He said he didn't want to do it before the battle because he didn't want it to seem like imminent doom was the only reason he was asking. He wanted to wait because…because then he could prove it was what he really wanted. He hasn't followed through on that yet, so you haven't missed anything," she patted Dean's arm.

Dean could hardly believe it. He knew, long ago, that Sam had planned to ask Jessica to marry him, but Sam hadn't been given the chance. Part of Dean had wondered if Sam would ever be able to find someone who would mean that much to him again, if the kid would even allow himself to find that. To hear this now had Dean feeling so damn proud of everything his brother had become, and everything he had _overcome_.

"You know…if we have your blessing, of course," Sarah added, humorously, while Dean was still so lost in thought he almost missed it.

Looking around for Sam, Dean caught his brother's gaze form across the bar, Sam watching him and Sarah like he knew exactly what they were talking about. "You have it gladly," Dean smiled back at Sarah, knowing Sam would keep that promise, and probably soon. Maybe the bastard even had a ring and hadn't even bothered to fill Dean in. Well that just sealed the deal then that Dean would not be sharing anything concerning the horsemen of _Fertility_ any time soon.

Letting Sarah go off to join Sam, a lot of the crew having gone off to rest already even though it was still sunny, and a lot more looking to head up now, Dean scanned the room for Sasha. He spotted the redhead at the bar with Ula and the Trickster, of all people, laughing and talking. Blue eyes miraculously looked up right then and caught Dean's stare, the smile on Sasha's face stretching as he excused himself from the bar so he could move to join Dean.

Dean took a moment to look around further, to see Lindsey and Aloysha helping Charis toward the stairs, her wing on the mend. The twins were cooing over Jimmy, which had the soft-spoken man looking a little flustered. Cam had already gone up to a room, in rough shape, as he was, but Dean saw Bobby and Shiarra alone at a table, talking hushed like they were remembering their great battle together.

There were others, many others that were no longer within sight, but Dean closed his eyes and he could easily picture all of their faces. He could see all of those who were no longer here too—Iain, Solrin, his parents.

When Dean opened his eyes again, Sasha was standing there in front of him. Even though Sasha had slipped on a T-shirt at some point, or maybe he simply manifested one, the St. Anthony pendant was not hidden beneath the cotton this time, but out in the open for all to see. Dean reached for it, snatching up the small silver disc in his fingers. It glittered at him brightly, as if it had never seen battle.

Tired green eyes drifted up to meet blue—loving, devoted _blue_. Dean couldn't help himself, he really couldn't, as a prayer sprang to mind and he sent it out into the cosmos for Dave.

_Thank you…_

tbc...

A/N: NOT the end! There will be one more chapter. I miscalculated all I wanted to fit in. Woohoo! Plus I got behind what with 4th of July, my hubby's bday, etc. I'm not sure how much I like this chapter, but then it is the whoosh after the AH! I'm more excited for the next and LAST chapter to come. And, since that next chapter will put me at 99 parts, I am just going to HAVE to throw in a drabble so I can hit 100. So...

FINAL DRABBLE contest! You're only getting over the weekend this time, but come on, folks, it's 100 words, you can do it. Prompt: Sun/Son. Fits this chapter and could have lots of possibilities. You can do whatever you want. Winner gets spoilers for what I plan to do next, and if you don't want spoilers, you can request something. :-) Good luck, my loves. And remember, reviews are life!

Crim


	99. DRABBLE: Son

Sorry, sorry, lots going on this week, but the actual new and last chapter will be up tomorrow. My hubby found out today that he'll be laid off in a couple weeks because his company will be outsourcing instead. Bah. Bad day. Enjoy my contribution to the drabbles! I only have two in so far, so get them in by tomorrow!

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Son

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Dean, deep down, had always wanted to be a father. Someday. Figuring out who Mom would be was usually what tripped him up.

God had some sense of humor.

"She has your hair," Dean passed his thumb over the soft tufts of red.

"And your eyes," Sasha leaned over Dean's shoulder, head practically resting there as he reached around and gently grabbed one of the tiny hands with his thumb and forefinger.

"How can you tell? They're still that baby blue."

"Oh, they'll be green."

Dean just smiled, holding his daughter closer. "And the son becomes the father," he snickered.

THE END

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tbc...TOMORROW

A/N: Love you all, more soon! Please contribute!

Crim


	100. Part 10:The Not Quite Happily Ever After

I'm sick, and at work, and so amazed I'm about to post the end to this, I may just cry. Thank you all so much, all of you for everything, deangirl1 for being the first ever to write fic of the fic, Blueeyesgreen for every epically long review and added support, Winterheart for more song choices than I can count anymore, and so many of you who have been the reason some of the best and most loved original characters even existed, I can't possibly thank everyone, except you can bet I will tell you just how much you individually have meant to me when you review.

Please do, please leave one last comment even just to tell me you read this, even if you haven't once reviewed before, even to just say 'huh, it's over' because it would mean so very much here at the end. Thank you all again. I will return. I promise.

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Part 10: The Not Quite Happily Ever After

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Dean wasn't entirely sure at what point staring into Sasha's eyes, surrounded by the remaining people who hadn't yet escaped for rest, had turned into being yanked by the hand through said bar toward the stairs and their waiting bedroom at the top of it.

They had all showered in shifts once the last of the wounded had been brought back to the Roadhouse, feeling filthy covered in so much blood and grime and sweat from battle. Seeing as how they were clean then, and aside from the general pull to just nap, there wasn't really anything keeping Dean and Sasha from taking a hiatus from the celebration to celebrate alone. It was early yet, but that didn't mean they had to leave their bedroom again until morning. The others would understand.

If someone happened to notice the way Dean and Sasha sped through the bar, any calls made after them were only of encouragement, calls Dean thought he almost heard too, but that were drowned out by the din of those talking about the battle won.

Dean was wiped in all senses of the word. If not for the tiny bit of remaining adrenaline coursing though him, he would have been more likely to pass out the second he became horizontal rather than get frisky, but his motivation to stay alert for just a little longer was thankfully superior.

He and Sasha deserved this—a tangled, sweaty end to a never-ending day, a never-ending _night_, really, darkness that had consumed so much of their lives from the first moment they met. Now there were no more deals, no more apocalypses or destinies looming. There was just this. Just them. Just today.

Dean stumbled after Sasha up the stairs gladly.

Then he cursed when his cell phone rang the second they threw open the door.

When the power had gone out all those weeks ago, there had been no reason to hang onto cell phones. That pixie chick had kept the Roadhouse's power going for a time, but there was no point in wasting energy when they only would have been able to call each other anyway.

Dean had tossed his phone away entirely after becoming one with Malak. It was sitting on the nightstand now, where it had remained, turned off. At least Dean had been pretty sure it was turned off, only now it looked like some Good Samaritan had turned it on and plugged it into the charger. Probably Sam, that practical putz and Grade A cockblocker.

"Ignore it," Dean pushed on Sasha's back to get the incubus to keep moving inside the room. He promptly shut and locked the door behind them.

"Dean," Sasha whirled on him, his flushed and, until recently, desperately wanting face suddenly filling with concern, "It's your first call in weeks. You can't just ignore it. What if it's important?"

Mother_fucker_. Why did his incubus have to be so damn practical too? "We just averted the apocalypse. What could possibly trump that?" But Dean was already heading over to the phone and snatching it up to look at the little glowing screen to see who the call was from. It blinked '_Leven'_ and Dean sighed. Figures it would be the kid.

"Go ahead," Sasha smiled over Dean's shoulder, laughing a little at the obvious caller, "I need to hit the bathroom quick anyway. Make Leven feel better. You saved the world, Dean. _Boast_ for a change. Tell him how much ass you kicked," the redhead winked before sauntering over to the bathroom, hanging just a moment on the doorframe.

Dean was granted a lovely profile of the incubus before Sasha shut the bathroom door, something Sasha never bothered with normally if he was just going in to take a piss. Dean had a sneaky suspicion that the redhead was stripping in there.

Dean swallowed.

"Shouldn't you be out celebrating in the streets with the rest of the masses?" Dean said into the phone when he answered, only half annoyed, but still _annoyed_ purely on the principle that he really didn't want to be talking on the phone right now, "You okay, kid?" Dean added more sincerely.

Leven's voice replied bright and rapid from the other end of the line as if the kid couldn't fit enough words into a single breath, but damn was he going to try. "Dean! Oh my god, it's so awesome to hear your voice! Not that Sam's whole voice in my head thing wasn't halfway cool, but a little more like _freaky_, and he barely told me anything when I tried to ask what was going on. What happened? Did you guys win? I mean you had to have, right? That's why the sun's shining again, right? I mean, you _had_ to have—"

"Slow down, man, where do you find the time to breathe with all that?" Dean chuckled, easing down on the bed but not daring to lie back in case his fatigue caught up to him, "We're all fine. Yep, kicked some serious ass, so you can thank our amazing hunter talents for why the sun's in the sky again. All's well. You and Wade survive the worst of it okay? Any riots or shit like that? We only threw a bit of the news on to see how the world was handling all this. Not too many stations were on yet."

While Dean sat there for a minute—Leven talked so fast it at least _felt_ like only a minute—the kid explained what had happened to him and his sister during the blackout. They had left Pittsburgh before the power finally went, squatting in some abandoned motel with a few others. They had gotten by pretty well actually, there being a general store nearby with plenty of food, but it had been tense at times, and boring as all _hell_, apparently. Dean decided he wouldn't cut in and say how _not_ boring it had been here, since he figured Leven needed to vent.

With the sun up, power back, and things finally starting to get under control, Wade and Leven were going to wait a day or two and then try and head back to the city to check on their apartment. They had a sneaky suspicion they would find it trashed, but they still had to go. Depending on how they found their things, they would be on the road again soon after, headed for the Roadhouse for some downtime, which Dean was just fine with. Dean wanted to see Leven again anyway, and he didn't have any plans to leave the Roadhouse for at least a few weeks. They'd earned the vacation.

Besides, judging by the way Aloysha had pulled Sasha aside earlier, Dean figured there might even be a road trip to the fae plan in their future.

That reminded him. "Hey, Lev," Dean spoke over the top of Leven's constant ramblings, "Glad you'll be coming. Might have someone to introduce you to, actually. He's not here right now but we might be able to work something out if your sister promises not to kill me over it."

Wade must have been listening in with her ear near Leven's head because Dean would swear he heard female grumblings after he said that. Then Leven was laughing, his voice faraway like he was pushing at his sister for her to leave him be, and then he was loud and close to the mouthpiece again. "As in a totally hot _incubus_ someone? Coz that would be freaking amazing, dude. I would love you forever. Well," there was a well-placed, leading pause, "Course you know I already do, Dean, we just can't all be lucky like too hot to handle redheads and get one of you for free."

That must have been some sort of cosmic cue because the bathroom door opened right then, slowly, as if Sasha had turned the knob and then simply tapped it with a finger. Dean nearly dropped the phone when he turned his head to look at the sound of that dull creak.

Sasha was half-changed into his true form, like maybe he was too hungry to fully contain himself. That thought alone sent little shocks of heat straight to Dean's groin. The way Sasha's skin was pale but not quite white, his hair shaggier but not really long, his ears just slightly pointed, his fangs glinting, his eyes flickering red, his fingers black but not yet claws—_Jesus_. There weren't wings yet but Dean was halfway to asking for them with the way Sasha licked his lips and let one side of his mouth—just one—curve promisingly up.

It also helped along Dean's already straining libido that he had guessed right about the incubus stripping in the bathroom. Sasha was naked, those tribal tattoos dark and beautiful, starting low on Sasha's hips and coiling down his thighs and around his already very hard and pulsing erection.

"Yeah, I…I gotta go, kid," Dean tried to keep his voice from cracking as he stared at what a damn enticing treat Sasha made for the eyes, and how damn smug he looked knowing just what the mere sight of him did to Dean, "You, uhh…you be safe. Let me know when you're headed here, okay?"

"Wait!" Leven protested, his voice seemingly more distant since Dean wasn't really listening anymore, "What about this _someone_? Is it an incubus? Who? Is he hot? You have to tell me! _Dean_!"

"Talk to you later, Leven," Dean flipped the phone closed.

Then he opened it again and turned it off. Best to be safe. Dean didn't want any interruptions, not this time, not today.

"Get your ass over here," Dean called huskily, pretty much tossing the phone over his shoulder and not caring where it landed. He stood from the bed and moved to meet Sasha halfway, really in no state to play coy or be patient. He was at half-mast by the time he reached the end of the bed, and full on hard as a damn metal rod when their hands finally reached out for each other and connected around necks, pulling and being pulled tight into each other's bodies.

That whole being spun up and around in Sasha's arms thing when they first met up after the battle—that was epic. _This_, the way their holds on each other spoke of ravenous, immediate need, their mouths hot and hungry, their tongues lapping with deep strokes, and their bodies already moving, sliding, grinding, it was just so wonderfully _raw_.

Dean really needed to get out of his clothes.

Then, the next second, Dean was on his back, on the hard floor, with his shirt jerked up to his neck, and _fuck_, how the hell did _that_ happen? Sharp blackened fingers dragged down Dean's ribs while a hot mouth sucked along his skin up to a nipple. Part of Dean didn't want this to go so fast, because they were both admittedly pent up and wouldn't last long if they didn't slow down right the fuck now, but the other half of Dean just wanted to rut and grip and thrust until they came.

Feeling his cock twitch painfully within the tight confines of denim as fangs bit with just the right amount of pressure into his neck, Dean hastily slithered his own hands down his body to the clasp of his jeans and began to undo them. He kept waiting for some phantom pain to rip through his skull or back, because how else had he ended up on the floor if not tackled, but the pain never came. Sasha was one hell of a ninja when the situation called for it.

"_Christ_," Dean grit out, jerking his jeans down as far as he could, barely making it down his hips because of how heavy Sasha was on top of him, "Now, just now, _right now_," Dean mumbled with scant coherence, trying to mouth along Sasha's jaw line but unable to really reach with how Sasha had one of Dean's ears between his teeth now, "Forget the f-fucking foreplay, just…_now_," Dean hissed, "Need you in me _now_."

Sasha shuddered atop Dean. "_Fuck_, hearing you say that's hot," Sasha growled, his voice totally having gone over to the incubus side, and that just got Dean iching for hard, fast relief that much more.

Pulling up, Sasha let his knees find balance on either side of Dean's thighs and tugged those constricting jeans the rest of the way down Dean's ass in one harsh motion, taking the shorts easily down with them. The sudden striking of cool air on Dean's heated skin made him hiss and press his head back into the floor.

This was so not a lovey-dovey, lots of slow foreplay and deep kisses kind of moment. They saved the fucking world today. They'd been downstairs talking and dealing with everybody else for hours. Sasha was almost feral with how wild he looked, his hair growing even as Dean looked up and watched, those red eyes flashing, a low growl in the back of Sasha's throat. Somehow Sasha managed to will one of his hands to become fully human again as the incubus reached down between their bodies and Dean spread his legs invitingly.

How much time Dean actually allowed for preparation, he couldn't be sure, but it felt like only moments before he was pleading, _demanding_ that Sasha take him. As soon as the words, "Please, fuck, just…_now_," left Dean's lips, Sasha was pushing in, filling Dean, and forcing Dean's back to arch with the pain/pleasure of the first harsh thrusts.

Reaching up for something to grip onto, Dean found a well-muscled bicep, tight with how it was clenched, Dean's other hand raking over Sasha's chest, clawing with blunt nails at the soft skin. Dean's jeans were still caught around his knees and kept getting in the way of there being totally skin between them, but Dean didn't really care, bare in the places that mattered, even with his shirt still bunched up around his neck. Ha! Dean hadn't even managed to get out of his clothes.

A moan keened out of Dean suddenly when Sasha twisted, aptly finding that bundle of nerves that made Dean shudder down to his toes. His eyes tightened as he adjusted to the feel of Sasha inside him, finding that perfect angle so that he saw stars with every sharp, insistent thrust of Sasha's hips. Then Dean opened his eyes again, looked up, saw the way Sasha was staring right back down at him with such delirious love and affection, fangs just barely visible as the incubus' mouth fell open with a growl of pleasure.

Dean didn't close his eyes again.

Sasha came first, hard inside of Dean, the heat of Sasha's release bringing Dean that much closer to his own end, but it wasn't quite enough, not yet, and the frustration of that had Dean mewling pitifully. Before his mind could fully process what was happening, Sasha pulled out, careful but fast enough to sting, and then the redhead was climbing down Dean's body, swirling his tongue around the thick beads of pre-cum weeping down Dean's cock.

A harsher cry broke haggardly from Dean's throat, heat pooling quickly in the depths of his gut. Dean was close now, so close, as Sasha's lips wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked until Dean's hips jerked up, up again, and then he was coming, spilling wantonly into Sasha's eager mouth.

The incubus licked his lips in satisfaction, staring wickedly up the length of Dean's body with a smirk. "I…guess I really needed that," Sasha's voice came out hoarse and raspy.

Laughter choked in Dean's throat he was so breathless, his head dropping back before he managed to lift it again and look at Sasha, his incubus. "No shit," Dean smirked right back, "You and me both, baby. _Fuck_ yeah, we needed that. Come here." Dean raised a limp and heavy hand, reaching for Sasha's face, his fingertips grazing the smooth white skin of Sasha's cheek. Sasha was still mostly human but his incubus was definitely showing.

After Sasha crawled his way back up Dean's body, they stayed there for a moment, sticky and spent, Sasha comfortably heavy on top of Dean. It would have been easy to just fall asleep, even on the hard floor, but Dean had other plans.

"Don't get too comfy now," Dean spoke into the side of Sasha's head, lips brushing soft, dampened red hair, "Now that that's outta the way…we can take our time with round two."

A low laugh from Sasha rumbled its way through Dean's neck where Sasha's lips were gently pressing. Sasha spoke around Dean's skin. "Round two? Aren't you exhausted? It's still early, ya know? We do have the right to nap for awhile first if we want to."

"Says who? Guys who go straight to sleep after sex are wusses," Dean said dismissively, rarely having been that kind of guy himself, though that might also have been partially Pavlovian since Dean usually needed to hightail it after sex back in the day. "I don't want to sleep til we're out for the night," Dean went on, "As hot as that first round was…I need more before I let this day go. Need _you_. Need as much of you as I can get, baby…"

Dean wasn't oblivious to how his voice trailed a little on that, the humor of the moment lost. He didn't want to get all serious or anything, but it was sort of crazy how they had managed to survive this, managed to win. He wanted to savor every moment. Quick and dirty for round one was just fine, so long as they took it slow for the second one. And there had to be a second one. Dean didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to lose this feeling of safety and peace. He didn't want to lose Sasha.

_Ever_.

"I'm right here, Dean," Sasha spoke softly, comfortingly, making Dean wonder if he had mumbled some of that internal monologue out loud. He really needed to stop doing that.

"I know," Dean whispered back, lips still pressed into Sasha hair, arms tight around Sasha's back, "Can't deny I felt you pretty distinctly a few minutes ago," Dean grinned, "I just…don't want anything to change that. There have been way too many people and circumstances trying to take you away from me this past year. I'm not ever gonna let that happen."

"Neither am I," Sasha said.

Dean squeezed his incubus against him, took a breath. "Okay, I think I might be capable of walking now," he said with a touch of humor again, "Don't suppose you'd let a guy up so he can shimmy the rest of the way out of these gross clothes and get cleaned up? I need to take a piss too, and, uhh…you're sorta leaning on my bladder."

Sasha snorted. "_Jeez_. So demanding," he teased, but of course also complied, rolling away and sitting up languidly with a long stretch. Dean would be happy the rest of his life if everyday began with that sight—his rumpled incubus, naked and arching his back.

"Don't even think of falling asleep on me, coz I am coming _right back_," Dean sat up after Sasha, stealing a quick kiss, his fingers tangling in the longer strands of hair at the nape of Sasha's neck. This was a slower kiss than the one they managed before their rough and ready sex. They didn't need to rush anything if they didn't want to, because they had all the time in the world, this time for real.

Achingly, Dean eventually got to his feet, stripped off his clothes that he left in a heap at the foot of the bed, and escaped into the bathroom to rinse off. He didn't normally get too worked up over remnants of their activities remaining on his skin, but he wanted to be comfortable if they were going to be all slow and sensual-like for round two.

He didn't shower long, just long enough to remember that yes, he was quite sore, thank you very much, and then he was toweling off, letting himself stay just a little damp since he was eager to get back into the main room. Dean hadn't bothered to shut the door when he went in so it was easy to sneak back out without immediately alerting Sasha.

The incubus was standing just off the side of the bed, his back to Dean, still naked, of course, _gorgeously_, rubbing at his own shoulders like they were stiff as hell. Dean knew from his own soreness that that was probably true.

Slipping up quietly behind Sasha, Dean decided to take over, digging strong fingers into the tight muscles of Sasha's neck and further. Sasha moaned at the sudden welcome attention, letting his own hands drop back to his sides. Dean might have normally sat Sasha on the bed and attended to those shoulders for a good while, but he was not feeling entirely selfless just now, and judging by the particular tone to Sasha's moans, the incubus didn't really want a backrub as much as he wanted other things.

Dean let his hands slide down Sasha's shoulders, down his arms, around to his chest where he trailed fingers down ripples of firm muscle, taut abs, the deep indentations of hip bones that, as always, were covered in the sexiest black tattoos.

Pulling Sasha back flush against him, Dean let his refreshed erection slide just slightly between Sasha's cheeks, a promising tease. His hands, meanwhile, trailed lower, fondling Sasha with a feather-light touch. Sasha's moans became more frequent, shorter, more like pants, strained whimpers caught in his throat. There was the occasional, breathless, "_Dean_," as well, and it had Dean grinning to himself at how much they affected _each other_, never one-sided.

"How long do you think we can stay standing like this?" Dean whispered as he kissed a slow trail down Sasha's neck, following the path he had made with his fingers before.

Another moan sounded—lower, longer. "I…_Dean_, I…oh _fuck_, long as we can manage," Sasha gave in, knowing, no doubt, just what Dean wanted.

"We make it a game, yeah?" Dean suggested.

"See how long…we can go without coming?" Sasha replied with a smile in his voice, clear as if Dean was looking at it, "We've played that game before, you know."

"Let's break our record then," Dean breathed. He squeezed Sasha's cock tight before letting it go, starting a slow ascent back up Sasha's stomach and chest, at the same time shifting his hips so that his own cock moved along Sasha's backside, never quite penetrating, or even really pushing. Dean wanted the slow build, the long crescendo. They had had release, now he want this, _this_ for as long as he could have it.

Moving back up Sasha's neck, sucking now, tight and hot with twirls of his tongue at the soft skin along Sasha's shoulders, Dean let his hands merely hold the incubus, keeping Sasha tight against him, in his arms. Dean's hips rocked the barest bit, Sasha rocking back in like motion, equally _not quite enough_. It felt so good to just touch, just hold, breathing in that Sasha scent—_god_, Sasha's scent—that Dean had fallen in love with probably the moment he first recognized it as _Sasha_, even if he never would have admitted it back then.

Dean knew every curve of this man, this incubus in his arms, every dip and crevice and plane, the way Sasha's lone scar felt under his fingers as he trailed over it, the tattoo smooth there now, long healed. Dean rarely thought about it, but as he pulled back just enough to let his hands smooth up and down Sasha's arms again, he felt the softness of tiny hairs. They were paler there on Sasha's arms, on his legs, not red like the hair on his head, or his eyebrows, or the tufts below the waist. Those leg and arm hairs almost seemed blonde they were so pale, fair and less noticeably alien the way the hair on Sasha's head would seem to most people if they understood right away that it wasn't a dye job. There wasn't a part of Sasha that Dean didn't love, didn't want to cherish and touch every inch of, including those tiny, pale hairs.

"Dean," Sasha breathed out, leaning back on Dean now with such weight, Dean knew the incubus' knees were close to buckling. That was okay; they didn't need to stay standing. Dean wanted a better look at Sasha while they did this anyway.

Slowly, Dean stepped back, let Sasha out of his arms so the redhead could crawl forward onto the bed, roll over and lay back expectantly, cheeks flush, slit pupils blown, eyes still otherwise red and fangs visible. "_Wings_," Dean whispered, more like a spoken thought than a conscious request, but Sasha obliged anyway, understanding, shifting fully until his large black wings were spread out beneath him.

Dean shivered. He still wondered sometimes when it was that his life changed so much that this beautiful man became everything he wanted, but Dean wouldn't have it any other way now. He did want Sasha, only Sasha, he wanted a life with him, their life as hunters, with their friends and family—what remained of them—ever at their side. Dean didn't think it was too much to ask, not when Dave had promised Sasha to Dean with the way that Saint Anthony pendant glittered, the only thing other than naked skin covering Sasha's body right now. It promised that they would never lose each other, no matter how bleak the circumstance. Beating Malak had more than proven that.

Crawling after Sasha onto the bed, Dean fit himself beside Sasha, carefully on top of one wing, letting his hand trace lazy designs over Sasha's skin as he talked, and Sasha stared back at him with a hazy gaze. "I want to…tell you something, but…I don't want it to ruin this," Dean started, half-regretting even bringing this up now when they might have just enjoyed their time alone.

"What is it?" Sasha asked, brow furrowing.

It was mostly unconscious, but, even as Dean spoke, his hand trailed over Sasha's skin, down his chest and low along his hips. "It's just…I want you so much. To be with you. I want that. And nothing's keeping us from that anymore, which is…it's _great_, the biggest relief, I couldn't be happier. But…" Dean bit his lip, hating that there had to be a 'but'.

"But you don't want me to turn you yet," Sasha said without needing further prompting, surprising Dean with his easy assessment.

Dean swallowed the guilt that had been sitting in his throat. "Shit. You're too smart for me sometimes, you know that?" he grinned crookedly, "How'd you know? It's not that I don't want you to _eventually_."

"Dean," Sasha laughed, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other, causing Dean's hand to fall to the bed between them, "It's okay, I get it. You accepted being an incubus so easily before, but because you had to, because at the time it seemed like the only way for us to be together. That's not true anymore. We don't have to rush. I want you to be ready. The apocalypse, everything with Malak, it screwed it all up, forced so many things. I don't want you to ever feel forced into being with me, Dean. When you're ready, I'll still be here. No matter how long it takes." Sasha smiled with only fondness, only love in his expression, one of his hands seeking out Dean's between them.

"Good," Dean huffed relief, inching closer to Sasha, their breath mingling as their faces neared, "I was just…scared you'd take it wrong. Should've known better. But just to drive home how much I _will_ want it when I'm ready," Dean gripped Sasha's hand tightly, "And don't get all girly over this or anything, or think I'm only doing it coz a Sam and Sarah, but…" Dean couldn't say anymore, couldn't actually say it, whatever words might have come to him, so he just did what he had intended to do from the moment they came upstairs, from the moment the war ended.

He slipped the silver band off his right hand and fit it onto the ring-finger of Sasha's left.

Well, he _tried_. Sasha still being fully transformed and having claws instead of actual fingers got the ring stuck on the first taloned knuckle. "God damn it," Dean grumbled, flicking his eyes up at Sasha with a scowl, "Way to ruin the moment, man."

Laughter spilled from Sasha's lips, his face bright, happy, totally uncaring of this small hiccup when the sentiment was the same. Dean could feel the chick flick moment coming—the _rest of it_ coming—and he just wanted it over so they could get back to the easier, fun part of celebrating.

Sasha understood that though, he got it, got _Dean_, and although the incubus took the time to transform human again to help slide the ring the rest of the way on, he didn't say any of the sappy things waiting on his tongue.

Instead Sasha smirked. "For the record? I totally proposed first," he said.

"_What_?" Dean barked, leaning away, "Now hang on a minute. Marking me without tell me _so_ doesn't count. And this isn't a…a _proposal_," he fumbled, realizing he had so walked into that one, "It's just, ya know…a promise. So other dudes and chicks don't hit on you when we're in bars or whatever. I'll leave the proposing bullshit to Sammy, thank you."

"_Dean_," Sasha rolled his eyes, "A proposal _is_ a promise. What's it matter what we call it? The day I do initiate you, my side is going to demand a promising ceremony."

Oh for crying out loud. "You mean like a wedding?" Dean sputtered, "Dude, can't we just skip all that? We know what we want, what we have. We don't need to get all official. I just wanted to give you the ring so…so you'd know I'm not going anywhere."

Another laugh escaped Sasha's lips as he reached up with the hand now sporting that silver ring and brushed the slightly longer strands of hair from Dean's forehead. "I know you're not going anywhere," he said, "I love this ring. Always have. And I know you love it too. I can barely believe you'd actually part with it to give it to me. But you're going to have to deal with some sap occasionally and a little of the official too. Shi, at the very least, won't let you get away with otherwise, trust me," he grinned.

Crap. Dean decided that further grumbling was his most effective response. So he grumbled. But it was hard to maintain when Sasha kept running strong fingers through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean finally gave in, "Will you just let me get back to doing naughty things to you already. Gotta get you revved back up and everything." Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced down between them where Sasha's erection had started to dwindle.

The incubus shook his head in amusement, allowing Dean's requested departure from their lovey, mushy, girly moment that, in its defense, had managed to avoid most lovey, mushy, girly things.

Sasha rolled onto his back again, tugging at Dean's neck to get the message across that he was definitely on board with a return to the naughty. It was more than enough to assure Dean that yes, this was the person he wanted to spend every day of his life with, and there were so many reasons, really, even though it still kind of got to him sometimes when he thought about it all seriously—being with someone forever, commitment _forever_.

But it was _Sasha_. And somehow that made everything different.

Also, it was true that Dean wanted to enjoy his normal human hunter self for just a little longer yet, and he was beyond grateful that Sasha understood that.

Scooting closer to his incubus on the bed, Dean brought his hand back to Sasha's chest and renewed his slow, appreciative trailing. He never took his eyes away from Sasha's blue—back to blue since Sasha was human again. They were so vibrant, like at any moment they would return to red once Sasha started to lose control, and he _would_, he would lose just enough control of himself for it to be wonderfully enticing. Dean never got enough of being the reason that happened.

It was easy, even with just the simple touch of fingertips over Sasha's skin, to get the incubus hard again, panting, wanting, and for those eyes to indeed flicker red. Dean eventually asked for the wings back, for all of Sasha to be how he truly was, a form Dean adored as much a he adored the shorter red hair and blue eyes. That was the clincher, Dean figured, that he loved Sasha in every way, every version. Sasha loved him the same, and that was something Dean had honestly never had before. Maybe only ever from Sam.

They took it slow, with long, drawn-out kisses, full-palm touches and fingertips that lingered along tender, intimate places. Dean wanted to sink into Sasha entirely, but not lose himself. He didn't need to lose himself, he didn't need oblivion, he hoped he never wanted oblivion again, but he wanted to sink in deep and find that connection that was almost like being one person.

When Dean finally took Sasha, pressing the redhead down into the mattress and back against the headboard, it was nothing like their first romp on the floor. Their eyes never closed for longer than a gasp, locked on each other as they moved, rocked, arched into each other's bodies. Sasha didn't need to feed anymore, and didn't take much, but Dean still felt the glorious pull of the circuit between them when Sasha opened it, that irrevocable tie binding them that said _mine, yours, us forever_.

Dean didn't care if that was sappy. He didn't care if he got teased mercilessly tomorrow when everyone noticed the ring Sasha was wearing—and they _would_. No, he didn't care, because he was happy. He had someone to make love to, to move slowly in and out of, or have move within him, with nothing but mutual want and need for each other. That was worth a little sap now and again. Maybe even worth a god damn incubus wedding some day.

_Crazy_.

It was late by the time they finally untangled, sweaty and so tired they could barely move, limply lying side by side on the bed with their hands resting over each others but not strong enough to hold. "I think I need another shower," Sasha smiled, exhaustedly lopsided.

"It can wait til tomorrow," Dean dismissed. When they did take a shower again, he wanted it to be together, and right now there was no way he was making it over to the bathroom.

"Sleep then?"

"I like that plan," Dean nodded, or tried to, so tired he could barely even manage that.

"Me too," Sasha agreed, "Oh. But first, I kept forgetting to ask. Or, well…you're good at distracting me," he chuckled, "I was just wondering what you meant by leaving the proposing up to Sam, and saying that you didn't give me the ring just because of Sam and Sarah. Is there something I don't know?" Sasha's head dropped to the side on his pillow to look at Dean more directly.

A grin stretched wide across Dean's face. Sam hadn't done any proposing, as far as Dean could tell, before he and Sasha escaped upstairs, and Dean hadn't spread around any of the secrets he had discovered. He decided to sit on this. Sasha would find out soon enough anyway, hopefully tomorrow if Sammy had the balls to ask Sarah tonight. "Ah, it's nothing," he said.

"Dean," Sasha stressed, not buying the dismissal.

"I swear."

"_Dean_."

"You can't make me say _anything_."

Sasha laughed. "I swear to _God_, Dean, just—"

"Prrp?"

They stilled into silence. That was _not_ the usual swearing one did to God.

Sasha sat up. "Uhh…" he stared at Dean as if maybe that chirping noise had come from him.

Dean scowled. He did _not_ chirp. Besides, he knew better who that sound belonged to, and quickly began scanning the room for the culprit as he sat up beside Sasha. "_Wally_," Dean called out accusingly. Their door was still shut and locked. Where had that little chimera been hiding?

After a few moments of silence, two little human hands appeared at the foot of the bed, helping to hoist up the very fluffy friend Dean had already expected to see. Wally looked admittedly guilty, and she should too, because the evidence suggested that she had been under the bed this whole time, peeping while they were—of all things—_having sex_.

_Damn_, that creeped Dean out. "Shit, girl, that is so not allowed," Dean pointed at her as she scrambled the rest of the way up onto the bed and started toward them, "You been hiding in here the whole time? We're sorry everything got away from us after the fight, but that doesn't mean you get to have a free show for your troubles. _Rules_, Wally. A little decency wouldn't hurt either," he shuddered.

"Dean," Sasha laughed, holding out a hand to pet Wally as she got closer, "She might have just been sleeping. She's been cooped upstairs for weeks with everything that's been going on. We should have checked on her earlier. I doubt she was actually purposely peeping."

"Right," Dean eyed the chimera skeptically. She tossed him her most adorable, droopy-eyed expression, but he wasn't buying it. She was a dirty little whore, that's what she was. Probably learned to be that way from him too, damn it. "Little perv," Dean said as he reached over to pet Wally too, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Wally purred and bucked up into his hand.

Suddenly, Dean couldn't help thinking of the other perv he knew for a fact kept an eye on him and Sasha even when they were fucking.

Dirty guardian angel.

'_Hope we gave you a good show, Cas,'_ Dean thought wickedly.

Of course then he couldn't help thinking that Mom, and Dad, and Solaris and Deklin all watched over them too, technically, and that just ruined the fantasy right there. Dean really hoped the retired horsemen didn't keep _that_ good of an eye on them.

"Dean? What's with the look? You gonna be sick?" Sasha was thoroughly amused sounding, like he figured Dean was still only thinking of Wally the perv, not any potential others.

"Let's just go to sleep," Dean said, scooping Wally up and letting her snuggle under the covers with them as they lay back. She was soft and warm, and small enough that Dean could still snuggle in close to Sasha as they drifted off.

Sleep came fast, but Dean still heard the whispered, "We did it, Dean," that came from Sasha just as they were reaching the edge of dreamland.

Dean smiled in his almost sleep, eyes remaining closed, knowing that Sasha was right there with him, and always would be. "Hell yeah, baby. We sure did."

-----

The unfortunate thing, however, was that saving the world was not enough to make everything better. There was still Hell at the back of Dean's mind, a connection to Malak too that would always bring Dean's thoughts to Hell easier. There was also the memory of all that happened on the battlefield, even if, in the end, things had turned out as much for the better as they could.

So when Dean closed his eyes that night, wrapped around Sasha, Wally between them, despite all the good that had come from yesterday, he dreamed, and his dreams were not all pleasant.

At first he was walking, just walking, out on the fields of the Roadhouse. They were the real fields, the ones with grass, and a road leading to town, no cliffs or drop-offs or rotting bodies. Dean was thankful that some mystical force had taken care of all of that in the real world too. But as he walked, moving further and further away from the Roadhouse, the land began to change. It didn't become the fields of battle again, didn't change into anything so melodramatic as a replay of his time in Hell, it simply slopped upwards.

Following up that new path, Dean had a sense of foreboding the higher he climbed, but since he was dreaming, both watching himself and seeing everything that was happening through his eyes, he couldn't do anything but go where his body took him. He knew, dimly in the back of his mind, that this was indeed a dream, but he couldn't seem to use that to his advantage either.

At the top of the hill, so far from the Roadhouse now that when he turned to look back he could no longer see it, Dean found two doors suspended, no structure surrounding them, just the doors. He had the strangest déjà vu of that _**Labyrinth**_ movie, but at least there weren't any knockers.

Dean assumed, at first, that he had to choose which door to enter, but he found that when he tried to stand back and consider his options, his hand was already reaching for one of the knobs. The doors looked identical, same color wood, same size and shape, but Dean knew, somehow just _knew_, that he did not want to go in the door that his hand was reaching for. He tried to pull his hand back, tried to scream, tried to go limp, even, and see if that might tumble him back down the hill, but nothing worked. He grabbed the knob of that wrong-feeling door and opened it.

Without even stepping through the door, Dean was suddenly somewhere else. It was a room, small and square with red walls and a red and black checkered floor. There were curtains all around the walls, hiding any potential exit. At the center of the room, something sparkled at Dean. Instinctively, he walked toward it, squinting through the dim lighting to better see what it was. He knelt down beside the object finally and saw that it was his gold pendant.

Immediately, Dean brought a hand to his chest, seeking out where the pendant should be, but it wasn't there. It was lying on the floor by his feet. Dean reached for it, but another hand reached down from above Dean and snatched the necklace up first.

"You put such faith in small things, Dean. Humans always do. For some it might be a cross. Maybe a pentagram. Maybe a locket with an old picture inside. But for you…it starts with this. Why is that, do you think?"

Dean shivered, instantly afraid, afraid of where he was, afraid to look up, afraid to admit that he knew that voice, and damn it, why was Malak still haunting him when he had _won_.

"This isn't about that," Malak's voice called from above him, "Well, it is, but this is about the future, Dean. Because of how much I am a part of you, should you ever decide to accept me into yourself again, I would come gladly and willing, and we would be right back in the thick of it. Thought you ought to know that."

"I am never going to choose you again," Dean found his voice enough to speak, head still bent toward the floor, staring at where his necklace once was, "And you…you shouldn't be able to do this. I know it's not just a dream. You can't _do this_."

There was shuffling, shifting, and suddenly Malak was right there in front of Dean, in his face, having knelt down. "Why? Because you won, is that it? Ah, but I told you, Dean, that we would always be tied together, that you would feel the loss of me once I was gone."

"So let me feel the fucking loss already and _go away_," Dean growled.

Malak licked his lips, smiled, looking so perfect and unruffled, so different from the last time Dean saw him. "You're right, Dean. I have to go away. I have to leave you be, it's in the rules. And you know how I feel about rules. The only reason I have this chance to see you now is because of the gift I left you."

"Gift?" Dean repeated, even as the answer formed in his head. He felt so stupid. "You healed me. You, what, fucking stowed away in my bloodstream so you could haunt my dreams?"

A huff. "Something like that," Malak tilted his head. He dropped back, letting himself fall onto his rear to sit there on the floor before Dean, knees up, hands draping over them casually with Dean's pendant still caught in Malak's fingers. "It was the only loophole I had left. A way to stow away, as you put it, since I was offering something helpful too. I did very potentially save your life, you know. Your injuries were rather extensive."

"You should know since you _dealt them_, you bastard," Dean grit out, realizing that he wasn't paralyzed with fear so much as paralyzed in general. He was stuck there on his knees, head slightly bent, having to tilt his eyes up in order meet Malak's red on black gaze.

Malak looked so damn relaxed in comparison. "This is my room, Dean. My little sanctuary inside of you. Part of me will always be here. Should you ever wish to come knocking—"

"I already fucking told you—!"

"Dean," Malak cut off Dean's angry shout with a simple wave of his hand, the pendant glittering again in the dim light, "Just laying the option on the table. And I'm sure you're thinking why on earth would you ever accept such an offer when I have no more ammunition, no more hold on you other than this admittedly meager meeting? Well, you see, Dean, I don't want to go quietly this time. I don't want to slip away like a memory until most of the demons in Hell don't even know my name. Yes, I lost. But you are still alive, Dean. And that leaves me something to hold onto."

Sudden, swift, Malak moved, up on his knees and in Dean's face again, eyes flashing dangerously, while Dean could do nothing, his body still rigid and stuck in place.

"I will find a way to come for you, Dean Winchester, in _this_ lifetime," Malak nearly growled, "You promised there would always be hunters to stop me. Fine. Then let it be _you,_ again and again, until your death. There are ways, and I will find them. I do not need decades, or centuries, or millennia. I will come for you. I will come for your lover, my own distant child, and all the rest you care for. Becoming an incubus won't save you, Dean. And maybe, if the timing is right…" Malak smiled, licked his lips again, his tongue most definitely forked, and then he leaned in and placed a too soft kiss on Dean's lips, "Maybe…I will get to come for your _child_ too."

Dean's eyes shot open wider, so filled with fury there was no room left for fear. As he came to realize that finally he had the strength to move again, Dean lunged, diving right for Malak with a snarl marring his face.

He hit only air.

Toppling onto the grass, Dean landed back outside the door to Malak's room, hearing it slam shut behind him after chucking him out. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fucking_ _fair_. Malak didn't get to _do this_.

Taking deep breaths as he collected himself, and knowing that finally he was in control and could wake up if he wanted, Dean struggled to his feet. He turned to stare at the door yet unopened. His pendant was still missing when he reached up to check, as if Malak had claimed it as a trophy, a final kick in the face to prove he meant business and would indeed be coming back.

That threat alone had Dean moving toward the other door, the one he had not gone through, without fear. He opened it and stepped into a brightly lit _diner_.

"Shit. Sometimes I don't know which one of you pisses me off more," Dean grumbled as he let the door fall shut behind him. As expected, Dave was standing behind the counter, a pot of coffee and an already steaming cup waiting.

Dave smiled. "Had a feeling you wouldn't have much of an appetite this time," he said.

"God damn it," Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, glaring at Dave's bemused expression after realizing what he had just said, "Oh, shut up. I'm not apologizing. Just what the hell is going on here anyway? Malak gets a free pass because I'm still breathing? That isn't fucking fair!" Dean felt a little juvenile for using that same argument in his head and aloud, but damn it, it just wasn't, none of it was fair.

The smile on Dave's face faltered as Dean approached the counter and angrily dropped down onto a stool, taking the ready cup of coffee because, damn it, he deserved it. "Dean," Dave said, his drawl thicker in his sympathetic tone, "It's not about fair, you know that. It's about choice. In order to save lives you gave part of yourself to him. Nothing can change that now. It was that sacrifice that made it possible for you to win."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, swallowing down a too large gulp of hot coffee, "Just so it can happen all over again once Malak figures out a new way to screw me. That time, I…I didn't know what else to do," he spoke more softly, staring into the cup in his hands.

Dave's hands came into Dean's vision then and cupped around his, holding them to the mug of coffee. "I didn't say it was the wrong decision, Dean. Not many could have made it, would have risked it, but you did. You believed in your brother and in Sasha enough to know that it was worth it. As for the chance that Malak might come for you again, well…that's just as much on me as on you."

"How?" Dean looked up skeptically, his hands feeling very warm, more from Dave's touch, it seemed, than from the hot mug. The whole diner felt amazingly warm actually, and Dean became awash in it, in that warmth, when he got caught by those blue eyes that were different from Sasha's, different from Castiel's. "You didn't make his choices for him," Dean went on, "Or mine for me."

A sad smile crooked on Dave's mouth. "But I made my own. Your necklace, Dean, Malak really has it, it's not just symbolism inside a dream. It stakes his claim on you, something he only has the power to do because…" and now Dean was starting to feel afraid again because Dave _looked away_, "Because…I let him heal you."

"What…?" Dean pulled his hands from the cup, out from under Dave's hands, and Dave didn't try to stop him, "What the hell are you talking about? You _let him_ heal me? Coz you couldn't, right? Coz you couldn't interfere directly, but you knew the others wouldn't get to me in time. So you…_fuck_, you…" Dean scrubbed down his face again, "You gave him an opening just so I'd live? Why? If I'd just died than this wouldn't be happening!"

If Dean had died that night in Cold Oak instead of Sam then maybe none of this would be happening.

A strong hand grabbed the top of one of Dean's, tight, unmoving, and unwilling to let go this time or let Dean pull away. Dean had no choice but to look up at Dave, and this time those blue eyes looked as though all the angels that had been on the battlefield—bright, glorious, blinding—were flying around inside of them.

"Don't you dare go back to thinking this world is better without you, Dean Winchester, or that you're lesser than the next man. There is no such thing as being worth more or less than another person. No such thing. Right now, as it is, the world is better with you, better because of you, Dean, and it is not a punishment that you might one day have to save the world from Malak again. You're the only one who can. Maybe next time you'll be able to save it for longer than a day."

"What do you…mean…?" Dean's voice was small, awed by how Dave was not quite the usual human-looking diner guy he was used to.

Then Dave smiled, pulled his hand away from Dean, smacked Dean's shoulder, and he _was_ that human-looking diner guy. "You'll figure it out. Just don't grudge an old man too much, huh? Sometimes…fathers make the same mistakes, but the kind they'll never _think of_ as mistakes." Dave smiled a little wider, sad but honest, and for a moment Dean was looking at his Dad, or felt like he was, that same smile beaming as it had when John told Dean how sorry he was for everything because he had just sold his soul to keep Dean alive.

"What's dead should stay dead," Dean breathed, but only because he knew how Dave would answer.

"Maybe. But sometimes…what saves the world is something dead _rising_."

_Shit_.

A tear struck Dean's hand, the one Dave had grabbed so forcefully, and Dean rubbed at his eyes to banish any others. He really didn't have a comeback, so he took another gulp of coffee, bitter tasting just the way he liked it. "Malak said…" Dean clenched his eyes shut a moment, "He said he'd come after my _child_. How would he know something like that? Am I…am I gonna have a kid some day?" The thought was powerfully sobering.

Dave topped off Dean's cup. "You sure you don't want some sugar in that?"

"Dave."

"Just asking, ya know, coz you sure do like a bitter cup."

Dean laughed, and it felt good, felt like the world wasn't crumbling. He got that Dave was trying to be helpful. It was never good to know too much about your own future, not when that knowledge might make you change something. "Okay. I get it. And no sugar, thanks. Coffee's better au natural. Especially yours," he raised his cup.

Enjoying said awesome coffee and some lighter conversation with Dave, Dean soon finished off the mug, and by the time he downed the last drop, he wasn't feeling so panicked anymore. He didn't need to feel panicked. He still had more going for him than Malak would ever be able to understand. And hell, maybe one day Malak _would_ understand, and that would be enough to undo him.

"It's gonna be quiet for awhile, right? It'll at least take years before Malak can make another play. So…do you think, every once in a while," Dean said as he got up from his stool, instinct moving his hands to his pocket to grab for his wallet before he remembered he didn't need to pay, "Uhh, ya know, maybe we could just…talk. Sometimes." It _so_ wasn't lame to ask that of God.

The usual cryptic but caring expression passed over Dave's face. "Tell you what, Dean. _You_ talk. I'll listen."

This time Dean snorted. "Quoting George Burns? He did make a pretty good God. Loved those movies," Dean smirked.

"I remember," Dave nodded, "Take care of yourself, Dean."

Dean supposed he couldn't expect to get regular visits from Dave and his amazing coffee, though the thought had been nice. Then again, it couldn't hurt for Dean to actually…_pray_ once in awhile, and maybe to more than just Castiel. Not that he was going to admit that to Sam.

Moving for the door, Dean felt a moment of panic again, just briefly, wondering if he would ever be faced with those two doors again, or forced into Malak's room. Somehow, during that awful battle, Dean had found the strength to stand up to Malak and discover the demon's greatest weakness. That weakness was not about to go away. Dean could find it again, face Malak again, and if and when the time did come, Dean wouldn't be afraid, he'd be ready.

Right now he honestly believed that.

As he was pushing open the door to head back into dreaming, hopefully nicer dreams too, Dean stole one last glance back inside. He smiled at what he saw. Dave, pouring coffee for the other patrons that had suddenly appeared, or maybe they were there all along. It was nice to see them, but Dean knew he had a life to return to, a life he had been granted the chance to live again so many times, and he walked out that diner door without an ounce of reservation.

-----

The Roadhouse was buzzing the next day, mostly because a lot of food was needed, a lot of wounds needed cleaning and attending to, and the whole place was still at more than capacity. Dean could tell Ellen loved it.

They had already discussed that the Roadhouse would be base for awhile while people healed, rested, and relaxed. Dean liked the idea of the Roadhouse always being base, not that he didn't want to get back out there after awhile to return to hunting, but making sure to stop back between hunts, back at a place kind of like home, had a warm feeling to it that Dean didn't mind getting used to.

Since Sam liked that idea too, and talked as if nothing would change, save maybe the addition of Sarah in the Impala, or others, depending on the case, Dean was confident that the one thing in his life that had always been home, even when all he had were motels, would remain—_Sammy_. Dean never wanted that to change. He wasn't sure how he felt about it changing one day when he became an incubus, but that was something off in the distance yet; they had plenty of time to work out the details.

Dean had thought maybe the sex squad had been properly initiated as hunters and would stick around, but hunting wasn't for everyone, and Lindsey, Charis, Cam, the twins, and Aloysha planned to return their own lives as soon as everyone was healthy. Cam was already doing loads better, and Charis' wing would heal fine. They promised to visit often.

Some of the other additions to their crew were still hard to get used to. Oh, most of the hunters started filtering out and would continue to, but the Trickster was still around, and Ula who had pretty much taken over feeding everyone since Ellen was looking after Jo, and Jimmy, of course, angel vessel and librarian. Dean had already promised to make a trip to Indiana at some point so they could get the rest of Jimmy's things since he would be staying indefinitely.

From behind the bar, cleaning and replacing lost and broken items at a leisurely pace, Dean watched Ula as she explained to the Trickster that magically cleaning rooms and manifesting food did not make up for years of lies; he had a long way to go before she would forgive him. Jimmy was around, as well, going about with a large tote bag reclaiming books that hunters and others had taken from the library and not returned. A few of them had been ruined and would need replacing, but Jimmy was more than up to the task.

Dean chuckled to himself when he overheard Shiarra berating Aloysha about his unfairness to the whole 'Sasha situation', and was demanding that he overlook any sort of hearing for either of them and simply let them come back home. Aloysha, poor bastard, was having a hard time getting a word in edgewise that he had already planned on that, and why wouldn't she shut up and listen for a change. Those two had obviously known each other for a long time. Dean couldn't help noticing that Bobby was hovering close to them rather protectively.

Sam and Sarah were busy on their laptops, scooted close together at one of the small bar tables checking for any remaining demonic signs, and to make sure that things really were returning to a sense of normal. There had been chaos, and casualties, but the human race was remarkably resilient, it turned out.

There wasn't a ring on Sarah's finger yet, but instead a small bit of string that Dean almost might have missed if he hadn't been eyeing Sarah's hand since the moment they got up that morning. Sam hadn't had the chance to find an actual ring, but he hadn't let that stop him when he stood by his word and proposed the night before, alone with Sarah after they had gone up to their room. Everyone knew by now, but it still made Dean grin when he looked over at them. Sammy being happy always lifted Dean's spirits more than anything else, and not only because 'watch out for your brother' had been ingrained in him, but because Sam had always been the most important thing in Dean's life for his own sake too.

Of course Sam wasn't alone in that these days.

Watching Sasha saunter across the bar, Wally perched on his shoulder, filled Dean with further hope that they could meet any challenge they faced in the future, even a return of Malak. Dean hadn't told anyone about that, about his dreams, but he would, in time. For now they deserved what vacation they could manage to wrangle, and Dean intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Everyone had already noticed Sasha's added jewelry, which actually first came up when Sam noticed the ring missing from _Dean_. Of course Sam also noticed the missing pendant, something Dean could admit he felt naked without, but somehow Dean had managed to deflect that topic for now. As for reactions to Sasha wearing Dean's ring on such a telling finger, Sasha, amazing guy that he was, had simply shrugged, grinning secretively when several sets of eyes turned to him.

"Take a break, Dean. You've been working all morning," Sasha said as he slid onto a stool, Wally hopping off and going over to the little bowl of nuts Dean had set out to snack on while he worked.

Dean obligingly threw down his list of inventory and grabbed up a couple glasses. "S'ppose so. Guess I've been a little buzzed. All this energy to burn off, ya know? Soda?" he offered, lifting the glass he had grabbed for Sasha.

"Thanks, yeah. And extra energy, I…definitely get that," Sasha licked his lips coyly. With how much the incubus had gotten to feed last night, he was practically glowing.

"Hey, two more, will ya, Dean?" Sam called from his table, heading to the bar and stretching over his head after having sat in front of his laptop for so long, "Sarah and I are parched. Think we might be able to call it quits though. No horrible apocalypse aftermath that we can see, except all the cleanup from riots and panicked people during the blackout. We might want to volunteering to help with some of that somewhere before we start up any hunts."

Dean nodded, handing Sasha his soda, taking a quick sip from his own, and then grabbing up two more glasses for Sam and Sarah. "Fine by me. Just so long as it's at least a week from now, if not more. I plan to be lazy for a few days before we get back into it. We should watch a movie tonight maybe, something classic like a Mel Brooks flick."

"I like that plan," Sasha smiled.

Sam nodded too, glancing back for a moment at Sarah still working at their table like he couldn't help _looking_ at her. Dean really wanted to take advantage of the added teasing license in that, but then he'd only be giving Sam an opening to do the same.

"Are your powers still sort of…fizzled?" Sasha asked Sam, a serious question, but Sasha was smirking along with Dean as they watched Sam watch Sarah.

Snapping back to himself, Sam returned his attention to them. "Uhh…yeah. I can still use them, but…it's like they're low-powered or something. Guess that makes sense. I basically get them from Malak, kind of, so without him around they're not as strong. Still enough to be useful. Maybe I can work the mental muscle and get them back again. Frankly, I kind of don't mind them being a little weaker. It was getting annoying being able to hear everyone's thoughts, sense everything, sometimes even when I wasn't trying."

"Wait. So you can't get in my head anymore?" Dean asked, passing over the sodas for Sam to take back to his table.

Sam smiled, his cheeks broken by dimples. "I can pick up enough if you try _lying_ to me, if that's what you're asking. But no deep dark secrets. Thank _god_. Being in your head, Dean, even only a couple of times was more than I ever needed," he made an over-exaggerated face of disgust.

Seeing as how it was very much warranted now, Dean reached over the bar counter and smacked Sam upside the head. "Whatever, dude, you love me and you know it. Now go back over to your _fiancé_ already and shut yer trap. She looks all lonely over there without you," Dean batted his eyelids dramatically.

Always quick with a comeback, Sam slid from the stool he had claimed, picked up the filled glasses for him and Sarah, and moved slowly away, backing up at first so he could still face Dean when he said, "Look who's talking," with a pointed wink at Sasha.

Damn kid. Dean loved him with a vengeance.

Taking a much appreciated break with Sasha, Dean drank down his soda while they talked, mostly about the people hanging around the Roadhouse. Dean knew the Trickster wouldn't stay forever, and frankly that was just fine, but he had a sneaky suspicion that Ula was settling in for the long haul. Ellen certainly wasn't complaining about the extra help.

"I was going to fix a window upstairs," Sasha said after awhile, his own drink long finished, "Got its frame busted one of the times we were preparing for battle. Figured I'd…lose my shirt maybe and get all sweaty and dirty up there if you want to drop by in a bit."

Yep, life was pretty damn good for Dean Winchester. "I'll think about it," he teased, grinning crookedly but with a glint in his eyes that spoke of how much he liked the sound of that idea. Dean was considering adding to the tease, maybe offering a suggestion of other secluded places in the Roadhouse that might need 'tending to', but the eruption of Ula storming out of the bar with the Trickster trailing after her interrupted Dean's thought process.

The sight had Dean and Sasha sharing a laugh, watching Ula, red-faced, storm away from the demi-god, grumbling about him not letting her do anything herself, while the Trickster was trying to seem nonchalant and still win her over. This was definitely a brave new world Dean was in, one so different from the one he had been living a year ago. He liked this life better, with all the crazy creatures included.

Especially one in particular.

As Sasha headed off upstairs, Wally shuffling after him, the redhead gave Dean a final heated look to remind Dean that he would be sweaty and dirty and _waiting_ for whenever Dean managed to get away. Dean couldn't help thinking right then that of all the things that had changed over the past year, he had changed the most, him, _Dean_. And that was just fine.

Before, Dean had hated so many otherworldly things that he never thought there would come a time or place when someone would be able to change his mind. Maybe a part of him still hated things like that. But then he thought of Ula—not Sasha, the obvious choice, but _Ula_—one simple part to this amazing puzzle that had become Dean's life.

Dean hated shapeshifters. No, Dean _really_ hated shapeshifters.

Except for when he didn't.

-----

THE END

-----

A/N: *sniffle* I really don't know what else to say except another thank you. I have more planned for Sasha and the gang, I promise, but I will be taking a long break to handle original work and figure some things out. I will return though, with a trip to the fae plane, and maybe one day you'll get to meet that redhead with green eyes, and the other progeny born of Mary's Fertility touch. :-) Til then, my dears, see you next ficcie.

Oh, and since I only got the two drabble entries, both will get the prize. :-) Thanks Lisa and Sarah! The drabbles were:

Lisa:

The four proud parents stood shoulder to shoulder watching the sun glint off the blond head and the red head as the two leaned together conspiratorially and then melted into a passionate, loving embrace.

One couple smiled down at their son, happy in the knowledge that he had found a soul mate who would cherish and appreciate his loyalty, compassion and otherness.

The other couple smiled, knowing that their son had found a soul mate who would provide the unconditional support and love that would create the home he had always wanted.

The four were content in their sons' happiness.

-----

And Sarah:

Sarah came in intending to announce her newest discovery, but instead smiled silently at seeing Sam sleeping on the couch, their three-year-old son sprawled out over his chest. One of Sam's arms was thrown over Connor in his sleep. The morning sun was filtering through the blinds and casting gentle beams of light upon the pair, illuminating them and the area around them like a soft spotlight from heaven.

It was a perfect moment.

Sarah's hand reached to stroke her husband's hair softly, and as she kneeled, the other came to rest on her lower belly.

She'd tell him later.

-----

Crimson


	101. ARC 13: Progeny, PART 1: First Meeting

Incubus, Arc 13: Progeny, Part 1: The First Meeting

-----

It had been almost five months since they saved the world. Sasha's birthday was nearing. So was Dean and Sasha's anniversary. They weren't exactly sure what date to consider for the honor—their first kiss, when they decided to start slow, when they first made love, when they first said I love you—so Dean chose Sasha's birthday to commemorate both the incubus' life and their life together. Easier to remember that way.

A year. It had only been a year. Over a year since they had met, but only a year that they had been together. So much had happened in that year. Seven extra years happened for Dean. It was a lifetime, but so short when he actually thought about it. A year. Just a year. And they were practically married. Then again so were Sam and Sarah.

Ah Sammy. He still hadn't gotten around to getting Sarah a proper ring. A little bit of tied white string was wrapped around her finger where a ring should be. _Would_ be. Sam hadn't found the right one yet, he kept saying. Not that that had stopped the girls from starting on _plans_. Dean just hoped he wouldn't have to wear a suit. He got that enough on the job.

Sasha kept dropping hints that Shiarra was expecting _them_ to have a promising ceremony too once Dean was finally ready to become an incubus for good.

About that. Yeah. Dean was still working on that. He knew what he wanted—he wanted Sasha. And he had accepted some time ago that he wanted Sasha forever. That didn't even scare him all that much anymore, but being initiated, well, that would really be it. The end of Dean as he was. It had been easy to go along with that when the Trickster forced being an incubus on him, but now that he could choose it made him want to enjoy his humanity just a little bit longer. Sasha was a saint for understanding.

The world had a lot of rebuilding to do after the darkness and chaos Malak put it through. Dean and the others hadn't really known how bad it was until they were able to go out into it and see the damage. There was no doubt that a lot of people died while they were fighting the brunt of the war at the Roadhouse, but a lot more would have died if they hadn't stopped Malak when they did. Now they had to help rebuild.

They had started in the fae plane, a break, really, more than rebuilding. When they got back it was clear that stopping the apocalypse didn't mean their lives as hunters were over. And for once Dean was really okay with that. He had no regrets. He loved his life. He saved lives, and he did it with the people he loved most at his side.

Right now he, Sasha, and Sam were finishing up a hunt in Clinton, about two and a half hours southeast of the Roadhouse. The little towns were actually doing better than the cities. They were used to dealing with less, unlike city folk who had all panicked when the sun disappeared and the electricity went, trying to escape in cars that suddenly stopped working halfway down the highway. Ghosts and creature-features were having a hay-day with it all, picking off people more easily because they were frazzled and exhausted trying to piece their lives back together.

That's where the trio came in. Clinton had less than 10,000 people but Dean, Sam, and Sasha had been chasing after a gang of revenants from Kansas City for miles, leaving the whole damn state of Missouri, and Kansas no doubt, terrified that the zombie apocalypse had come to finish off the regular one.

Revenants were not zombies, more like dead bodies possessed by evil spirits, often even possessed by demons bent on terrorizing humans with the dead body of a loved one.

Dean hated revenants.

There were still five of them left. The trio had been chasing them down since the night before, and it was already nearing sunset. Dean was exhausted. And hungry. And really fucking horny. He just wanted to get back to the Roadhouse, grab a burger, and drag his incubus upstairs for a few rounds before falling into a deep slumber. Nothing sounded better.

"Dean! Left!"

Dean whipped around, shotgun ready to fire the moment he turned to his left as Sammy's voice had instructed him. Headshots wouldn't always kill a revenant—beheading then salting and burning was better—but a few good shots usually slowed the bastards down. Dean hit one in the back of the leg, a disrupting enough shot to make it stumble.

As Dean was advancing on the creature, Sasha swooped down on top of it from out of the sky, black wings spread out behind him like a cloak, white skin gleaming in the dimming light, red hair wild, claws and fangs deadly sharp. Damn that sight just did something to Dean every time.

While Sasha kept the revenant on the ground, Dean rushed up with a blade brandished, beheading the thing in moments. Sasha shifted back to human, back to T-shirt and jean-clad with his black leather jacket. He had salt and matches, more than willing to stay back and send that revenant packing. Looking up at Dean with a grin and a wink, it was clear he had things covered. Dean never could resist grinning back when Sasha looked at him like that, feeling warmth spread throughout his chest.

Okay. Four to go. Dean leapt back up, sprinting ahead to catch up to Sam. Even after five months, Sam's powers hadn't come back as strongly. He still had them, all of them, but to a minimal extent. Sam could send a demon flying across the room and force it out of a host with barely any effort, but he wasn't so powerful anymore that he could do that to twenty all at once. He was still so strong, so agile, he still had the melting power, and he could still send messages right to Dean's brain. Sam swore he couldn't read minds as easily anymore though, only if he really concentrated, but Dean wondered sometimes.

They figured the depowering had to be because Malak was no longer feeding directly into Sam, the source of Sam's power to begin with, but that didn't mean the powers completely went away. They were a part of Sam. Forever.

And they really came in handy.

"Demon!" Sam shouted back at Dean as Dean came up behind him, gesturing to the next revenant nearest them. Some of the revenants had been vengeful spirits, but a few of them were demons, and that required a different kind of cleansing.

Sam waited until he was close enough, then he shot out an arm and the demon jerked forward into the ground as if it had been pushed. A brief minute of concentration was all it would take for Sam to banish the demon, leaving only a rotting body.

Dean surged onward, leaving Sam to his work. There were still three left and they had lost sight of them now. The town wasn't all that big, but running through the streets was a real pain. Half the town seemed to be deserted, the other half staying inside, having already dealt with otherworldly things, probably, and not in the mood to deal with any more.

It was nice, in a way, not having to hide as much as they once would have, not having to pretend they were something other than hunters. It still came in handy to have aliases—the majority of the world would never stop trying to deny that something unexplainable had happened, even when the sun was blotted out—but brandishing a gun in the middle of a town square, not having to worry that a civilian was going to freak, was a nice change.

The plus side with these creatures was that they almost always set off an EMF meter. Dean had one out in seconds, rushing alongside buildings, trying to see if he could get a reading on where the last three had gone. So far nothing.

A thud alerted Dean that something had dropped down behind him. He spun, but saw the welcome sight of Sasha, mid-morph from incubus to human, walking toward him. "Three left?" Sasha asked.

Dean nodded. "Lost 'em. Can't have gotten too far. Stay with me til Sam catches up. Don't want them ganging up on us or catching us by surprise."

Frankly, Dean would have preferred dealing with plain old demons, but it seemed there weren't too many of those around now, only a few stragglers that hadn't been there for the battle, ducking into dead bodies because they were afraid—_afraid_—hunters would find them. Hiding among revenants was not winning demons any points in Dean's book.

They moved quickly, waving the EMF meter at every building they passed. It was barely blipping, but the revenants had to be close. Sasha kept on guard, watching Dean's back while Dean watched the readings. The familiar sound of Sam's feet on the pavement caught up to them just as the needle jumped. Dean looked at Sasha and then at his brother, nodding his head toward an antique shop before them.

Sam went ahead of Dean, taking point, since he was still fairly good at sensing demonic and otherworldly presences. Even though it was closing time and the lights were all off inside the building, the door was unlocked, busted, actually, they saw when Sam opened the door for them to go inside. Jackpot.

Remaining quiet and moving stealthily, Dean gestured Sam on straight ahead to the back of the shop while he and Sasha split to scan either side of the front. It was a creepy little place in the dark, filled with crammed in pieces of junk like an old record player and one of those standing globes that still listed Russia and other countries as the U.S.S.R. Dean did spot an old guitar that might be worth checking out, but mostly there was just knick-knacky stuff for old ladies to fill their houses with. And, as far as he could tell, there were no revenants.

"Dean!"

Shit. _Sasha_.

Pushing through a stack of old magazines, Dean hurdled the things blocking his way and rushed for the cashier desk where he had heard Sasha call for him. At first he couldn't see anything, no sign of the incubus at all, but the rustling sounds of struggle made it clear enough what had happened.

Dean moved quickly around the desk, shotgun out again, ready to take a revenant's head off. Only when he finally found where Sasha had been jumped, Sasha was on the floor with the revenant on top of him. Dean couldn't get a clear shot like that. Sasha should have been able to overpower the thing easily, but it had its nasty mouth latched onto Sasha's neck like it was trying to take a bite out of him.

Tossing his shotgun onto the desk, Dean reached down and grabbed the ugly-ass creature around the waist, hoisting it off of Sasha. These things might not be true zombies, but damn did they smell, all rotted flesh and open wounds. Dean practically threw up his lack of recent meals all down the revenant's back.

Instead, he managed to toss the thing up against the wall and hold it in place, while Sasha scrambled to his feet, grabbed Dean's blade, and hacked right into the wall through the revenant's neck. Yet another pleasant decapitation. They would have to haul this one outside and burn it after they took care of the others. For now Dean let body and head fall to a heap on the floor.

"Gross," Dean wiped some black corpse goo from his fingers onto his jeans, "You okay?" he looked over at Sasha.

The incubus had a look of distaste on his face as he scratched at the wet teeth marks on his neck. "Urg…I think so. Might have zombie-sex dreams for a week though," he grimaced.

Dean had to laugh at that. "Good thing this ain't the movies or _I'd_ be the one having sex with a zombie tonight," Dean snickered, wrinkling his nose at the marks on Sasha's neck that looked like something had been gnawing on him, which something _was_.

In the movies, getting bit by a zombie almost always meant you were next in line to become one. Dean grinned to himself as he remembered having a zombie conversation with Sasha after they watched "Slither" the first time, both promising they would do the other in if something like that ever happened. It was a good thing that the creatures that were most like zombies in the real world didn't actually work that way.

Of course, in response to the comment, Sasha made a face. Then he smirked and moved quickly into Dean's body with a ravenous expression, snapping his teeth.

"I think I'd end up looking for your brains in the wrong place," he snarked.

"Ooo, baby," Dean joked along with him, awaiting the stolen kiss that was about to happen, and thinking that they had to be two of the only people in the world right now who could kiss beside a decapitated body and think nothing of it.

On the way to Dean's lips, Sasha suddenly froze. "Is it…too quiet in here to you?" he asked.

Dean's eyes immediately shot wide. "_Sam_!" Turning without thought, Dean swiped his shotgun from off the counter and sprinted straight for the back where Sam had gone. Even if Sam had found nothing it should _not_ be this quiet.

He slowed as he neared the back wall, listening for signs of where Sam might be. Sasha was right behind him. At first there was nothing, not even creaks in the foundation as night fell, but eventually Dean began to hear the low murmur of voices. Slowly, quietly, he headed in the direction of those soft tones, eventually coming upon a closed door in the far corner of the shop. He could hear them, the last two revenants. He knew immediately that they weren't just angry spirits but more demons instead.

And they had Sam. Dean could hear them taunting him.

"…matter, huh? Not strong enough…finish…both of us?"

The other one laughed. "Getting…flabby. Might as…just go…kill him now."

Dean looked back at Sasha. The incubus' hearing was sharper than a human's; he didn't need to press his ear to the door like Dean. Sasha still had the blade. He nodded.

Without pausing to consider other options, Dean reared back and kicked the door practically off its hinges, rushing right in and immediately spotting Sam being straddled by one of those bastards on top of a desk, the other one standing nearby.

Both revenants pulled back ready for a fight, but Dean was too fast for the one nearest him. He fired at it point-blank in the chest and it toppled as Sasha rushed forward to spout the words of exorcism. Then Dean turned to the other one, but Sam was already working his mojo, no longer outnumbered. The revenant was holding its rotted hands to its head, as if to block words Sam wasn't even saying. Sam was just staring at it, his eyes gone yellow. Sam wasn't strong enough for his eyes to flash white anymore.

In moments black smoke was pouring from the mouths of both revenants, leaving only corpses. Dean breathed for the first time since he realized Sam was out of sight, lowering his shotgun and going over to Sam to slap a hand to his brother's shoulder. "You okay, man?" he asked, amazed sometimes that he could look at his brother, his brother with eyes like the bastard that had haunted their family for years, with nothing but love and encouragement.

Sam was nothing like a demon. His eyes flickered back to hazel when he turned to look at Dean. "Yeah, I…I'm okay. I keep forgetting…I'm not as strong anymore. They cornered me. I'm sorry, Dean, I should have been paying more attention." That little crease of frustration formed between Sam's brows. Dean really hated when Sam got that defeatist look on his face.

"Oh yeah, such a pain you can only kick ass one demon at a time now. I feel so superior with my lack of any super powers at all," Dean spat sarcasm, smirking all the while, "Get over yourself," he smacked Sam's shoulder a little harder, "So you gotta get used to being a little less Super Freak. That's why it sucks for us to be on hiatus for so long. We've been busy with so much other stuff we haven't had a real good normal hunt til now. We're all out of shape. Tell ya what. I'll buy you a beer on the way home."

There was a time when Dean thought Sam had outgrown him, and all the ways he tried so hard to make life lighter and filled with humor, but when Dean looked at his brother now and saw how Sam's dimples creased his cheeks, he knew Sam could never outgrow him for long.

Sasha came up, wiping his brow and scratching again at his revenant bite marks. He was all smiles, all brilliant white teeth and shining blue eyes like they had just had a blast.

"I kinda had fun," he said, not trying to hide his mirth, "Like it used to be, you know, just the three of us kicking some monster ass. Without the entire fate of the world resting on it. It was…fun." He shrugged, his smile quirking one side of his mouth so adorably that Dean kind of wanted to kiss him right then.

Without the fate of the world at stake Dean supposed that actually _had_ been kind of fun. He couldn't help grinning at his incubus, unable to deny that he agreed, and then he passed his gaze over to Sam, who, despite being a little out of breath, had the shadows of a smirk forming too. "Yeah, we're hopeless. Guess there's no denying we're hunters for life now," Dean joked, reaching for Sam's hand this time to help his brother off the desk.

Sam accepted the help gladly. "Family business," Sam said, matter-of-factly, and for the first time as if that wasn't the worst thing in the world. He said it with pride, content with that fact, because now their family was bigger. "Let's go home, though, huh? I'm starving," Sam cracked his neck.

"I hear that," Dean agreed.

At risk of other revenants possessing the bodies left behind, they had to carry those corpses out and salt and burn them still. But somehow the weight in Dean's arms felt light as he scooped up a body. This was a job well done. Easy. Painless. No casualties. It was the way Dean liked his hunts to go. And he had to agree with Sasha that he really liked it just being him, his brother, and his lover, like it used to be so long ago now.

Dean could almost forget that Hell or the Apocalypse ever happened.

It was a new world now, new enough that when townspeople stuck their heads out of their homes and businesses to see what the strange men were doing to decayed corpses, the hunters didn't have to lie. Not everyone wanted to believe that unearthly things had happened all those months ago, but enough of them did, enough of them had seen strange things in the darkness without a sun, and a few people even came over to help them stack the bodies. They burned a large pyre of salt and gasoline and fire right in the middle of town.

Hunters no longer had a thankless job, but there wasn't praise and songs, either, just nods of understanding and a few words spoken, before the boys were back in the Impala headed for the Roadhouse.

Dean drove, Sam beside him, while Sasha sat in the back and patched up his neck. Just a little bandaging, nothing serious. Dean was going to be dropping zombie comments for days though.

It was late enough, and they were tired and hungry enough, that once they made it through Kansas City they were about ready to pull over and crash. Instead they got off the highway at a bar a few towns before Rushville and the Roadhouse so they could get a bite and some beer. They called ahead to let the crew back home know they were okay.

"I might fall asleep in my burger," Sasha blinked his eyes hard and stretched as he folded himself out of the car. There was a lazy grin on his face though and Dean couldn't resist grabbing for a handful of Sasha's black leather jacket and tugging him in for a quick kiss, right there in the parking lot. It was a brave new world for Dean too, he figured.

"Good," he growled against Sasha's lips before smacking the incubus' chest and sauntering away, "More burger for me then."

Sasha snorted. "Jerk," he said.

"Hey. Don't steal my lines, man," Sam came up beside Sasha and bucked him in the side.

Brave new world indeed, strange and beautiful and everything Dean wanted. He couldn't have been happier.

Getting ahead of his boys to grab the door, Dean noticed a sign out front. He tapped it with his finger. "Hey, look at that. Live music tonight, boys. Seems we picked the right place to party."

"Oh god, it better not be bad metal covers again," Sam groaned, "Manfred's band was more than enough of that for me in a lifetime, thank you."

"Well, it sure doesn't sound bad from here," Sasha said, craning his ear as they opened the door and headed inside, hearing the music wafting out to them. Dean didn't know the song playing, but it sounded pretty good, guitar and bass and drums. At least it wasn't some local with an acoustic and no tone.

"Let's get a table," Sasha led them away from the bar and booths, being such a music fan and no doubt wanting a closer seat to enjoy the band. Dean and Sam followed. The place was pretty rocking but not too packed, and the band sounded better and better the further in they went. Finally, they snatched up a small table and waved over a smiling waitress.

"I hope the kitchen isn't closed," Sam said.

"Not at a place like this," Dean assured him. He grinned over at the waitress as she came up, turning on the charm by instinct. "Hey, sweetheart, we can still get a few burgers and fries, right? And a round of beers. Whatever's best on tap."

The waitress, with a tag that said 'Shirley' and a head full of curls that made Dean think of the child actress, smiled wider and nodded as she jotted down the order. She was a cute thing and obviously liked having a table full of young good looking men. Sometimes Dean almost felt bad that he wasn't still available.

Until he caught a glimpse of the redhead across from him and felt a familiar foot hook around his ankle discreetly.

A burger was just what Dean needed. A couple beers. Good music. The band had switched to a Breaking Benjamin song Dean had learned to recognize from Sasha, "So Cold". The kid singing was doing one hell of a job on it too. Looked real young. There was a chick with hair as red as Sasha's on bass doing backup vocals, and another young guy on drums.

"These guys are pretty awesome," Dean tugged on Sasha's foot after the waitress had left, "After your heart, babe, with these songs. Cute chick on bass too." Dean glanced at his companions and noticed that both of them were already staring at said hot redhead with perplexed expressions. "What?" he said.

Sasha snapped out of his scrutiny first, looking over at Sam. "You…getting the same feeling?" he asked.

Sam just nodded, a little amazed. "Yeah." He smiled and looked at Dean. "She's a succubus. I didn't feel it right away, but then I'm not as strong as I used to be."

"And females are harder for me to sense, remember?" Sasha added, "But there's no doubt in my mind now."

They hadn't run across another of Sasha's kind since they were in the fae plane. Dean looked back at the performing band to check out the girl. She was hot alright, and damn talented. He couldn't help grinning to himself as he noted her hair color again. "Should have guessed right off with that 'dye job' like yours," he said to Sasha, "Didn't see many redheads in the sex demon camp, or over in the fae world. Here I was thinking you were special."

Sasha threw his head back in a laugh. "I think you know I'm still one of a kind. But you better watch it," he kicked at Dean's ankles.

_If you find your family, don't you cry  
In this land of make-believe, dead and dry_

_You're so cold, but you feel alive  
Lay your hands on me one last time_

_Show me how it ends…_

"You know her?" Dean had to ask. There weren't many sex demons, really only the amount that could fit in a single town. Of course Sasha had been out of his world for many years.

The incubus shook his head, admiring the succubus. "No. We can sense each other faintly, but not age, so there's no way to know if she's as young as me or if she's ancient. I'd guess younger by her look and career choice, but that doesn't stop some succubae from staying in the world. Damn, you see how tight those leather pants are she's wearing?" he whistled.

Now, Dean had to chuckle at that. "But the boys are just human, huh? Lucky them. So, guys," Dean shifted in his seat, ready to change the subject as they waited for their first round of beers and food, "What's our plan after this? Rest up tonight and tomorrow, sure, but we got any leads on more hunts?"

"Well, Bobby's been gathering intel from home, he might have a few new things for us," Sam said, "And we have feelers all over the states now with all the hunter contacts we made, and all the non-humans. Smartest thing might be to just work our way in an outward radius from the Roadhouse, making sure things are okay. There are hunters all over the place checking on things, and we actually have a system now, a home base, and the hunters trust each other. There could be a whole new way of doing our job if we play this right."

"What we need is secondary Roadhouses on opposite coasts," Sasha leaned over the table, excited like a kid making plans in the backyard, "A real network of all the hunters, you know? Right now would be the perfect time to try and get something like that together. Everyone's in each other's good graces, people are more willing to believe. That's what we should work on. We can do hunts as they come up, but we should think big here. Oh, I love this song." Sasha closed his eyes suddenly and smiled.

The band had moved to a duet, focusing more on the chick for lead vocals. She had some damn fine pipes too. Low, sultry. Dean definitely felt the succubus vibe with the way she smiled around her microphone.

_Along your way  
Abandon my faith  
In being alone always  
It's what you undo  
(You make your presence known)  
And why I'm unglued_

The waitress came over with their beers, a local brew Dean didn't recognize but liked the taste of. His stomach was so empty that the first sip went down cold with a warming bliss that settled in his throat. "I like the way you're thinking," Dean said to Sasha, "But it's going to be a pain to put it all together. I mean, we've been communicating pretty good these past few months with everyone, but being a whole organization about it would be pretty big. You really think we can handle something like that?"

"Dean," Sam practically laughed into his beer, "You led an army of humans, sex demons, fae, and angels against Hell and the Devil himself. Not a one of those hunters would say no to you if you said you had a plan to make this easier on all of us. And if we're all working together…shit, we could really pull it off. It'd be like…hunters gone corporate," he choked down another gulp.

Sasha and Dean laughed around their beers too. "You think that would take the fun out of it?" Dean smacked his brother's shoulder. The last thing he would ever want is to be a suit, running things without getting his hands dirty. He liked being out in the field. But hunters with a plan, united, it was a novel idea.

The redhead on bass went right into another song leading the vocals, something Dean had heard on the radio when Sam was manning the Impala's stereo.

_I got a lot to say to you  
Yeah, I got a lot to say  
I noticed your eyes are always glued to me  
Keeping them here  
And it makes no sense at all_

Dean would swear her eyes landed right on their table. She smiled. She must have sensed Sasha, Dean figured, a kindred sex demon.

"Maybe I'm just overtired, baby," Dean grinned at his incubus, and then over at Sam as he raised his glass, "But I think going corporate, as long as I still get to have some fun, sounds like one hell of an idea."

They finished off their first beers quick, enjoyed a second with their burgers that were absolutely awesome, being from a small town bar and all, and then they went ahead and ordered round three. Well, Sam and Sasha got round three; Dean had a twenty minute drive left ahead of him once they were done here.

The kid on guitar was singing again. They liked their modern covers, this young band, but they were consistently good, and Dean had liked all of the songs so far, so he didn't mind. He still liked his classics, but he had at least a little appreciation for newer stuff these days too thanks to Sasha. Once in a while, anyway.

_What if I wanted to break  
Laugh it all off in your face  
What would you do?_

_What if I fell to the floor  
Couldn't take all this anymore  
What would you do, do, do?_

_Come break me down…_

They sat and chatted awhile longer until the band announced they were taking a break. Sam suggested they head out now, since he was practically falling asleep in his beer, but Sasha begged for them to stay just a little longer, hear a few more songs since he liked the band, and then they could leave. Dean was fine with that and Sam gave in pretty quickly too. The band would only be breaking for fifteen minutes or so; they could stick around for a half hour to let their burgers digest.

"It's not going to be like that. We're shooting for simple. We're hunters," Sam was defending his masculinity against the accusation that the girls were planning a traditional wedding behind his back.

"Yeah, but unlike anyone else in our crazy family, you're going to have a father-in-law to worry about, remember?" Dean reminded him, "I don't know if we can pull off a 21-gun hunter salute outside the Roadhouse with Mr. Blake, curator of snobby art supreme, around. You discuss that part with Sarah yet?"

Sam went a little green around the edges at that comment and took a long gulp of his beer. "With everything's that's happened, Sarah says she wants to tell him the truth before the wedding. She really hated it when we went to tell him we were getting married and she had to lie about everything. He had a hard time during the blackout, had a lot of his business wrecked, you know? He asked her to stick around and help put things back together, but she didn't want to leave the hunter cleanup. It's all a big mess. I don't know what we're going to do."

Dean let out a whistle. "That's why I don't see the point of it all sometimes. Why can't people just be together without all the drama?"

"Dean," Sasha shook his head, "There doesn't have to be drama. It's a matter of compromise. Sarah will figure out how to deal with her father in her own time," he turned to Sam, "And you two will have a simple, awesome wedding however you want it, no problem. You haven't even set a date yet. You don't need to stress. Wait til you two have kids. Then you can stress," he chuckled.

Sam's face went about two shades greener. "Kids," he huffed a nervous laugh, "Don't get ahead of me, Sash. I mean…I know this is what I want. I want Sarah. I want this life. And I don't want to wait around anymore, second-guessing myself. I waited too long to find her again as it was. Or…have her find me," he glanced down at the tabletop, "But thinking kids, it…just makes me think of _our_ life growing up, ya know?"

Now it was Dean's turn to frown. "Hey," he nudged his brother's shoulder, "Nothing says you need to be like Dad just coz you're choosing this life. _Dad_ didn't want to be like Dad. Besides, we're different, in totally different situations. We're choosing this life, not using it as a means to an end. Why can't we have the picket fence and the shotgun, huh? Raise our kids to know this life, but so they can make up their own minds about what they want to do. You'd be a great dad, Sammy."

"Gee, Dean," Sasha leaned over the table with a mischievous grin, "That speech almost sounded like you're admitting _you_ want kids some day."

Damn incubus. "Don't get ahead me either, baby," Dean pointed a playful finger.

"Hey. Enjoying the show?"

An unexpected deep voice sounded from over Dean's shoulder, and a moment later a fresh mug of beer was set in front of Sam. It was the drummer from the band, moving passed their table. He turned a moment, taking a few steps to walk backwards, and smiled at Sam.

Seeing the drummer up close, Dean had a strange sense of déjà vu, like he had seen this kid somewhere before, seen that smile. He was tall, as tall as Sam, and had longer floppy hair too in light brown with vibrant, dark eyes. He was kind of hot, Dean could admit, and that just made this that much funnier.

"Dude," Dean barked when the drummer moved on, returning to the stage to join his bandmates, "That guy was totally hitting on you." Feeling a strong sense of irony at the situation, Dean couldn't help busting out laughing. Sasha didn't take long to join him.

Sam looked rightly shocked, peering over his shoulder to stare after the drummer then turning back to his new beer. To Sam's credit, he managed a smile and even cocked a confident eyebrow, not ruffled at all. "Hey, who am I to say no to free beer," Sam shrugged, raising his glass to take a drink.

Sasha clapped his hands together at that and laughed again.

Yeah, this was a good night, Dean thought. The band was going to start again, they would listen to a few more songs, then, no doubt disappointing Mr. Drummer, they would head on home for a good night's rest.

Dean's attention suddenly focused on the bottom of Sam's mug as his brother took a long drink. A napkin was stuck to the glass, and as the condensation melted through the thin material, Dean could make out writing bleeding into visibility. "Uhh…Sammy? I think he left you his number too," Dean snickered.

It seemed Sam had also noticed the napkin, because he slowly brought the mug down, brow furrowed, and tugged the napkin free. He didn't crack a grin or throw out some compensating comment though. He actually looked a little spooked.

"What is it?" Dean prompted.

Sam turned the napkin around for Dean and Sasha to see. Written plainly was the message, 'FIVE MINUTES'.

Normally, Dean would have just made a joke about Sam being propositioned, and that drummer boy was obviously looking for a romp backstage, but something felt off. Something felt much more serious about all this, especially with the way Sam looked so scared.

"They must have been blocking me somehow," Sam said, as if to himself, "But I can feel them now." His eyes drifted over to the stage where the band was getting ready to start their next set. He wasn't looking at the succubus. He was looking at the drummer. And the lead guitarist who barely looked old enough to be in a bar. "They're not human either," he said.

At that exact moment both of the boys in the band looked up to stare at their table, grinning. Dean shivered. "Okay. That was creepy."

"Wait, what do you mean they're not human?" Sasha hissed across the table, "What are you sensing from them?"

Sam was gripping the napkin tight as he stared at the stage. "I don't know," he said in an equally hushed voice, "There's power there. Familiar. But…I don't know what it is. What…_they_ are. I'm only sensing them now because they want me to. Nothing's ever been able to block me before, not since the stronger demons and Malak."

That was a disturbing thought. "Well…you are a little de-mojoed lately, right?" Dean tried, "Maybe it's just that."

"I don't think so," Sam shook his head.

"What does 'five minutes' mean?" Sasha leaned further over the table, "Do you think they're planning something? Are they trying to taunt us?"

"Calm down," Dean reached over to touch Sasha's arm, "We don't know anything. They're…smiling. Maybe it's a friendly warning. Maybe they're good non-humans wanting to help some hunters with a possible case."

"That's wishful thinking," Sasha grumbled.

"Don't be a pessimist."

"_Guys_," Sam broke in. His brow was tight, those puppy eyes out in full force with worry and reprimand. "We can't do anything right now anyway. They're on stage. We'll just have to wait it out. See what happens in…five minutes."

There Sam went, being the voice of reason like always. Dean unconsciously checked his watch. He so wasn't in the mood for another hunt to jump out at them, possibly literally. He had figured these kids were just a good cover band, a little alternative and modern, but not too bad, and hey, good for the boys that they had a hot succubus as part of the crew. But now the boys weren't human either?

Five minutes was going to feel like an hour.

Young Mr. Lead Singer introduced the band back for their second round, all smiles, easygoing. They all looked so damn calm. Then they started in with a familiar riff, so familiar that Dean wanted to smile as soon as he heard it, five minute countdown or not. It was a little old school, but Dean still knew to appreciate the genius of the Beatles. The surprise came when the succubus was the one who started in with some hot, jazzy vocals.

_Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly  
He got joo-joo eyeball he one holy roller  
He got hair down to his knee  
Got to be a joker he just do what he please_

If Dean thought she had some pipes before, damn, now that was real singing. Since Dean was paying a little more attention to the band members now, he took some closer inventory.

The drummer Dean had got a pretty good look at when the guy walked passed and gave Sam that beer. Tall, light brown hair, dark eyes, good-looking and well-built. Typical college kid with a widely dimpled smile despite his laidback disposition. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt with a black button down over it. Nothing about him was terribly unique or stood out.

The lead singer was shorter. A lot shorter, as in maybe average height if he was lucky, and definitely less than six feet. He was in great shape though, and had a certain curve to his lips and look about him that was all charm. That's probably why he did most of the talking and introducing of songs. His hair was short, gelled, black. He had the same dark eyes as the drummer, wearing a grey Henley with tight black jeans.

The chick was the interesting one. She looked hardcore, almost like a biker. A really hot biker. Her red hair was short, chin-length, layered and styled in every direction. Her lips were dark red, her eyes heavily lined and shadowed in black. She was wearing all black too, black leather pants, tight black top like a corset, with leather armbands, and a lot of tattoos. Like more than the normal succubus ones. Her neck. Her arms. There was even some kind of design around her left eye. This chick looked like she could mess you up, but damn would you have one helluva time along the way.

_He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football  
He got monkey finger he shoot coca-cola  
He say "I know you, you know me"  
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free _

_  
Come together right now over me_

"Something's coming," Sam whispered, not as a warning but as fact. Sam could feel it.

"Then it can't be them. They're already here," Sasha said.

"They're trying to warn us," Dean stared at the succubus, the lead guitarist, the drummer.

Sasha, like all of them, was twitching to reach for a weapon. "Warn us of what?"

_Come together right now over me_

They were too far from the stage for Dean to clearly see what color the succubus' eyes were, but as she finished the last word of the verse she was on, her eyes flicked right to him and he somehow saw that they were green. Really, really green.

Five minutes was up.

The explosion came from behind them, toward the front of the bar. It wasn't really an explosion, as in with dynamite or something else manufactured, but an explosion in the suddenness of figures rushing inside, conjuring screams from the patrons. Dean, Sam, and Sasha were on their feet with guns ready in moments, but the band was already ahead of them.

Instruments were discarded for weapons, the most visible being the succubus, who dropped her bass and suddenly had knives. The reality of what was really going on hit Dean before he even had the chance to figure out what was attacking them. The band members were hunters.

The next thing Dean noticed was that they were dealing with vampires. Fucking _vampires_. Which were supposed to be extinct back when they ran into their last two packs of them. And yet here a group was, at least seven of them, rows of teeth showing, eyes glinting like animals, looking for blood. Very specific blood too. _Theirs_.

Dean had assumed whatever was coming must be coming for the band if they knew about it, but there was no doubt that the vampires wanted Dean and his crew instead. They gunned right for them, forcing Dean, Sam, and Sasha to all start firing. The bar was in an instant panic.

The other thing that sucked was that Dean's gun was currently armed with iron. Not so good against vampires. Nothing was good against vampires. The only way to kill a vampire for good was to cut off its head. But since all Dean had was iron, it was going to have to do to bring a few vamps down until they could properly behead them all. They also had to manage all of that without catching any civilians in the crossfire. Awesome.

One vamp fell right away, all three sets of bullets from Sam, Dean, and Sasha's guns striking it at once. Another two fell immediately afterwards thanks to the band rushing to their aid. The guitarist and drummer both had machetes, prepared for this, apparently, aiding each other in taking one vamp down and beheading it properly, while the succubus hurdled a table and criss-crossed her knives like a damn ginsu chef, taking off a vamp's head before it even knew it was being attacked.

They might be kids, but these guys knew what they were doing. Dean almost wished he had time to appreciate the young hunters' work, but there were still at least four vampires left. The damn things weren't even taking advantage of the mass panic of easy meals. They were letting the civilians bee-line right out of the bar, which made the hunters' job both easy and hard. Easy because they only had to worry about themselves, but hard because they really had to fucking worry about themselves.

Dean wanted to be more watchful of Sam and Sasha's backs, but suddenly there was a chick with fangs rushing him and he didn't have enough time to re-aim his gun before she was on top of him. Dean crashed back into the table he had been sitting at with Sam and Sasha, grappling the vampire bitch as the table buckled with their weight.

It didn't make any sense, but she didn't seem to want to bite him. She was trying much harder to get her hands around his neck. These vampires didn't want to kill them; they wanted them knocked out. They had come to this bar to take them somewhere.

Over the din of the room, Dean could hear names being screamed in warning and hopes of aid. He heard the band members calling to each other, names Dean tried to remember. He heard Sammy and Sasha too.

"Dean!"

"Robbie, there!"

"Sasha, behind you!"

"Connor!"

"Janey, _help Dean_!"

Dean could barely focus on all of it, mostly because he was busy trying not to let the bitch with fangs on top of him actually get her hands around his neck like she wanted. But Dean was no super-powered freak like his brother and best friend. He was just human. And vampires are stronger than humans.

Losing his one-on-one battle, Dean managed to place a well-aimed knee into the vampire's hip, tossing her off balance. He rolled, chucked her off, and was about to get up and find his gun when the succubus landed down beside him and took the vampire's head off.

"Do you always suck this much?" She winked at him, her voice low like when she was singing, as she reached out to offer him a hand up.

This chick was something else. "Do you always come to the premature rescue of complete strangers?" Dean shot right back, even though he did take her hand, because hey, he had gotten a little winded landing on a table like that.

The succubus bassist didn't stay to quip further. She produced Dean's gun and pressed it to his chest, grinning a little wider at him before rushing back off into the fight.

Three vampires left. Damn, Dean felt like he had just done this countdown with the revenants. He caught up with Sam and Sasha easy enough, helping them take care of a few vamps. Sasha was the only one still carrying a large enough knife for beheading. It helped that the vampires didn't seem to want to kill them. They didn't seem to want to kill the band members either.

At least not until there was only one left, and in a panic the bastard grabbed up the succubus, tight arm around her throat and one of her own knifes turned toward her stomach. If the blade was iron then that could be a problem for the sex demon.

The bar had cleared out by this point, and with the other vampires dead now, the fighting was over, leaving only silence and one vampire with a hostage.

Dean was busy working out a plan in his head already, noticing the concerned looks on Sam and Sasha's faces for the succubus' sake. The strange thing, however, was that her companions, the boys from the band, didn't look concerned at all. They actually dropped their weapons and started laughing.

"You think this is funny?" the vampire spat. He was clearly the leader of the group, but not much of one. He looked scared, and he should be, considering all of his companions had been dealt with so easily. Dean actually couldn't believe how easy it had been, but then it had been an almost even fight, hunter to vampire.

Sam, Dean, and Sasha were back a ways by some of the headless bodies, but the drummer and guitarist moved forward closer to where their companion was being held captive. They stopped several feet away, still casual, unconcerned.

"I don't care what they told me, what they threatened!" the vamp cried, anxious in the presence of such apathy, "I'll kill her anyway! I'll kill any of you!"

The guitarist kid snorted, looking much shorter when he was standing next to the tall drummer. "Yeah, good luck with that, man," he said.

"You obviously weren't paying much attention during the fight," added the drummer.

The vampire was looking panicked, ready to do something stupid. It made Dean kind of pissed that these kids weren't doing shit to help their friend. "I mean it!" the vampire shouted, backing away with the girl.

The drummer and guitarist just laughed again. "I'm sure you do," the drummer said, "But I'm sorry to tell you, between the three of us…" He even went so far as to put his machete away inside a sheath hidden in his pant leg. "…you grabbed the wrong one."

Dean couldn't possibly have seen it coming. 'It' being the impossible speed that the succubus' leg moved, kicking straight up in a vertical split until the top of her foot struck the vampire in the face and he stumbled back. She freed herself easily from his hold, spinning around in a low kick to knock the vampire's legs out from under him. Then she was down, on top of him, her knives out again like they came from thin air, ready to kill him with one swift movement.

It was really kind of _hot_.

"I only waited to make my move for dramatic effect," she snarked. She wasn't killing him though; she knew to keep him alive. He was the only one left and they needed someone to question so they could figure out what the hell was going on, which at least meant that these kids didn't know everything, even though they obviously knew more than Sam, Dean, and Sasha.

Slowly, waiting to see what would happen and what these young hunters would do, Dean started to move forward first, knowing Sam and Sasha would follow suit. The male band members were already moving closer to the succubus as she got the vampire up onto his feet and backed him toward a wall for better control.

"How much info do we need, Connor?" the succubus asked, staring the vampire down.

The drummer answered. "Not a lot. So the information you give us," he said to the vampire, "better be worth it. Why now? What's important about this time? What's going to happen?" He stepped around the succubus, taking point, and with a subtle raise of _Connor's_ hand the vampire flew back the last few feet into the wall.

TK. Like Sam.

Dean shot his companions wary looks. They needed to play this carefully. Something big was going on and they were totally in the dark. Sam offered back a sharp look, while Sasha merely nodded. They were coming in behind the band now, not sure if they could trust these hunters that weren't quite human.

"I'm just muscle, I don't know anything," the vampire said quickly, pinned by the drummer's power.

"Haven't heard that one before," the guitarist huffed.

"We know this time is important," the drummer, Connor, went on, ignoring his companion, "We know you were trying to take them somewhere, so just be honest with us upfront and this will go a lot easier."

"I only look this nice, sugar," the succubus twirled the knives in her hands like a gunslinger, "Trust me, you really want to be straight with us right off the bat."

Kids or not, the vampire sure looked scared of these guys. "I don't know!" he shouted, struggling against the invisible force holding him to the wall, "We were just supposed to take them back with us. I don't know what the plan was. I don't know what's important about this time."

"You were taking them back?" the succubus said skeptically.

"Forward?" the guitarist jumped in.

"Why?" added Connor.

"I said I don't know!"

Connor's head tilted slightly to the right. "He's not lying. Too bad. You're not really helpful if you don't know anything. Janey," he said as he stepped away, letting the succubus take his place. She twirled her knives again and stepped up to the vamp.

"Hang on," Dean took a few steps forward. He was tired of this, of not having a freaking clue what was going on. "Just who the hell are you? How did you know these vamps were after us? Where were they taking us? And why the hell do you even care? We don't know you."

The three young hunters looked back at Dean, the succubus and guitarist apparently amused, like they were close to laughing. Only Connor remained stoic. He was about to answer Dean when the guitarist suddenly jerked, his dark eyes gone wide. Dean felt Sam's hand grip his arm tightly from behind as both Sam and the guitarist spoke at the same time. "Something's coming."

Dean tried not to focus on how weird that just was and turned to his brother. "I thought the _vampires_ were the something."

Sam shook his head. "This is something else."

"Something else?" Sasha pressed.

"Robbie?" Connor turned to the guitarist.

"Fuck, Connor, I think it's…the water god," Robbie replied.

"Abzu?" Connor looked worried now.

The succubus, Janey, turned away from the vampire long enough to look worried too. "How the fuck did he follow us?"

"I told you that thing wasn't secure, Connor," Robbie spat, looking like he was checking his pockets for a change of weaponry.

"Damn, Connor, he's going to flood this whole valley," Janey said, "We gotta go now."

"_What_ is going on?" Sam demanded from Dean's right. Dean was feeling the exact same way, clueless and pissed about it.

Connor glanced at them but turned back to Janey instead of answering. "Finish him. We'll make a break for the Roadhouse."

The succubus didn't even pause, just raised her knives and slashed off the vamp's head before the bastard even had a chance to protest again. It was a little cold, Dean thought, but then the hunter code didn't leave much room for second chances for monsters trying to kidnap or kill you.

The kid, Robbie, looked ready to bolt as soon as they were able, the succubus too, as all three of them turned to Sam, Dean, and Sasha, with Connor in the lead. Dean couldn't help it; his first instinct was to reach for his gun. These kids had way too many secrets they were keeping from them, and they had only just met.

"We don't have time to explain everything. We knew you'd be here. We knew the vampires were coming. That's why I warned you," Connor looked to Sam, "But something a lot worse than those vampires is headed our way, and if we don't get somewhere secure then we might never get the chance to tell you what's really going on. We have to go now." Connor moved right for Sam, grabbing Sam by the arm and pulling him along out of the bar.

Robbie came up to Sasha and Dean and pressed on their chests to get them to move too. "Come on," the kid said, and damn, did he look young close up, "No time. Trust us. Move, move, move."

If Dean didn't at the very least trust that something was coming, since Sam had said so too, he would have been really annoyed by some kid manhandling him. Instead, he allowed himself to be turned and pushed toward the exit to follow after Sam and Connor. Dean couldn't help noticing that the succubus turned back to look at him and Sasha, offering another wink.

Dean shared a questioning look with his incubus. How did these guys know them anyway?

Before they could reach the door, all of them jolted with a sudden eruption of thunder from outside. It had been clear when they reached the bar earlier, Dean remembered.

"When you said Abzu," Sasha questioned, "You didn't by any chance mean the Babylonian freshwater god who was the lover of _Tiamat_…did you?"

The gathered group turned to Sasha in disbelief. Sasha shrugged. "It's not as if we haven't dealt with gods before. Besides, I like mythology."

Dean snorted. "Show off."

"He isn't going to make this easy for us," Connor said, tugging Sam after him again, and managing quite easily since Sam seemed too stunned to struggle, "Come on." As they rushed out of the bar, Dean couldn't help wondering if maybe drummer Connor had a crush on Sammy after all. "Take care of the vamps, Robbie."

Then Dean had to wonder just what Connor meant by 'take care of the vamps'. They were beheaded, but they should really be burned as well.

On their way out, there was a fuse box in easy access. This place wasn't exactly the most modern, well-kept building. Robbie walked up to the fuse box before they got outside and placed his hand flat on top of it.

"Shame. This was a nice place," he said, as the fuse box sparked at the touch of his palm and a sudden shock of flames started climbing up the wall. Old place like this would go up in minutes. Easy pyre.

This was getting freaky.

Most of the cars in the parking lot were gone when they got outside, the patrons having high-tailed it. Dean did notice an impressive looking chopper parked close to the building. It was silver, no design he had ever seen before. He hadn't noticed it when they arrived, but it was all that was left other than the Impala.

Robbie headed straight for the bike as the first bit of rain broke the now overcast sky and the bar began to burn behind them.

"I'll keep our tail clean as best I can," the kid called, scooping up a helmet and looking a little overeager to take the bike.

Dean suddenly noticed that the succubus was gunning for the driver's side door of _his_ car. "You be careful with my baby, Robbie," she yelled over her shoulder, slipping into Dean's seat like it was no big deal, and leaving Dean to grab the passenger side, and Sam, Sasha, and Connor to get in the back.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean shot at her as he slammed his door.

The succubus tossed him a grin, red painted nails tapping the steering wheel and a glint in her green eyes that Dean would almost swear he had seen before. "You wanna waste time switching seats, or you wanna give me the keys?" she said.

Another crack of thunder sounded around them and a streak of lightening followed. The rain was pouring down around them suddenly. "Give her the keys, Dean," Sam hissed, "Abzu is not a pushover pagan god like the Trickster. He really could flood the valley."

"Alright, alright," Dean grumbled, digging out his keys and chucking them at the succubus. She looked so damn pleased with herself as she started up the engine. "You know where you're going?" he asked her.

Janey cocked her head at him as if that question was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. "I could find the Roadhouse in my sleep, Pops. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

It took Dean a moment to actually register what she had just said. "Did you just call me 'Pops'?" he asked with some indignation. Okay, so in his head he had been calling them 'kids' this whole time, but there was no way he deserved to be called 'Pops'.

"Don't be so sensitive," she shrugged.

They drove off at a fast speed, slicing their way through the rain. Dean hated someone he didn't know being behind the wheel of his baby, but at least she seemed to know how to handle the car. If that bike back there was actually hers then it was no wonder she looked like a biker chick.

"Is Robbie okay back there," Janey asked over her shoulder, "I can't see anything."

"Use your head, Janey," Connor shot back, even as he was turned around, trying to peer out the back. Dean couldn't see anything but a downpour outside his passenger side window.

"I'm _focused_ up here."

"Can we just slow down a minute," Sam said, holding up his hands like he was about ready to lose it. He quickly amended what he had said. "Slow down figuratively. We have time to hear the truth now, so who are you people? What's going on? Why is an ancient pagan god trying to drown us?"

Mentally, Dean added, 'I so second that'.

"And speaking of 'Robbie'" Sasha broke in, leaning over Sam to address Connor, "What exactly is he doing on that bike to…keep our tail clean?"

Connor looked understandably put on the spot and suddenly very uncomfortable being wedged in the backseat with Sam and Sasha, even though he was the one who had put himself in that position. "He's…making sure Abzu doesn't manage to drown us before we've reached the Roadhouse, okay?"

"Like he _managed_ to blow the fuse box to burn down the bar just by touching it?" Dean called back between the seats.

"…yeah."

"How do you know the Roadhouse so well?" Sam went right on, "Were you there for the battle? I don't remember you."

"Uhh…not exactly."

"Oh, just spill it for 'em, Connor," Janey said with a touch of annoyance, blazing down the road almost as if she had been behind the wheel of the Impala before.

"They should be sitting down for this," Connor said.

"We _are_ sitting down," Sasha deadpanned.

Connor blanched. He had seemed so much more like a leader before. "Preferably in a non-moving vehicle. I don't think you're going to like what we have to say. But you can trust us. I promise you that."

"Heard that one before," Dean grumbled, "Will you keep a better eye on the road there, sweetheart," Dean gripped the dashboard, really not caring anymore that this chick knew how to drive since the rain was pouring so hard around them that they couldn't see a foot in front of them.

"I told you, Pops" she glanced at him, "I could find the Roadhouse with my eyes closed."

Dean bristled. "Can you _not_ call me that?" he spat. When he looked back at the succubus, she actually looked a little put out.

"Not now, Janey," Connor called from the back, "Look, just trust me, this will all be easier to explain when we're somewhere safe."

"How safe can we be, even in the Roadhouse, if some god is trying to flood us out?"

"I have a plan," Connor said.

Dean looked into the back again just in time to see Sam making a potentially dangerous decision. He was pulling his gun out of his coat and aiming it right in Connor's face. "Well, I don't think that's good enough," Sam said coldly. The temperature in the car immediately shot up a notch.

"Sammy…?" Dean spoke carefully.

"Not now, Dean," Sam didn't even look at him. His eyes were glued to Connor. "Why do I know you? Why do you…_feel_ familiar? You used telekinesis back there. You're human…but you're not. And what Robbie did before, what he's doing now…just…just…tell me the truth!"

This was about as freaked as Dean had seen Sam in a long time. He did not doubt that Sam would pull the trigger if he didn't like how Connor answered, and that was just crazy. Dean also didn't like how worried Janey was right now, especially since she was the one driving. "Hey!" she called, checking frantically into the back while she drove.

Then, suddenly, before Connor could respond or Sam could do something supremely stupid, they hydroplaned. Janey was a smart driver, thank god, and kept firm hold of the steering wheel, taking her foot off the accelerator and avoiding the breaks.

"Shit! What the hell is Robbie doing back there? Sleeping?" she growled, steering on top of the water as best she could. They wouldn't be out of the woods until they hit pavement again.

"Please," Connor beseeched Sam, raising both of his hands in placation, "We need to get to the Roadhouse or we're all going to be in trouble out here. We're not your enemies, D—" Connor suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing. Janey," he turned to the succubus, "Robbie needs help."

As much as Dean wanted possession of his baby back, he was not prepared for Janey to act on that request. She turned to Dean, told him to take the wheel, rolled down her window, and started climbing out. "Jesus!" Dean called as he lunged across to take control of the car. Guiding a hydroplaning car from the passenger seat was not an easy task. The next thing Dean knew, Janey had leapt from the car entirely. He barely caught a glimpse of white and black as she shifted form and became lost in the rain.

"They'll be okay," Connor said, "Robbie has the ability to…control supernatural creatures. But Abzu is a tough customer. Robbie will only be able to divert him for awhile. Once we get to the Roadhouse, Robbie and I can create a barrier to protect all of us. I'll explain everything once we're there. I promise." He focused intensely on Sam, who Dean knew had to already be faltering in his choice to play it tough. "If you want to shoot me then shoot me, but you're not going to get any answers that way."

Dean really wished he could afford a little more focus spent on what was happening in the back, but he had to deal with keeping them on what was left of the road. By the time he crawled his way into the driver's seat, he could feel the stability of asphalt beneath them. Robbie and Janey must be doing something right out there. "We're not that much further from the Roadhouse," Dean mentioned, glancing in the rearview mirror to see that Sam had put the gun away, but wasn't taking his eyes off of Connor.

Sasha's eyes caught Dean's then, concern radiating out of him that Dean could practically feel like it was his own emotion, connected as they were. They didn't know what was going on, and this was a little tenser than they had expected their relaxing night to be.

Then Dean had a sudden, frightening thought right before Sasha began to speak.

"Does he just need cover?" Sasha asked Connor, looking like he had made up his mind about something that Dean was so not going to like.

Connor nodded. "Enough to concentrate and keep Abzu off our tail."

Sasha started rolling down his window.

Dean had already rolled back up his because of all the rain pouring in and distracting his driving. He almost jumped out of his seat when he realized what Sasha was about to do. "Damn it, don't you dare!" Dean called, craning his neck around to look into the back, but Sasha was already climbing out, unfolding his wings and letting them catch on the rough wind outside. "Sasha!"

"They won't let anything happen to him," Connor said, like it was no big deal that the love of Dean's life just got out of a moving vehicle to help attract fire from a _god,_ and keep some kid they didn't even know from being drowned on a motorcycle.

"You know, I'm getting real sick of your reassurances, pal," Dean grit out, gripping the steering wheel too tightly, "Seems to me we were having a pretty good night before you bought my brother a beer." Dean could see when he glanced up at the mirror that Sam had scooted over to distance himself from Connor, rolling up the window after Sasha and looking back out into the rain.

"Can you see anything back there, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam turned forward again and shook his head, looking halfway to broken. Dean hated it. He really wanted to know what Sam was sensing from these kids that spooked him so much.

They drove the last few minutes in silence. Dean almost turned on the radio several times but figured it was better to have all his senses alert in case they hydroplaned again. They just had to get to the Roadhouse. Even if these young hunters were full of it, at least there they would be able to regroup and think of what to do.

As soon as Dean brought the Impala to a skidding halt in front of the Roadhouse, he was halfway to opening his door before he even got the keys out of the ignition. He had to see Sasha. He had to see that his incubus was okay. He hated driving like that, not being able to see anything, not knowing if Sasha was even still there.

It was raining so hard when Dean got out of the car, he could barely see the doors to the Roadhouse, let alone an incubus flying in the air. He was frantic, tried calling out, but his voice got lost in the sounds of the storm. Bad guys you couldn't see or even really fight were the worst kind of evil.

Then, out of the dark of the storm, there was a light, one lone headlight that signaled the coming of the motorcycle. Dean dashed around the Impala as Sam and Connor got out of the car finally. Sasha had to be there. He had to be somewhere in the sky.

Dean saw the bike form fully first, then he saw wings and almost breathed relief, but it was Janey, the succubus, who landed in front of him. Her markings were black like Sasha's. With her hair wilder and longer, she looked eerily like Sasha's mother, all red and white and black. She was beautiful, like an apparition of Sasha that wasn't quite right.

She must have known, maybe sensed what Dean was feeling, because she went right up to him with a fanged smile. "He's fine, Pops," she said, placing black claws on Dean's shoulder gently.

A second later there was a thud behind Dean, and when he turned, there was Sasha, all large black wings and gorgeous, despite being drenched. "We have to get inside, Dean!" Sasha yelled over the rain, grabbing Dean's hand and practically gliding them over to the doors in his haste. Sam was already there with Connor, and Janey and Robbie were right behind Dean and Sasha until all of them had made it inside. They were soaked to the bone.

Dean spotted Sarah and Jo in the bar, the only people he could see as he stumbled in and tried to catch his breath. He had barely been able to breathe out there. At least everyone was okay.

While they were all gulping for air, Sarah and Jo immediately ran over to them in a panic, asking what had happened, where that sudden storm had come from, and who these newcomers were. There wasn't time to explain everything. When Dean glanced back at the doors he saw that Connor was standing in front of them.

Robbie darted over to him. "What are we gonna do!?" the kid yelled.

Connor was strangely calm as he turned to his shorter companion. "We have to bind the Roadhouse. It's the only way to protect everyone," he said, extending a hand as if offering it for Robbie to take.

"Bind it?!" Robbie shot back, "Are you crazy? We nearly blew ourselves to hell last time, Connor! We can't control it!"

"Yes, we can," Connor insisted, thrusting his hand out more insistently, "We can do this, Robbie. The Roadhouse doesn't have the right fortifications yet to protect against something like Abzu. We don't have a choice."

Robbie didn't look happy about this, but in the end he took Connor's hand anyway. "This is so gonna suck," the kid grumbled.

Dean was torn between being exhausted from the rain, like something in the water had been trying to drain him of energy, and being really fucking weirded out by these strangers with abilities he had only ever seen in Sam. And in the other special kids. But these guys weren't the right ages for that. They couldn't be some other generation of Azazel's, could they?

All of them watched as the two men from the band stood before the doors and Connor started to chant. Dean couldn't understand the words, didn't recognize the language, but a light started to grow where their hands were connected, and another moment more there was a sudden flash. Connor and Robbie went flying across the room, where they landed hard on the bar floor, their clasped hands torn apart with the force of it.

Janey rushed to them, transformed back to human with her shorter red hair, leather pants, and corset.

"God damn it, Connor, I told you!" Robbie sat up, rubbing his injured back.

"It wasn't as bad as last time," Connor countered.

"You say that every time, and yet I keep agreeing to it and ending up on my _ass_."

"Hey!" Janey stood over them, hands on her hips, "Geniuses, ya mind shutting up long enough to let us know if it worked?"

Dean was already looking to his companions, suggesting intently with his eyes that they needed to get themselves together _now_. They needed weapons, and the guns on Sam, Dean, and Sasha were soaked from the rain.

Aces with their intuition, the girls got the message, and by the time the young hunters had gotten up off the floor and were ready to face everyone again, Sarah and Jo had their own guns aimed. As he watched them get up, Dean would have sworn that for a moment Connor and Robbie's eyes were yellow.

"It worked," Connor assured the succubus as he stood and turned to see that they were not being welcomed into the Roadhouse with open arms. The storm sounded like it was passing, but Dean didn't believe this was just a small group of helpful hunters who got lucky and came to their rescue. Something really stunk about this, and Dean wanted the truth now.

"Ah, Hell," Robbie pulled a face, looking more annoyed than worried about the guns pointed at them.

Janey crossed her arms challengingly.

Connor didn't even flinch. "Please," he said.

"We're here. We're safe. _You're not human_," Sam accused. Inhuman wasn't usually a problem; it was things they didn't understand that made them worry, especially when there were lies involved. Sam stepped ahead of the others, obviously still sensing whatever it was about these strangers that had him so uneasy. "Just who the hell are you?"

Without batting an eyelash, Connor straightened and looked back at Sam squarely. "My name is Connor. This is my brother, Robbie," he gestured to the shorter man, "And our cousin," he nodded to the succubus, "Janey." Then he paused, his dark eyes moving to look at everyone, but coming back to rest on Sam. "Winchester," he said, "We're your children."

tbc...

A/N: I have returned! And damn do I need to go to bed. Okay, so this is an idea I've been kicking around awhile. I had initially planned to do a whole arc in the fae plane first, and I may still go back to that to give some of the side characters, like Leven and Adrian, a chance to shine. But I just really wanted to get to the kids. I worked out something BIG recently, and it got me all excited. I hope you'll all check back for updates, but don't expect the old weekly ones. I have alot of other things going on, like my blog, other fics, and original work. But this will continue. I promise. I've missed you guys!

Crim


	102. Part 2: Family Resemblance

Part 2: Family Resemblance

-----

Dean was losing his mind. He had to be losing his mind. There was no way some punk-ass _kids_ saved his life, saved Sam and Sasha's lives too, and the biggest secret they were keeping was that they were…were…

No fucking way.

"Uh, that's _Kelly_-Winchester," Janey raised her hand matter-of-factly. Her eyes moved with humor to Sasha and Dean. "You did the whole hippie hyphen thing, but…whatever," she shrugged, "And you," she cocked her head over at Robbie without losing a step, "owe me five bucks."

Robbie immediately scowled, but still promptly pulled out his wallet and started rummaging through it.

Dean was understandably flabbergasted by all of this, so much so that he couldn't speak, just like the rest of his stunned crew. Connor's expression fell with much the same look as Dean imagined was on his own face, and then the tall brunette was slowly turning to gape behind him at his 'brother' and 'cousin'. "_What_?" Connor said disbelievingly.

Having collected her money with an outstretched hand, Janey glanced back at Connor and shrugged again. "Robbie bet me they'd believe us from square one. Yeah," she rolled her eyes, shooting a look at the younger brother as she pocketed her new cash, "Seriously, do you _know_ our family?"

Robbie muttered a reply beneath his breath. "Brat," he said.

"Prick," Janey replied reflexively.

"_Guys_," Connor reprimanded them, "Not. Now." He actually looked rather sheepish when he turned back to address the people who were still pointing guns at them.

A few feet away from Dean, Jo snickered and faltered with the aim of her weapon. "Well…they have me half convinced," she suppressed a smirk.

"You're…our children?" Sam repeated, all the fight gone from him, it seemed, all that anger and anxiety dulled into something like mute shock.

"Bullshit," Dean glared at the trio, at last finding his voice. Just because they…sort of looked like they could be related to them—actually, Connor in particular looked _a lot_ like Sam, Dean realized now—didn't mean that what they were saying was true. It was way too insane.

Robbie, who definitely stood shorter than Dean and couldn't have been much over 21, crossed his arms like he was being punished or sent to his room, summoning an impressive pout. "Come _on_, how much more obvious does it have to be? Did you _look_ at Janey? And hello, Connor and I have Dad's powers. Who else could we be?"

Hearing the word 'dad' drop from one of these kids had Dean's stomach plummeting, especially since Robbie obviously meant Sam.

Sam looked pretty pale right now too.

"Robbie," Connor tried to interject.

"And what about the Kelly family motto, huh?" Robbie gestured at Sasha, which startled the incubus so much that Dean was sure he saw his baby flinch. "Everybody gets one," Robbie rattled off, "Remember?"

Okay, now Dean was sure Sasha had never mentioned anything like that before, but the expression on Sasha's face said that Robbie's words were more than just some crazy guess. "How…how do you know that?" Sasha said breathless. The incubus seemed to realize a moment later that everyone was staring at him, Dean especially. He offered a small shrug. "It's written all over my dad's journals and notes. Everybody gets one. He gave everyone he came across one chance to prove they weren't actually the bad guys before he assumed the worst. If he hadn't believed that…he never would have stayed with my mom."

There was a moment of silence, the…_kids_ looking on expectantly for some sort of approval, while Dean and the others tried to process all of this.

Yeah, they looked like Winchesters, Dean could readily admit that. Connor looked so much like Sam, Robbie looked…kind of like Dean, actually, or like Dad when he was younger, but with Sarah's dark hair. And Janey. _Damn_. Her coloring, the way she acted, the way she moved, the way she was smiling at Dean even now…

_No_.

"No way," Dean shook his head, angry at himself for almost being taken in, "It's gotta be a lie. A trick. Our _kids_?" he looked incredulously at everyone—Sasha, Sam, Sarah and Jo. Surely, they didn't believe this story. "It's nuts. Forget the fact that we don't have any kids, what are we supposed to believe here?" He narrowed his gaze at the three young wolves in sheep's clothing, "You…what? Came back in time from twenty years in the future?"

A huff left Janey's lips before she replied, "_Thirty_ years, Pops, not twenty," uncrossing her arms so she could plant them on her hips, "How old do you think we are, teenagers?"

"The short one looks pretty young," Jo commented.

With an expression that Dean could only describe as a kicked puppy look, Robbie immediately deflated. "Short one?" his pout deepened.

"No. I'm not listening to this," Dean threw up his arms, turning to Sam, to Sasha, hoping one of them would side with him, "I mean, come on. We have run across some crazy shit in our day, but time travel? That is one thing I know for certain is total fiction. As in you need a DeLorean and Christopher Lloyd kind of fiction."

"I can prove it," Connor raised his voice above Dean's.

Silence filtered through the group again as everyone's eyes turned to the obvious leader of the trio. Connor was definitely the oldest, or he at least carried himself that way, like it was his job to make sure the others were taken care of.

Dean had to try really hard not to feel empathy for that.

Seeing that he had everyone's attention, Connor focused back on Sam and extended a hand. They were only a yard or two apart; it wouldn't take much for Sam to step forward and accept whatever Connor was offering. "I can prove it, Dad," Connor said again. He smiled almost shyly then, his eyes darting to the floor as he corrected himself. "_Sam_. I can prove we are who we say we are. I can show you."

"Don't fall for it, Sammy," Dean stepped closer to his brother, getting right next to him, "What if it's some kind of trick to mojo you into believing them? You said they were blocking you from sensing them before, right? They could be stronger than you. We have no idea how powerful these kids are. _Who_ they really are." Despite the fact that Dean had his eyes boring into the side of Sam's face, Sam kept his attention on Connor, his brow furrowed deeply, indecision prominent in his eyes.

"You already feel it," Connor's voice called over gently, "I know you do. You already know we're telling the truth. I can show you," he said again.

Sam was hesitant, curious. He wanted to say yes, Dean could tell. "Sammy," Dean said more insistently, "Don't."

The silence was so much worse this time. Jo had dropped her weapon, leaving only Sarah, who Dean could see was faltering along with Sam, wondering if it was worth the risk to take that hand. They had been tricked so many times in the past, Dean just couldn't see how doing something like that could ever be a good idea—putting blind faith in something you didn't really understand.

It took meeting God for Dean to believe in Him.

"Well," Janey sighed when nothing happened but continued stares and hesitation, "This is loads of fun. I think I could use a drink." Unflinchingly, she moved passed Connor and headed for the bar.

Sarah re-aimed her gun instantly. She was one of their best shots, after all. "We didn't say we believed you," Sarah said with that calm calculating coolness Dean had come to respect.

This sucked, all of them crammed together and on edge in this one little area of the bar. Janey was separated from everyone by going to the actual bar counter, a few feet more to the left than the rest of her…family. She was so confident, so…cocky, raising one red eyebrow in challenge. Her eyes really were so very _green_. "You're not gonna shoot me," she said, slowly, deliberately taking a stool.

"What makes you so sure?" Jo shot back, even though her gun was hanging by her side.

Janey put her elbows up on the countertop and rested her head casually on one hand. Her eyes sparkled, her hair was so red. She was tall for a chick, almost as tall as Robbie, 5'9" or something like a runway model. Everything on her was leather and tight. She had tattoos all over her body and a quirk to her smile that said she could call any bluff.

Those observations had Dean's anxiety jumping up into his throat.

"Because," Janey said, "You're the good guys. Good guys don't shoot people unless they are absolutely sure those people are the bad guys. And me? I'm not a bad guy."

"Unless you owe her money," Robbie huffed.

Janey lifted her head from resting on her hand and shot Robbie a stern look. "Don't be a sore loser. And Robbie," she sat up a little straighter, "I swear to god, kid, if you busted up my ride, driving like an idiot out there, I will_ end you_."

_Fuck_. It was possible right then that Dean's heart stopped in his chest.

There was just no way. No _way_ were these guys telling the truth.

"Prrp?" came a sudden chirping noise from behind the bar, preceding the appearance of Wally hopping up onto the counter right in front of where Janey was sitting. The succubus turned back at the noise, looking rightly startled at what was now in front of her, her green eyes wide with shock.

"Wally, don't," Dean stepped forward. He couldn't help being protective of the little chimera. He still didn't trust these kids, no matter how plausible their lie was starting to sound. They could be shapeshifters that were just really good at mimicking, or they could be a number of other nasty things, maybe even something sent by Malak. Dean hadn't seen or heard anything from dear old Satan since right after the Apocalypse, but that didn't mean he ever slept easy.

Upon hearing what Dean called the fluffy little animal, that for whatever reason had not decided to remain in her cat form like she was supposed to around strangers, Janey's eyes widened even more. "Wally?" she repeated, staring at the creature before her, "No fucking way."

"You've seen pictures," Connor said, though his voice held an amount of awe too.

"Yeah, but…damn," Janey reached out her hand for Wally to sniff, a smile forming where her shock had just been. "Hey there, girlfriend," she said, "You don't know me yet, but I bet I still smell familiar."

To Dean's utter disbelief, Wally barely took a moment to sniff Janey's outstretched hand before she skittered over and started crawling up onto the succubus' shoulder. Wally never did that with strangers, not since first meeting Sasha that day, and she certainly never cozied up to anything evil.

"She's so cute," Janey said with delight, petting Wally happily, her otherwise low voice rising in pitch and making her seem a bit more girly for a change.

Robbie snorted, moving cautiously passed his brother so he could approach the chimera as well. "I am so telling her you said that," he grinned.

Now, Dean was really confused, and kind of pissed that Sarah had lowered her weapon now too, and everyone was just sort of staring while these strangers gathered around Wally. Connor was the last to move. "You guys forget. It's 2008," he said to his companions, "W's only just starting to change."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean finally growled, "W?"

The three young hunters were all gathered at the bar now. Connor smiled, no longer tense or fearing that anyone would make good on their threats and shoot. He reached out for the chimera. "Wally," he said, partially to coax the creature and also in answer to Dean, "She understands you. She can communicate. In a year she'll be able to answer when you ask her something with a real voice." He let Wally shuffle around his shoulder and sniff his head, until finally she snuggled into his arms. "In two she'll already look more human. By the time we're born, she'll be ready to grow up with us, and you'd never be able to tell her apart from a human girl." Connor looked up from Wally right at Dean. "Except for her power. And she does have a lot of that."

"Because of…how the spell that created her went wrong," Sam said, understanding, it seemed, agreeing, and no longer sounding anxious, "She has a human soul. With the kind of power she should have as a chimeric familiar, with so much humanity in her, she's…going to be able to become human," Sam's gaze fell on Dean.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, "You're buying into this? How could Wally just…_become_ human?"

"It wouldn't be becoming human, really," Sasha jumped on the bandwagon, a smile on his face when Dean looked at him, like he was fascinated by the three strangers and how Wally was showering them in affection, "It'd be…like me. I'm not human, but I can look it. I taught Wally how to use glamours to look like a cat. Who's to say she can't learn more over time?"

Dean was sure there had to be some way to contradict all of that but Sasha's observation did make a certain amount of sense. Wally understood everything Dean said to her, he had always known that.

A tremor raced through Dean as Sasha inched closer and slipped a hand into his, squeezing with assurance. They were both still wet. All of them that had been out in that downpour were soaked, even Janey sitting on her stool was leaking water all over the bar. Somehow, Sasha's hand still felt warm.

"She has your eyes, Dean," Sasha breathed, obviously meaning Janey.

Dean swallowed, refusing to look at the succubus. "It's crazy," he said again, but the whole thing seemed less crazy by the minute.

"Wally's basically immortal," Connor went on about the chimera, having passed her to Robbie who was scratching at her ears with a wide smile, "but she wanted to be human, so it…happened. She told me once she did it because she wanted to be able to talk to you, Dean."

Hearing his name, Dean finally turned away from Sasha to look at the trio again, though he did not release Sasha's hand. Before Dean could say anything, or ponder on the way Janey's expression was different now, not challenging but almost sweet, loving, even, like she had only thrown them attitude because she wanted them to listen, Wally jumped from Robbie's arms and skittered across the floor toward Dean.

She climbed up his leg, forcing Dean to release Sasha so he could collect her when she reached his arms. Wally was damp from being handled by so many wet individuals, but she didn't seem to mind. Her large blue-grey eyes shone with excitement and trust, those tiny human hands reaching up to press to either side of Dean's cheeks.

If Wally had a voice now, she would be talking to him, she would be telling him that everything was okay. Dean didn't need words from her to understand that, but he wondered what it would be like to hear his little friend speak one day. "I usually trust your intuition, girl, but…there's no way they are who they say they are."

Wally didn't outright respond, but her head tilted just slightly to the side, so remarkably innocent and childlike.

She knew, she always knew when something was wrong, or off, or evil. Dean had counted on Wally for that. It didn't make sense for him to doubt her now.

Sasha reached over to collect Wally from Dean's arms, petting her gently, and she went without resistance because, after all, Sasha had been her first love in the group, not Dean. She loved them both. Could it be that she loved their…_daughter_ too?

"Why so doubtful, Pops?" Janey said, as if she had plucked those thoughts right out of Dean's mind.

Dean clenched his eyes closed, thinking this had to be some crazy dream, but when he opened them again, Sasha was looking at him hopefully, Wally still gathered in the incubus' arms, and the others were all staring at him too.

No one had been able to shake the mentality of Dean being their fearless leader, even though part of Dean hated that label and the responsibilities included. Sam was on Dean's other side, shocked still but smiling. No one was pointing guns anymore.

A sharp whistle left Janey's mouth and Wally went scurrying back to the young hunters. Janey smiled wide, so beautiful despite the drowned rat look they were all sporting, and even with some of her dark eye makeup starting to run.

But it was more than just the impossibility of time travel that had Dean wary of this, of _her_. "I'm not an incubus yet," he said.

"Yeah," Janey's brow furrowed again, "I noticed. What's up with that? I thought you got with the program right away. Or was that just fluffy bedtime stories?"

"Janey," Connor said in reprimand.

"She has you _eyes_, Dean," Sasha said again, like he was mesmerized by Janey and her telling coloring, seemingly made up of pieces of both of them.

"And Dean's mouth," Jo snorted.

Of course Dean had to toss the huntress a glare for that comment, though Connor, Robbie, and Janey all chuckled. Then, suddenly, Sam was moving forward. "One way to be sure if they're telling the truth," he said as he extended a hand to Connor, accepting that previous offer to be _shown_.

Part of Dean still wanted to protest. This was crazy. It was dangerous to trust people they didn't know or fully understand. But even Dean had enough doubts now that he didn't tell Sam to stop.

Smiling, so pleased and relieved to be trusted, Connor stepped up to Sam, reached out in kind, and took Sam's hand firmly in his. Sam's body immediately jolted, like a current was passing between them, strong, electric. Dean could see most of Sam's profile and the look on Sam's face quickly changed from curious and filled with awe to troubled, in pain, _scared_.

Then Sam jerked back, ripping his hand clean from Connor's grasp. "Sam!" Dean called out as he rushed to his brother's side, taking hold of Sam's shoulders to steady him. Sam was shaking and breathing heavily like he had just been roused from a nightmare. Maybe they had trusted too soon, despite Wally's assurances and the family resemblance.

But Sam wasn't recoiling, he wasn't looking accusingly at Connor, who remained where he had been standing, solemnly smiling. Sam returned Connor's stare with a look of despondence. "Is that…really what happens?" Sam asked, looking at all three Winchester _children_, even as he was clinging to Dean to stay his trembling.

"It _did_," Connor replied, "We just lived through it."

"Barely," huffed Robbie.

"What?" Dean pressed, pleased that Sasha had come around to Sam's other side to help him bring Sam over to a stool at the bar where the younger Winchester could pull himself together.

Connor was clearly bothered by how what he had shown Sam was so negatively affecting him, but he didn't look regretful.

Sarah was there in an instant to take Dean's place at Sam's side, and though it was still strange sometimes to share his brother, Dean obligingly stepped away.

"I showed him our future," Connor said, "Our current future and what has happened the past few months. It's 2039 and we aren't doing so well keeping the world together."

"What happened?" Sasha asked, taking his own seat at the bar as everyone moved to claim stools, sitting around the counter like this wasn't ridiculously weird, chatting with their…_kids_.

Janey, who scooted down a few stools so she was sitting next to Sasha, Wally still scrambling around on her shoulders, replied, "We don't know exactly. Just that dear old _Malak_…is back. And it definitely isn't a good thing."

Just hearing that name spoken aloud made Dean's blood run hot with fury. "Malak," he growled, thinking of every threat the bastard had ever made. He came up to stand just in front of Sasha and Janey.

"Yep," said Robbie a few stools down, "And he's running around in your meatsuit again, Uncle Dean. Got Dad and Sasha with him too."

Dean couldn't help scowling a little at how strange it was to be called 'Uncle Dean'.

Robbie must have noticed Dean's expression because he immediately jumped in with, "Sorry. Habit," and shrugged with a sideways smirk. He only had one dimple, Dean realized then, like Dad, and like Dean too, not two like Sam. It further sobered Dean about what and _who_ they were actually dealing with.

Then it clanged in Dean's head what Robbie had just said. "Wait. There's no way that's right," Dean had to shake his head, "I would have had to agree to Malak taking possession of me. Nothing could ever make me do that again. Even having a grand master plan before, believe me, it was hard enough the first time."

"But you did, Dean," came Sam's haunted, hoarse voice from where he was slouched on his stool, "You had to have. I _saw_ it. The three of us, the way it was before, only this time…it wasn't any kind of act. We were carrying out your plan, Dean, Malak's plan, destroying…taking over everything. But I couldn't see how it came to be that way." He looked up and turned his attention onto Connor, who hadn't taken a stool but moved to stand before Sam, Sarah, and Jo. "I could only see it through your eyes. You don't know how it happened."

"It was practically overnight," Robbie said from the other end of the bar, "We have to figure out how to prevent it or…we're basically all screwed. It's not a pretty world anymore." He leaned his arms and head on top of the bar, like he had done it a million times before. It made him look shockingly young, like a little boy.

Everything was moving so fast. They were taking it on faith now that these kids were who they said they were, with Wally's intuition and what Connor had shown Sam as all the proof they were going to get.

The idea of a future where Dean let Malak into his body again was too much.

"Wait, just…let me get my head around all this," Dean turned, leaning back against the bar between Sasha and Janey's stools. It was strange being bookended by so much _red_. "So…something happened to bring Malak back, something got me to take him in again, Sasha and Sammy went along with it, for whatever insane reason, and you kids figured you'd just _come back_ _in time_ to fix things?"

Oh yeah, that didn't sound crazy _at all._

"Why? _How_? Why come back so far? And how did you even do it?" Dean sputtered. He still, deep down, didn't want to believe any of this.

"Pause," Jo called out, ducking behind the bar. Remarkably, everyone actually listened, pausing in what they were talking about as they wondered what Jo was doing until she popped back up producing towels. "Mom will kill all of you for making a mess. And you're _soaked_." She tossed the towels around, managing to chuck one right at Dean's head in the process. At least he could dry off a little now.

"Thanks," Dean offered, then he glanced around at Robbie, Janey, and Connor, "Uhh…un-pause?"

Connor smiled wide, not far from Dean. He looked even more like Sam when he did that. "I wish we had more answers for you, but all we were able to find out was that something during _this_ time laid the groundwork for what happened in _our_ time. We learned from records and journals you had kept that you had an encounter with vampires tonight. Since we knew of a similar crew in our time, we decided to watch them, and when it was clear that they were the vampires that were going to attack you, we followed them here. We didn't realize Abzu was on our tail or we would have covered our tracks better."

"Speaking of that," Sasha raised his hand, much like Janey had earlier since there were so many of them trying to get their thoughts out, "Are we sure it's safe to just sit in here and chat with a _god_ outside the walls? What if he tries to attack again?"

The storm had definitely passed. Dean couldn't hear signs of it outside at all anymore, but that didn't mean their new _friend_ wasn't waiting outside the doors.

Connor stepped out away from Sam and Sarah to better address everyone.

"Abzu won't be back for awhile. He'll regroup first. And even if he does come back, he won't be able to break through our barrier. It's…pretty potent." Connor flexed his left hand in and out of a fist unconsciously as if it was still sore from when he and Robbie had…whatever they had done. Dean really wanted to ask about that. About so many things.

"_We_ sent the vampires," Sam said suddenly, having caught his breath enough that he stood from his stool and approached Connor again, "Our future selves. We sent them to…to bring us somewhere, do something to us to set things up for what happens in the future. That's why they wouldn't hurt us. Or you."

Connor nodded. "You'd rather have us alive. And with you."

"Like _Hell_ we're gonna let that happen," Janey growled, slamming a fist down into the top of the bar counter with enough force that Dean flinched. Janey's eyes had flashed red when she turned her head to look back up at Dean. "We grew up hearing the stories about what happened here, about what Malak did. He's not winning on our watch anymore than he won on yours, Pops, no way," she promised passionately.

On _their_ watch…

Looking back at Janey, seeing her eyes that had returned to _green_, her _red_ hair, her face like both of them, so much of her like both of them because she was _theirs_—Dean and Sasha's—a sudden realization had Dean's stomach plummeting so fast he almost sunk to the floor.

How had he not thought of it right away? This was what Malak had promised, exactly what Malak had promised Dean the last time Dean saw the bastard, inside his own head in a red and black room where Malak had taken Dean's pendant like a marker.

Dean could have wept as he realized the truth. Instead, he scrubbed a hand down his face and tried to keep from shaking. "He said he'd…go after our child," Dean barely managed to get out, not wanting to look at Sasha right then, not wanting to admit that he had kept that dream from him, from everyone, all these months, because he hadn't wanted them to worry about an uncertain future.

Now, the future _was_ certain. Now, the future was sitting right next to him. And he had doomed her to be a target for the Devil.

"That damn bastard said he'd come for our _child_," Dean said again, "He knew. Somehow he knew…"

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sasha asked, concerned beside Dean, "Malak said that? When? You never…you never said anything—"

"I didn't want to worry any of you," Dean tried to jump ahead of the accusations that would follow, but he immediately saw the way Sasha's brow knit, the way Sam stalked over to them with indignation in his steps, "I just…I…" _damn it_, "I may have left a few things out involving how I lost my pendant."

"_Dean_," Sam and Sasha said in eerie unison. Dean loved and hated how often they managed that.

All these months after the fact, Dean finally told them about his dream, the dream he had had the night after they saved the world. He had met Malak in a lone room deep inside his own psyche, where the damn demon had taken Dean's pendant as a claim to come for Dean again. Malak had even said that if the timing was right, he would come for Dean's child, like he knew what lay ahead in Dean's future.

When Dean was finished explaining what had happened that night and the gathered crew was left with pensive expressions, he turned again to look at Janey, so close beside him sitting on her stool, wet still from the rain and looking so much like Dean and Sasha it almost hurt.

"You're not lying," Dean said to her in a soft voice, "Are you?"

Janey smiled, red, red lips and white teeth. "Nope. And it must freak you out something awful, Pops, coz it took all of that for you to actually believe us."

There it was again. _Pops_. Amazingly, it was starting to grow on Dean a little.

This wasn't a trick. These kids really were _their_ kids. This succubus sitting right next to him was Dean's own daughter. _From the future_. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? How were any of them supposed to respond?

Right then, just as everything had caught up to Dean and there were no more doubts in his mind, the truth rang truer with all of them. As much as they might have already begun to believe, now they knew for sure, and it struck all of them utterly silent.

After only a few moments, the quiet began creeping in on them. Dean was thankful when Robbie, with his dark hair and tan skin like Sarah, those dark eyes, and a face so much like Dad, a _young_ Dad, said, "Well, _this_ is awkward. It's not like we need…hugs or anything," he shrugged, sitting up a little straighter again in his stool and tossing out a comfortable smirk.

Naturally, the comment eased tensions fairly quickly, at least a little, smiles filtering through everyone, including a few chuckles. But it was still so weird, the very idea that they were talking with their future _children_.

Jo was the one who was taking the revelation of a next generation of Winchester's with the most ease in her stride, but then she wasn't one of the parents. She replaced the towels she had handed out to everyone with a few drier ones, making sure that the brunt of the wet was gone before she called it good and collected the towels back again.

"Like I'd want to hug a bunch of drowned rats anyway. So…you two are Sam and Sarah's sons, huh?" Jo indicated Connor and Robbie, "And you're Sasha and Dean's daughter," she tilted her head at Janey. There was a smirk about her lips that said she was enjoying the hell out of this for some reason. "How does that work exactly?"

A cough choked out of Dean, catching in his throat somewhere behind his tongue. He so didn't want to go into that whole 'how two incubi make babies' conversation again. Not right now. By some miracle, before Sasha or anyone else could speak to answer Jo's question, an alarm like a pager began to go off.

They all looked around, wondering where it was coming from, until Janey pulled out what had to be a cell phone of some sort from her back pocket, though Dean had never seen anything quite like it before.

"Oops, that's me," she said, pocketing the phone again and standing, "Lost track a time."

"For what?" Dean stared at her.

Janey grinned, stepping away for a minute from the bar to give herself more room. "Time to un-equip. Didn't you wonder where they were coming from?" She flicked her wrists down and suddenly there were knives in her hands, as if out of nothing, just as Dean had noted before when they were fighting the vampires. Only they really had come from nothing. Janey's arms were bare, and the leather bands on her wrists couldn't hold knives. "Steal," she said, then she flicked her wrists again and the knives were replaced with a new set, "Silver," she did it again, replacing the knives a third time, "Iron. And…" she tried once again, but this time nothing happened. "Damn it, still can't quite get the stakes to work, Connor."

Connor was already moving toward Janey, motioning her back to the bar where she leaned over her stool, baring her back that had the intricate succubus design of black wings. "It's the width. It's throwing off my math. I'll figure it out eventually," Connor said, unzipping Janey's tiny leather corset.

She held her top in place while Connor traced his fingers down her spine slow and gentle. Dean felt disturbed by the strange intimacy of the act, but he soon saw that there was nothing sexual about it at all. As Connor touched Janey's skin, a long metal device rippled into visibility as if forming out of a wormhole in her back.

"She forgets its there sometimes," he said like this was nothing special, even though everyone was staring, "That's why I make her set the alarm. It's too dangerous to leave it in too long until it's had more field testing." When the device was solid, Connor simply grabbed onto it, zipped Janey back up, and held the thing out for everyone to see.

It looked sort of like the inside of a Swiss Army knife, only much larger and longer, like bits of metal contraptions were crammed all together. But even like that it seemed impossible that all of those knives could have come from one little folded metal shaft.

Connor smiled, noting everyone's awe. "It's an invention of mine. The basics are actually pretty simple. It combines science and magic. The device itself could be made to fit under clothing, but it's cumbersome that way and not very practical. So I use spells and space/time distortion to fold it in on itself." He touched what looked like a tiny button on the side and metal shot out of both ends like an expanding staff, the various knives all folding out visible, hanging like tools on hooks. There were three sets of blades and one set of wooden stakes.

Combining science and magic. Dean never would have believed it was possible, or a good idea, but then he used to be a lot more wary about the supernatural before he started sleeping with an incubus, and his baby brother started moving things with his mind.

"It folds together to make it easier to set in place," Connor went on, "Then, in a way, it's under Janey's skin, but she's protected from it by the dimensional rift. Since it's connected right to her spine and brain signals, all she has to do is think of which weapon she wants and that's the one she summons. It took a few years to get it safe enough for anyone to use, but…" he smiled at Sam, "We figured it out."

"We?" Sam said, still obviously in awe of the device.

Connor clicked the button again and the weapons and metal folded back in until it was just a long metal baton. "It was our pet project for awhile," he said, "Janey's the best choice to use it, because if any of the wards or spells started to fail, she's the fastest healer. We're still really careful with it though. Since there's iron in the mix, she knows to tell me if she ever feels off from having it in." He looked pointedly at Janey as he said that.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, settling back on her stool, "No problems, Con-Man. I'm good. I love that thing. Only been using it a few months now, but it kicks some serious ass," she grinned at Dean and Sasha, bragging, apparently, "If we know we're facing a particular baddie, I can just set it up to have whatever specific weapon I need. If we don't know then I got a lot of options. Connor's a regular 'Q' for hunters in our time," she looked to her cousin again, "He's made tons of new weapons and shit. Engineering geek," she added fondly.

Connor tossed the metal device back at her, suppressing a wider smile. "We all have our specialties," he said, looking to his younger brother as well, "We make a good team. But we recognize that we're not strong enough to figure out how to fix what's happening right now on our own. We don't know a lot about how to alter our future, what events in this time play the most important role. But hopefully, together, we can figure it out before it's too late."

Part of Dean wished they could take some time to just relax and get to know these kids, but if the future was so bleak—and nothing was bleaker than Malak winning—then they didn't have time for pleasantries. At least not without also working on how they were going to save the day at the same time.

Sasha was the one who brought the conversation back to the question at hand.

"So… Malak just happened overnight? Suddenly, we weren't us anymore?" he said "And now you think maybe the vampires had something to do with it, but if you prevented that—"

"Pause again," Jo called out, "We need sustenance for this kind of heavy talk. Not to mention you all really need to get out of the wet clothes. The towels helped, but it can't be healthy to sit around like that. And I am not tending to this many sick people if you catch cold," she cocked a hand on her hip. Jo really did seem more like her mother all the time. Dean knew better than to ever say that to her face though.

"You have a point," Sarah sat up, "We'll take care of getting you all into some dry clothes first then we can go over all of this in the lounge where it's more comfortable."

Dean liked that idea, and so did everyone else, it seemed, since no one hesitated before getting up and beginning to move out of the bar. The kids obviously knew the Roadhouse well, because they didn't even pause or ask where they needed to go. They probably grew up in this place, Dean realized. They probably had childhoods very similar to Dean and Sam's.

Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he was pretty sure that the occasional haunted look on Sam's face tonight was because of those same types of thoughts.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" Sasha asked as they gathered in the hallway in front of the main staircase.

"Mom hit the hay early," Jo said, "I don't know if Jimmy's still in the library or if he went to bed. We really need to get that guy another hobby."

"Or _laid_," Dean huffed.

Sasha shot Dean an amused look, but Dean couldn't help noticing that the mention of Jimmy had Connor, Robbie and Janey all averting their eyes. He hoped that didn't mean something bad became of the former salesman and angel vessel some day.

It was strange how empty the Roadhouse felt sometimes with Bobby back in South Dakota, Ula gone visiting her family in Maine with the Trickster permanently attached, and everyone else having gone their separate ways for the time being. No extra sex demons, no extra hunters, no Michael or Gwen or even Shiarra. Of course, some hunters and a few non-humans that had taken up hunting after the apocalypse would pass through occasionally, but most of the time these past few months it had just been them, their small, tightly-knit family.

Family…

Dean glanced at Janey and she winked at him the same way Sasha always did.

_Shit_, this was weird.

"Come on," Sam said, motioning up the stairs, "We'll get you guys some clean clothes. You don't have any, umm…luggage?" his face scrunched a little awkwardly. How did one travel through time? Clearly, the rules of making the journey naked, like in the Terminator series, didn't apply since the new trio were clothed and had a few electronics, even.

"We have some things in a compartment in Janey's bike," Robbie said, "But it would definitely be better to not go outside for awhile. Abzu may need to regroup, but he's probably still lingering. Creepy bastard," he shuddered.

Everything out of these kids' mouths made Dean want to ask more questions. They obviously knew Abzu well, or had at least encountered him before. And what was with those powers? Sure, they were like Sam's, but Dean wanted details.

At first, all of them started up the stairs together, Connor looking to be the right fit for any of Sam's clothes, Robbie small enough that he could probably fit into Jimmy's but would do with Dean's, and although Janey was very tall, she would no doubt fit into anything of the girls'. Dean, Sam, and Sasha all needed to change too. But when they got to the top of the stairs, Janey dismissed Jo's offer to go with her to change.

"I don't bother with real clothes," she said, "I just need a place to get naked so I can dry off before summoning something fresh. I can go with you guys," she grinned and latched onto Sasha's arm like she had been waiting for the right moment to steal a half-hug from her father. _One of_ her fathers, Dean reminded himself.

Relationships for incubi and succubae were different than they were for humans. Shiarra and Sasha were always more affectionate with each other than Dean would usually think of as normal for aunt and nephew, but not in a creepy way or anything. Still, it kind of unnerved Dean that Janey was joining them purely for the sake of having a place 'to get naked'. Even knowing now that she was his daughter, Dean still thought Janey was crazy hot. That had to be worth some darkside points.

At least Robbie would be with them too. Dean didn't know what he was supposed to say if it was just him and Sasha alone with their…daughter. It didn't seem like Sasha was suffering from the same anxieties, though. He accepted Janey's exuberant clinging to him with a wide smile.

Sarah and Jo said they would meet the others in the downstairs lounge, and while Sam took Connor to his and Sarah's room, Dean and Sasha went into theirs with Janey and Robbie. Sure, now they believed what these kids were saying, and it was all very dire and all, but it was also very awkward and weird. Dean distracted himself by looking for dry clothes for himself and Robbie. Those uber-tight jeans Sasha had made Dean buy a while back would probably fit the kid.

"Wow, these rooms look so different," Robbie said, not bothering with being considerate of how wet he still was as he went over and hopped onto the edge of the bed, "I mean, the Roadhouse is still the Roadhouse and all, it's just…different. Smaller?" he glanced at Janey, who was—thankfully—heading straight for the bathroom.

"They add on later," Janey nodded, "Make some rooms bigger, get more rooms in general. We're right on the cusp of it all, Robbie," she beamed, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door. Only she didn't bother to shut it completely closed, leaving it just enough open that a good inch of light was still visible.

Dean must have been way too much up in his head, because he jumped when Sasha suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was alright. "Just shell-shocked," Dean said. Then he looked at Robbie, who didn't seem uncomfortable being alone with them in the least. "You guys weren't exactly _expected_, ya know. Here," he tossed Robbie his tight jeans and one of his smaller T-shirts.

"Do you need shorts too?" Sasha asked, rummaging through his own clothing.

"Oh yeah," Robbie said with a grimace, "If you don't mind. And I can totally wait for the bathroom if me getting naked creeps you out or anything." The comment was obviously meant more for Dean.

Damn, was Dean that transparent about being sort of squeamish with all this? It just seemed like the next generation was way too comfortable with…everything. "Dude, we're adults," Dean waved a hand, turning toward the closet so he could start changing, "Just keep your back turned and we'll do the same. Wouldn't want you getting an inferiority complex or anything," he tried to joke.

Robbie chuckled, sounding so young again, and Dean had to wonder if the kid even _was_ an adult. He could be younger than eighteen, or he could be over twenty-one. It was hard to gauge.

It felt good to get out of those wet clothes though. The last thing Dean needed right now was to get sick. He just wanted to throw on something warm, so he grabbed a black Henley of Sasha's he had stolen a few weeks ago and some khakis instead of jeans. When he turned around again, Sasha was almost dressed, but Robbie was just buttoning up the jeans from Dean, still shirtless.

He was a smaller statured guy but not scrawny by any means. The kid was _built_. What Dean noticed about Robbie's bare chest, however, was not its definition. There was a large scar running up at an angle over Robbie's midsection from one hip to the opposite side just beneath his ribs. It looked like he had survived being gutted or maybe that Japanese ritual suicide thing.

Robbie must have sensed Dean's stare because he looked up right then, noticed just where Dean's attention was focused, and blushing a little, he shrugged, "_Long_ story. Don't tell Dad, okay? Connor says we shouldn't tell you too much about the future or change anything we don't have to. And I know Dad," his eyes went wide, so casually talking about _Sam_ as _Dad_, "He would so want to make sure that never happened, but…it's no big deal. Really."

Once again, Dean had the awful feeling that these kids had grown up so much like him and Sammy, and that was something neither of them had ever wanted. Had they ended up being fathers just like their own dad, not giving their kids a choice, but leading them around through a dangerous life?

Dean hadn't really given much thought to kids before now. Not the way he knew Sasha did. He hadn't thought at all about how they would raise a kid in this life. Dean couldn't be anything other than a hunter now, and he didn't want to be anything else. Well, someday an incubus, but that's it. But if things had been different in the beginning, maybe he would have had a dream to be something else, maybe he would have wanted a different life. The last thing Dean would ever want was to be the type of person who would take choice away from someone else, especially family.

No one deserved to grow up the way he and Sam did. There had to be another way.

"Yo." A pair of fingers snapped in front of Dean's face, somehow belonging to Janey, though Dean had no memory of seeing her exit the bathroom or get so close to him. "Don't think so hard. You'll sprain something," she grinned. Then, moving over to the bed by Robbie, she gave an appreciative whistle to the kid's new attire. "Nice," she nodded.

Yeah, the kid looked good in his borrowed clothes, but Janey's look was the real surprise. Dean wouldn't have guessed she was the same person if not for the hair.

While Janey's previous outfit had been all black leather, tight and revealing and biker chick chic, this new one was totally different. She still looked pretty punk, her hair wild, hair eyes lined in black, but the red lips were gone now. She was wearing an oversized purple sweater dress that hung off one shoulder, a wide black belt, and teal leggings, like something out of the 80s, only these days that had become the fashionable look again. Maybe in thirty years it made another cycle. Or maybe she just liked the style. Janey was also barefoot, her toes painted dark purple to match the sweater.

The big shock, though, was that there was enough exposed skin for Dean to immediately notice Janey's lack of tattoos.

"Where's the extra ink?" he said, staring at her bare shoulders. The design around her eye was gone now too.

Janey laughed a little like maybe Dean was making a joke, then, remembering that she was in the past and not everything was second nature here, she shrugged, "What extra ink? Only part I wasn't born with is this one," she indicated the protection tattoo peaking out of the sweater above her heart. "The rest looked hot on stage though, right?" she added with a wink.

"How…how did you do that?" Sasha asked in apparent awe of Janey's disappearing tattoo act.

Dean was a little relieved, actually, and he had to frown at his incubus since he didn't understand Sasha's reaction. "Isn't it just a glamour thing?" he asked. He liked eclectic and extravagant Janey better than straight-up biker chick. Though the extra tattoos _had_ been hot.

Sasha shook his head, his brow furrowed as he turned to Dean. "Not like that. Our glamours are limited. Sex demon form. Human form. That's it. Otherwise, I could just will my hair black if I wanted to have a more believable alias. Changing the appearance of skin or coloring is…_fae_ level," he looked again at Janey.

"Oops," Janey said with a smile, "Caught me. I'm a master glamourer, good as any full fae. But the why is part of a…much longer explanation," she let one red eyebrow arch, "Come on, let's get back downstairs and we'll tell you all about it." With that, Janey smacked Robbie on the back to get him moving forward.

"Not _all_ about it," Robbie stressed, as if to go back to his comment that they were not supposed to reveal too much or risk changing things that shouldn't be changed.

If Dean thought too much about the whole time travel thing his head started spinning like Austin Powers, cross-eyed and everything. "Crazy abilities, mad skills with weapons, and…way too much attitude," Dean commented as they made for the door, "Guess you kids gotta be Winchesters," he managed to smile at Janey.

It was weird, yeah, but Dean couldn't keep feeling skeptical when being around Janey felt natural as much as it felt strange. Dean wasn't exactly sure how it was possible to feel both 'natural' and 'strange', but that's how it was. These kids were family.

Sasha nudged Dean as they squeezed through the door into the hallway.

"_Kelly_-Winchester," the incubus smiled at him smugly.

"Smartass."

tbc...

A/N: I had alot more planned for this chapter, but it takes way too long, and I figured you were all going crazy. Still enjoying this? I know there are many details not yet explained, but they will be, don't you worry, including the specifics on HOW they came back in time. They're not being entirely honest.

I had so much trouble writing this. Maybe I'm losing my touch...

Crim


	103. DRABBLE: Strippers

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIANNA WICKHAM!

Ahem. So, I promised Dianna a hot Incubus drabble for her birthday, and well, after she gave me such an awesome prompt of 'strippers' I got a little carried away, so it's more like a hot mini one shot. Set in Season 5, though there are no spoilers really, because there always needs to be ways of getting Sasha involved in the boys' lives. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

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Season 5 Super Drabble for Dianna

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One thing Sam had learned a long time ago was not to get in the way of his brother's libido. If they were going to find their way back to being real brothers again then Sam had to allow Dean some…_alone time_ every so often.

And the town they were staying in had a strip club.

As soon as they had spotted the place, Dean had vowed to make sure there weren't any hidden sirens or sinister demons inside that might put the girls in danger. _Right_.

It still made Sam smile to himself though, even as he was moving down the long hallway of the club to escape out the back exit and leave Dean in peace. Dean had already disappeared into one of the rooms down here for a private show. Sam had a sneaky suspicion that the normal strip club rules of 'look but don't touch' didn't apply in the rooms.

Then, suddenly, Sam heard Dean's voice, _distinctly_ Dean's voice, murmuring low and sultry from behind one of the doors, a door that had not been completely closed after its occupants went inside.

Now, Sam was not a voyeur, especially in regards to his _brother_, but he was so curious to see which of the strippers Dean had claimed, curious to see what was happening to make Dean's voice sound like that, that he inched closer to the door anyway. It was open just enough for Sam to steal a peek inside.

No. _Way_.

Dean was in there, alright, but the stripper with him was not any of the ones Sam would have guessed. This wasn't a typical place. It had a floor upstairs for the ladies, filled with _male_ strippers, not just the chicks downstairs surrounded by leering men. And Dean, his macho to the nth degree brother Dean, was with one of the _guys_. One of the scantily clad _men_, who was currently giving Dean a rather intimate lap dance in nothing but a black thong.

Sam had spotted that particular guy out on the floor before, and he remembered that Dean had commented about the guy's Crayola red hair. Sure, it had been an appreciative comment, but Sam hadn't thought at the time that Dean was _appreciating_ so much else. Sam couldn't believe this.

Dean was with a _guy_.

But Dean was _straight_.

Wasn't he…?

Right now, all of Sam's previous assumptions about his brother were being tossed out the window and trampled on by wild dogs.

And the weirdest thing…was how it was all really kind of _hot_.

The way the redhead was moving, fluidly swaying his hips hovering there just above Dean's waist, in front of Dean's face, as Dean sat at rapt attention in a cushy chair, hands gripping the hips of the stripper eagerly. And then the redhead wasn't just hovering, he was sitting in Dean's lap, moving just the same, his thinly covered _cock_ no doubt rubbing tightly against Dean's, obscenely right there before Sam's eyes.

Dean's head dropped back and he moaned, murmuring low-toned words again, "_So_ fucking hot…"

Sam couldn't help but whole-heartedly agree.

And that really kind of freaked him out, because he should not be getting turned on by watching his _brother_ get grinded on by another man.

"That's not allowed, sugar," said a sudden voice from behind Sam, "You looking for a room of your own?"

Sam jerked away from watching Dean and the redhead, spinning around to see a voluptuous blonde with large brown eyes smiling at him. She was wearing a sort of cave woman outfit like Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C., a hand planted coyly on her shapely hip. "Uhhh…I, umm…" Sam didn't know what to say. He had planned to just leave, wait for Dean back at the motel, but he couldn't help noticing how much tighter his jeans were right now.

"Mmm, _honey_," the girl gave Sam a once over and bit her bottom lip, "Come with me and I'll give you a private show for free. Technically, I'm off shift anyway. What do you say?" She tilted her head to the side, inviting.

From inside the room, Sam heard his brother's voice turn husky with a sharp gasp, and he knew that the redhead wasn't the only one _stripped_ anymore.

Sam swallowed.

"What do I say?" he repeated, so horny right now he probably wouldn't be able to sit comfortably enough to drive the Impala anyway. He smiled at the girl. "Lead the way."

THE END

A/N: *fans self* Damn it, why am I at work! Hope you liked this, my dear Dianna, and all you others. More Incubus when I get the chance!

Crimson


	104. DRABBLE: Strippers 2

So, apparently I can't stop. It is Suuz' birthday today so what better gift then to give Dean some POV on this dirty drabble too. Well, can I still pretend it's a drabble if it's 1000 words instead of 100. :-) HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUUZ!

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Part 2 Season 5 Super Drabble for Suuz

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'_Strippers, Sammy…strippers.'_

Sam had smiled sort of crookedly at that, but he had _smiled_, the way he used to smile when things weren't quite so messed up between them and having each others' backs was the last thing Dean ever doubted. It brought on a moment for the Winchesters that could almost be called…brotherly.

Of course, Sam gave in. He always gave in when Dean actually bothered to ask nicely, and they ended up at the strip club. It was a whole other kind of place too. Huge. Filled with chicks. And filled with men too.

_Male_ stripped always made Dean giggle, usually because it reminded him of this one time when he was younger, and this girl, Roxie, had made him…

Well. That was another story.

But also because…Dean kind of liked the way the male body looked. He could admit that and not feel emasculated. After all, if guys didn't like the way a well-toned male body looked then they wouldn't want one for themselves. Dean kept in shape. The guys at the club obviously did too.

Dean had been eyeing a pretty hot chick with dark skin and naturally tightly curled hair, not to mention one helluva rack, when he first spotted the redhead.

Ending up in a private room with the guy had been a little more complicated, involving ducking away from Sam, mustering enough courage to actually go through with it, and…just fucking listening to what his body wanted.

Dean felt like he knew this guy. And not in a 'haven't I seen you somewhere before' awkward kind of way, but in a 'damn, you know just what to do to drive me crazy' way and that was not something Dean would ever complain about.

"_So_ fucking hot…" he moaned when the redhead started grinding on him, Dean sitting so comfortably in that overstuffed chair, clinging to straight male hips with gusto and wondering why he had never tried this before.

The redhead—Dean still didn't know the guy's name—laughed in a breathy, pleased sort of chuckle, breath dancing on Dean's skin as the guy leaned his face closer to the crook of Dean's neck. "How hot you want to get…?" he breathed beside Dean's ear.

_Fuck_.

Dean would have felt guilty, because he never paid for this type of thing, but the guy had been the one to proposition _him_ in the end. Dean paid for the private show, yeah, but Mr. Sexy Redhead had offered 'whatever else happens' as a bonus.

How was Dean supposed to say no to that?

Lips pressed to Dean's ear, his neck, followed by a languidly moving tongue, and suddenly, this wasn't just a strip tease anymore. Their hips were still locked together as Dean got his lap dance with the guy actually _in_ his lap, and before Dean realized how harsh his breathing was becoming, his jeans were already uncomfortably tight.

"Let me help you with that," Mr. Redhead said in a low voice, smiling, licking his lips as he slipped down between Dean's knees to the floor. This guy had a pretty face—a fucking gorgeous face—but he was all man, tall, muscled, strong. Dean was so turned on he could barely _breathe_.

He tilted his head back and let his eyes drift over the room as the stripper undid his jeans. The promise of what was to come had Dean dizzy.

Then he heard Sam's voice.

Wait. _Sam_? Why the hell was Sam here?

Dean knew his brother's voice too well to think he was mistaken, even in just murmurs. He looked to the door, remembering suddenly that he had been the last one into the room, _he_ should have closed it all the way, but he hadn't. And Dean could see Sam, one telling sleeve of Sam's jacket, anyway, through the tiny crack of open space.

Shit. Had Sam come looking for him? Or worse, had he _found_ him? Had Sam been…watching?

Dean's jeans were open, the elastic of his shorts pulled down over his now exposed _cock_ as the redhead's lips closed hotly over the tip and sucked.

A loud gasp broke from Dean's throat, a hoarseness roughening the sound as it left him. With his eyes still on the door, Dean could have sworn he saw his brother twitch tellingly, like he had heard him.

With a hot male stripper between his thighs and the promise of a long night, Dean should have been beyond blissed out—if not a little weirded out that he was enjoying the way a _man's_ mouth was working him so much—but knowing that Sam must have seen him made Dean feel some of that guilt he had pushed aside before.

Then Sam was moving, and Dean could see that there was someone else out there with him, one of the strippers, a _chick_. Just as Sam started to walk away, heading further down the hallway with this girl, Sam's face came into brief view, a flash of hazel taking one last look.

The brothers' gazes locked for only a moment, but it was enough for Dean to feel a strange dirty thrill shoot down into his lower belly, pooling with heat. He wasn't usually big into the whole 'being watched' deal but something about how _wrong_ it was, how he had been caught so compromisingly—really compromising considering he was being deep-throated by a guy—and that _Sammy_ was the one who had glimpsed it all just made the whole thing that much…hotter.

Tomorrow was going to suck when Dean had to explain himself, but at least Sam was going off to have some fun of his own. Besides, right now…

Dean glanced down at the redhead, who seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as Dean was enjoying the attention. That skilled mouth was just so damn _hot_. And the red, _red_ hair. Those crazy bright blue eyes. That _body_.

Mr. Sexy Redheaded Stripper _God_, currently giving Dean the best blow job of his life, flicked his eyes up just then and swirled his tongue teasingly around Dean's tip.

Dean moaned.

He'd worry about Sam tomorrow.

tbc...MAYBE

A/N: I love throwing Sasha in to current season. I still have this awesome idea for him in Season 4 recovering from a near frenzy by working at that S&M club Dean got tricked into going to by the magicians. Mmmm...

Hope you liked, Suuz, and have a great birthday!

Crimson


	105. DRABBLE: Leven

One more birthday girl! This is for rivkaesque at LiveJournal. Her request was for a Leven drabble. And well, I can't just do 100 words. Maybe I'll make a continuing arc of this...

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Leven Drabble for rivkaesque

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When Dean first told Leven over the phone that not only had the apocalypse been averted, but he had someone for Leven to _meet_, the kid had practically fallen over himself demanding answers into the phone. Answers Leven never got because Dean said goodbye after that and dared to shut off his phone, no doubt going off to celebrate saving the world with his too hot incubus lover.

_So_ not fair.

But when Leven and his sister showed up at the Roadhouse only to be told they would all be going to the fae plain, the actual other world specifically for magical creatures like incubi and succubae, Leven nearly shit a brick.

Now, being in the fae plane, in a world that was indescribably beautiful and lush with life, and finally meeting the mystery person Dean had mentioned, Leven was rendered, for one of the first times in his life, absolutely speechless.

He was just so beautiful, this incubus that the hunters had rescued, though Leven hadn't been told all the details about it yet. Leven didn't know what to say now that he was standing in front of someone literally made for sex, who was Leven's own age, and _that_ beautiful.

Adrian. Even the name was beautiful, rolling off the tongue like honey. He had dark curls that fell about his eyes and around his face, and those eyes were like storm clouds, pale blue-grey. He was just slightly taller than Leven, bigger but still trim, and that _face_, the bashful smile, the punk clothes, how warm Adrian's skin felt as they shook hands…

Leven was instantly in love.

"You know," Dean's voice filtered into Leven's Adrian-centered world for a moment, "We got all this boring adult crap to take care of while we're here, but that's no reason you guys gotta suffer. You can show Leven around and get him back in one piece, right, Adrian?"

Oh, Leven knew he loved Dean Winchester for a reason.

"Sure! If it's okay," Adrian looked smartly to Leven's sister, Wade, who had put on an air of disapproval, but who finally seemed to be warming to the idea of letting Leven be an adult. He was eighteen now, after all. He could take care of himself.

Leven stared at Wade wide-eyed and imploring.

She raised both eyebrows back at him.

"You better not get into any trouble. This isn't Pittsburgh," she said, which was sister code for 'I'm not thrilled but I won't stop you'. That was more than enough for Leven. He knew this wasn't Pittsburgh.

Leven turned back to Adrian and saw those gorgeous blue eyes gazing shyly back at him.

This place was so much better than home.

THE END

A/N: More of this one? I do love those boys, and there are actually some fun surprises about them you'll find out in the Progeny arc.

Crimson


	106. DRABBLE: Strippers 3

No more birthdays, that I know of, so this one is simply for all of you who pleaded that I don't stop. Of course now I'll just have to keep coming back to this won't I? And back to the Leven bit, which I will also revisit, I promise. Enjoy!

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Strippers Drabble Part 3

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Sasha did not do things like this. Okay, so he regularly had sex with people he barely knew, but that was part of the hazard of being a hunter. And an incubus. Sasha just happened to be both.

He had recognized Dean Winchester the moment he saw him and his brother in the club. He had seen pictures of them at Bobby's, knew their names and their reputations, but he had never met them before. He should have gone up to them and introduced himself as a fellow of the trade, but then there would have inevitably been questions about why he was in a place like this, and that would have meant explaining that he was an incubus on the mend, and what better way to mend than in a strip club that doubled as a brothel if the price was right.

Despite some of the stories Sasha had heard about the Winchesters, he was pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over well.

But what was Sasha supposed to do when Dean came looking for _him_, having ditched his brother and wanting a little private time with the redhead, because, according to Dean, Sasha was the hottest thing in the room.

That would have been enough to sway Sasha right there, but he also needed to feed, had planned to feed tonight anyway, and while he usually spent most of his time upstairs with the other male strippers performing before frenzied women, he had come downstairs on a whim. That whim got him spouting words to Dean that promised more than just a private show, on the house, of course, and eventually ended with both hunters in a room all to themselves.

Sasha shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn't be doing this, not without first coming clean to Dean about what he was, at least the hunter part if not the more risky admission that he was an incubus.

But how could Sasha care about details when Dean was _looking_ at him like that, _moving_ like that, and growing so hard beneath him. "How hot you want to get?" he found himself whispering, and was soon slithering down to the floor, wedged between Dean's knees where he could better tend to Dean's little—only so not _little_—problem.

Tasting Dean was like an addiction Sasha didn't even know he had, the way the hunter squirmed and gasped and gave himself over, even though Sasha was almost certain that Dean Winchester had never been intimate like this with a man before. Sasha swelled with pride knowing that he was the first member of the male species to ever know Dean this way.

As Sasha swallowed Dean back, stroking long lengths with his tongue across Dean's too hot skin, he could tell that something was distracting Dean, pulling Dean's attention away from the matter at hand. Dean seemed to be staring passed Sasha at the door. Sasha couldn't have that.

He slid from Dean's length, and when Dean looked back at him, Sasha flicked his eyes up just in time to catch a heated stare, a look of deep desire, and in response Sasha smiled around Dean and swirled his tongue along the tip of Dean's _cock_.

Dean moaned.

Sasha had never felt so ravenous from a simple utterance like that before, but the way Dean's voice went rough and low just undid him completely.

"Floor. Now," Sasha growled, pulling Dean by the front of his jacket until they both toppled back, Dean sprawled on top of Sasha in all his many layers of clothing. There weren't beds or couches in these rooms to better pull off the guise that sex didn't happen, but the floor was more than enough of a flat surface for Sasha.

Dean looked a little flustered as he gathered himself from the fall, smiling but nervous, and he cast another glance at the door before turning back to look at Sasha. "You're not gonna…slap on some extra fee afterwards or anything?" he said, only Sasha knew Dean's reservations weren't only about money.

"You already paid for the show," Sasha grinned, "The rest is on me. At least I hope so." Running his tongue slowly over his lips, Sasha's bucked up into the still revealed flesh of Dean's manhood.

A fresh moan poured from Dean's throat at the contact, Sasha being only in a tiny thong, after all, but Dean looked panicked suddenly, unsure. "I, uhh…" he was looking more at the floor beside Sasha's head than into Sasha's eyes, "I don't really know…_how_…to, ummm…"

"It's okay," Sasha said, reaching up to pull on the back of Dean's neck so he could better whisper beside Dean's ear, "I want you to fuck me. I'm guessing you know how to do that."

Dean shivered atop Sasha. He laughed anxiously. "Yeah, I…I know how to do that."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Apparently, permission and recognition of Dean's own desires was the only thing the hunter needed.

Dean's clothing was easy to discard, though they didn't quite get his T-shirt off before they were both about ready to burst and already mindless grinding. Dean was naked from the waist down but Sasha still had on his damn thong. He struggled to twist free of it until, finally, Dean reached down and pushed the fabric to the side, not removing the thong entirely but freeing Sasha to he open air.

The room was growing too hot too fast, and the sexual energy pouring off of Dean was like Heaven, it tasted so good. Sasha had to keep a hold of himself.

When they were both so close to coming it hurt, still just grinding, groping at each other, not even having _kissed_ yet, Dean finally shifted the thong enough out of the way, hoisted Sasha's hips, and gave him what he wanted.

It was feverish, clumsy at first, obviously not a position Dean usually used with women or ever with a man, but the urgency and passion in Dean overrode the initial difficulty. Then Sasha was helping, shifting just right, locking his legs around Dean's back, rocking to steady their combined motion, and…_yes_, just like that, it was—_fuck_, it was amazing.

Sasha had chosen this place for recovery because not only did he get prospects for sex, but even if he was only dancing for someone, another couple in a room down the hall having sex was enough to feed him a little too.

Right now, he had Dean Winchester—_Dean Fucking Winchester_—rocking steadily into him, and somewhere in another room there was an echo of nearly the same feeling coming from someone else. It had to be _Sam._

It was sort of dizzying, feeling the sexual energy from two similar but so very different men, and in two very different ways, Dean right here with him, and Sam not far away down the hall. Sasha could get used to this.

Climax was quick in coming though, too quick, but so fucking hot and worth it that Sasha had to bite Dean's shoulder to keep from calling out. When they were nothing but two large quivering figures, tightly wrapped around each other with sweat and cum between them, Sasha decided to remedy that they had not yet kissed.

He grabbed Dean by the sides of his face, devoured those lips, sucked in that warm tongue and didn't let go until he had stolen Dean's breath and lost his own along with it. Then he gasped against Dean's kiss-bruised mouth, "Dean…that was…fucking unbelievable."

"_Hell_ yeah…" Dean gasped right back, grinning sort of deliriously like he hadn't yet come back to himself from the high of awesome sex. Then, suddenly, Dean's gaze sharpened, his expression wary as he pulled up to look down at Sasha properly. "I…I never told you my name."

Sasha swallowed.

Oops.

tbc...

A/N: Yeah, I'm sure I'll do more. They are just so YUMMY.

Crimson


	107. DRABBLE: Red, White and Blue

ATTENTION: I have removed the Incubus: The Book bits for now. I feel that it is not quite right to post that here, as this is for the fanfic, but I am so happy to have gotten the feedback I did so far. I am still working diligently on the original version of this story, and you will all be the first to know when it is finished.

For now, please enjoy this drabble. 100 words on the nose!

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Red, White and Blue

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Dean tugged off the mask that had become skewed over his eyes. He didn't want half of his vision painted in blue. He was more focused on red.

_Sasha_.

"You are _so_ wearing this again," Sasha gasped.

"Like me in spandex, baby?"

"_Mmm_…"

"I thought I remembered someone mentioning Green Lantern to me once," Dean snickered, arching his back for Sasha to better peel the thin layer of spandex down his thighs. Pornographically tight didn't do the costume justice.

"Next time," Sasha promised with another pleased hum, "But for some reason…you just look so good in red, white and blue."

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A/N:

If you don't understand the Captain America reference then you have not been paying attention to the news the past few months! As of now, CA is still not cast. Chris Evans is only rumor, just like all the others. Marvel has said nothing official. BUT, there is reason to believe that last week's episode of Supernatural was filled with CA Easter eggs--a red, white, and blue helmet, for example, and the letters CA cleverly hidden by Jensen's head in one scene--so either he is still a consideration or the crew simply understands like we do that he would be the best choice for the role.

Pray with me fellow fans that Jensen somehow manages to dawn the costume for real.

Crimson


	108. DRABBLE: Strippers 4

A/N: Huzzah! More stripper!Sasha 'verse! Faithful reader and reviewer Medic04 requested, and while I forgot for a bit, I finally got this up!

Still looking for an agent, and waiting to hear back from the publisher after sending my final original Incubus revisions a couple weeks ago. Wish me luck! You'll all be the first to know when something happens.

And for further Incubus goodies, if you didn't notice the separate fic I posted on July 12th "Until You Loved Me" it is a nice Sasha and Dean interlude in honor of my recent wedding anniversary. Love you all!

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Strippers Drabble Part 4

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Sam had never felt quite so exposed in front of his brother. Especially since he was fully clothed. And really, Dean was the one who had been exposed first.

Dean had gone into a private room with a male stripper. _Male_. Sam had caught his brother intimately—_sexually_—involved, with a _man_.

Who had also turned out to be a hunter.

And an incubus.

"Did you really have to pull me out of there for this?" Sam said, still a little shaken from when Dean and the stripper/incubus had burst in on him with _his_ stripper, and that was where the remaining feeling of _exposed_ was still lingering. Sam had been rather intimately—_sexually_—involved as well.

"Sorry," Dean huffed, clearly not sorry at all. "I thought if things started turning sour I'd cause a panic at the place when I started _shooting_." He glared daggers at the stripper/incubus.

Stripper/incubus…hunter?

Sam reminded himself that the guy had a name. _Sasha_, as it turned out, which normally would have meant that he had that much more teasing rights with Dean over the whole thing, but this was actually a bit serious.

Sasha had come along quietly to their motel room, with clothes _on_, thankfully, and looked pretty ashamed for someone Dean seemed to think would suddenly eat them.

Or something.

"I said I was sorry," Sasha said. "I recognized you, but I wasn't exactly sure how to explain the situation."

"Well, do you want to try explaining _now_?" Dean snapped. "Coz I'm thinking I'm lucking to be alive."

"_Dean_," Sam tried. After all, Sasha was also a hunter, or so he claimed, and said he knew Bobby.

"I wouldn't have hurt you," Sasha said. "I didn't, obviously. I was just using the strip club as a way to recuperate after some injuries. "

"Recuperate with sex?" Sam asked, not really meaning for the question to sound so…ridiculous.

Sasha nodded. "I know it might be hard for you to believe I'm both an incubus and a hunter, but I am. Bobby can vouch for me. Well…only he doesn't actually know the incubus part, but he can vouch that I'm a hunter."

Dean's expression was entirely unforgiving. Sam could understand. He would be shocked too if he had just discovered he had been blown by a demon.

Sam choked a little at the thought.

Sasha was an _incubus_, anyway, not a demon, and didn't seem to mean them any harm. Not that Sam was about to voice that opinion again. Dean had a tendency to not trust Sam when it came to being a character witness these days. Besides, the only reason Sam had the urge to trust Sasha was because he just seemed so damn sincere. And, after all, Dean was still breathing. Surely, being as vulnerable as Dean had been would have been the perfect opportunity if Sasha intended to hurt him.

"Look, I would be glad to help you on whatever case you're on," Sasha said. "Or if you don't trust me enough, I can go. Unless…you'd rather put a bullet in my head."

"Thinking about it."

"_Dean_."

"Call Bobby, Sammy. Let's see what he says."

Bobby was actually quite adamant that Dean 'better not hurt a red hair on that idiot's head!' and turned out to have known that Sasha was an incubus all along. Sasha was as surprised to hear that as Sam had been. But with Bobby's okay, Dean seemed to soften, at least a little.

"I guess you can…help then," Dean said, far tenser than he normally would have been after what had looked like one damn agreeable organism, something Sam could not say for himself since he had been interrupted. And that did not help his thought processes at all, since he couldn't stop thinking about Dean and Sasha amorously involved.

It was getting to be almost dangerously distracting.

Sam sat at the table in their motel room with a book in his lap just to be safe.

Sasha sat next to him, smiling in a way that Sam could only describe as _knowing_.

"As an incubus I can…sense emotions," Sasha leaned over, whispering. Dean was sitting on one of the beds with Sam's laptop. "And I can definitely sense…arousal."

Sam's eyes widened. _Shit_.

"Maybe I can help make an excuse for you if you want to sneak back to your…friend at the strip club," Sasha finished, which was so much of a relief to Sam since he had been expecting a proposition, he audibly sighed.

"Find something?" Dean asked.

"Not yet," said Sasha, flashing another quick grin at Sam.

Sam stared for a minute, not sure what to do.

"He's a little freaked out, but I'm pretty sure I can convince him to…forgive me, and give you enough time to get away," Sasha whispered once Dean's attention seemed distracted enough.

Sam was really starting to like this stripper/incubus/hunter. Enough that he didn't feel guilty in the least for leaving Dean alone with him. "I need some air," Sam declared. "Will you guys be okay for a bit?"

Dean looked up with something of a spooked expression, like he wasn't sure how to handle being alone with Sasha now, but his machismo forced him to shrug like it was no big deal. Sasha just grinned.

Sam tried not to grin too widely himself as he slipped out the door, noticing the way Dean flinched but then relaxed again as Sasha brought his book over to the bed to sit beside Dean. Sam paused for a moment without shutting the door completely, just watching them through a small crack of space. The thrill he had felt earlier that night surged within him again and he swallowed thickly, wondering how long it would take Sasha to outwit Dean's resolve. But then Sam had always thought Dean was pretty damn resolved against sex with a man, so maybe resolve against all things not human would falter too.

As it turned out, all of Dean's resolve fell away after only a few minutes of Sasha's hand moving to Dean's knee, blue eyes staring fondly, and a constant, curved smile. Sam saw Dean swallow much as he had, all the rules different now, despite whatever they had shared when Sam stopped watching them in the strip club. Now Dean knew he was dealing with something not human. Dean knew…and leaned in anyway.

The kiss was something Sam had not seen before, the sights he had been afforded during his first round of peeping having been much more graphic. This was soft, and unhurried, and…intimate. This was Dean kissing because he liked the man on the other end, not just the sensation of skin and wetness.

And it was somehow even hotter than the graphic bits.

Sam forced himself to close the door and walk away just as Dean's hand gripped Sasha by his shirt and clutched, pulling them closer, and turning their soft, heated, intimate moment into something carnal again, but still filled with affection that should be impossible in so short a time and with so little known about each other.

Sam really couldn't help grinning about it. Dean deserved that, however surprising.

He patted the Impala's keys in his jacket. Sam had always been a better pick-pocket than Dean, despite his size and seemingly klutzy limbs. He wasn't headed back to the strip club though. His 'friend', as Sasha had put it, had slipped him her home address after they were interrupted.

Sam could be there in minutes.

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TBC...?


	109. DRABBLE: Season 7

Hello, friends! This little drabble, an ode to this season and how a certain incubus could no doubt make it better, is to inform you all that Incubus is being published...starting Monday! I have chosen a new publisher, one with an exciting new venture. BigWorldNetwork[dot]com is a serialized fiction and nonfiction online publisher, meaning that all of the series on the site have new episodes each week, like chapter by chapter, along with audio versions, which is the real unique part.

Check out the site, especially the series page, where you will find Incubus, ready for its first episode on Monday, February 6th. Please read and listen to the audio as it comes out too. I have a wonderful male reader for the series.

Reading and listening from the site is entirely FREE. Eventually, you will be able to purchase an eBook version of each season, and a hardcopy of the final full series, as well as the audio on CD, but just to read and listen each week is FREE, and you can also subscribe to get the episodes right to your emails. And when we do offer compilations that you would have to pay for, there will be extra features for incentive. I'm most looking forward to the hardcopy some day!

Anyway, please read this little drabble below, and check out BigWorldNetwork. There are some great other series there as well. And, dear writer friends, please consider submitting your own work. I have been hired on as the Managing Editor, and would love to give preferential treatment to Incubus fans. ;-)

Enjoy!

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**Red Over Black**

* * *

Black.

Dean's dreams are filled with black, endless and oozing.

Sometimes, rare times, he dreams of the way things were, when he had hope, and faith, and a family larger than Sammy.

Sometimes, rarer times, he dreams of blue eyes. And wonders if the trenchcoat rolled into a corner of his duffle is the end.

Sometimes, rarest of all, he dreams of _red_ eyes. He doesn't understand why they are red, or who they belong to, but he doesn't think of crossroads demons. He thinks of a life he never had, but maybe...

Well. Red would be better than black.

**THE END**

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~Crimson


	110. Chance Encounter: Part 1

A/N: I'm actually shaking with excitement, it's been so long since I threw you guys a bone - teehee. But this update is an important one. Incubus: Book 1 will be out in paperback, eBook, and audiobook form in only a few weeks! I can't give a set date, since we originally thought this month and it might get pushed to June, but I will let you all know as soon as it is officially available. Book 1 deals with events from the fic through...well, killing Kubrick and Dean recovering in the hospital, but of course this is the original version, so names and details are changed.

In lieu of the book's release, I wanted to give you all something; first, to remind myself of where it all began; second, to give you faithful fans something more for the fic; and lastly, to promote the book and hope you all buy it in some form or another once it's out. :-) There will be three books in all, and while I might only ever return to the fic version from time to time like this, the story lives on in another form and I'd love to share it with you.

As for "Chance Encounter," this is set during AU Season 8, ambiguous timeframe but before the trials start, and will be 3 maybe 4 chapters total. I'm combining two fic ideas I've had recently into one longer fic, and will update as I'm able, also allowing me to more easily update you on the book.

Enjoy, lovely readers, thank you all for your support since the long ago beginning of Incubus in 2007, and please, when the book is available, consider helping support your friendly neighborhood author.

* * *

**Incubus: Chance Encounter**

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Dean hadn't been surprised when Garth called and said he'd meet them at the nearest burger place for lunch. Even though Garth shouldn't know where they were. And hadn't called ahead, other than fifteen minutes before said lunchtime. They had sort of resigned themselves to Garth being their resident Q/Bosley/not-quite-Bobby-but-still-pretty-damn-awe some stalker, and nothing surprised them anymore when it came to the dentist turned hunter. He was an enigma.

He'd also already ordered for them by the time they arrived at the burger joint, and had ordered eerily _well_, so neither Dean nor Sam decided to protest. They needed a case anyway, while they waited for Kevin to reveal the secrets of the tablet, and Garth was always good for that.

"So what's up?" Dean asked, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. "You just happen to be passing through?"

"Yes, actually," Garth said with a slight upturn of his impressive nose and a touch of earned superiority. "Kevin's fine, don't worry there, but I got a call for a case this way, so…here I am."

"_You_ got a case?" inquired Sam. "So…this is just a lunch date? Nothing for us?"

Garth looked crestfallen, and dramatically put a hand to his chest. "Such takers."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, we just figured you had a case for us. We'll take the date. Assuming you're paying." He flashed a grin, and shoved in another fry.

"So much for pleasant non-apocalyptic conversation," Garth sighed. "I _do_ have something for you guys, too. Had a call from another hunter when I hit the road, but as I'm headed in the opposite direction, I thought I'd throw you two a bone. Siren case, which I know you've worked before, and Sasha's having a hard time tracking the perp down. Feel like a trip to Manhattan? Kansas, now, so don't get too excited."

"Sure, that's only a few hours from here," Sam said. They had been in The Bunker when Garth pinpointed their location to within 20 miles, which was on the outskirts of Lebanon, KS.

Dean froze as he was about to lift his burger. "_Sasha_, huh? Didn't think there were any hunter chicks left."

"There are plenty, just not any you've met recently," Garth said, a slight quirk to his mouth to prove _he_ had met all of them. "But sorry to disappoint again. Family name. Sasha's not a chick."

Dean deflated and took a bite of his burger to lift his spirits. Just his luck—a dude named Sasha.

"So he just can't _find_ the siren?" Sam asked, hunching a little more than he needed to over the table; something he always seemed to do subconsciously in mixed company since, even sitting, he was ridiculously tall. "He knows for sure that's what it is?"

"Seems pretty sure. And he…_knows_ these kinds of cases. He just needs an extra set of hands. Or two."

"Sure, sure," Dean nodded as he chewed. He had no problem helping out other hunters if Garth was giving them the lead.

"I can tell him you'll head over tomorrow, then?" Garth asked hopefully.

"We'll finish up some things and join him first thing in the morning," Sam agreed.

"Great!"

"Anything we need to know about this guy?" Dean asked. "You trust him well enough?"

"Actually…" Garth shifted in his seat, and Dean noticed that their friend wasn't touching his own burger and fries. Even Sam had taken some bites out of his mushroom and Swiss burger. "Sasha sorta came with a warning label when I first met him."

"A warning label?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"From Bobby."

Suddenly, the food wasn't as appetizing. Dean and Sam both stared over the table at Garth, waiting for him to elaborate.

Garth didn't. At first. Then he jumped. "Oh! I don't mean a warning _about_ him…necessarily. More a warning _from_ Bobby not to 'touch a single red hair on that idjit's head'," he finished in a gruff and rather ridiculous Bobby impersonation. "He said Sasha didn't work with other hunters much, and that if I was going to help him on a case, I had to be prepared not to freak out if I found out his…secret. Which I did, took it in stride, and we're totally tight now. But I figured I better pass on the same warning to you or risk pissing off the Big Guy." He gestured Heavenward, which Dean knew wasn't referring to any deity. Bobby was the be-all, end-all, and always would be.

Dean pushed his plate away. "Okay, so…what's the secret?"

"Oh, I can't _tell_ you."

"What?" Sam balked.

"It's a _secret_. Hence the secretiveness. If Sasha wants to tell you, fine. If you find out on your own, fine. Just…know that it doesn't really matter and don't do anything stupid. Sasha's a good guy, and a good hunter. Let's just leave it at that."

Dean would have preferred leaving it at 'go help this other hunter' instead of 'who happens to have a huge secret you can't know,' but if Bobby had trusted this guy too, Dean wanted to at least attempt to let the issue go.

Of course then Dean couldn't stop thinking about it, wondering what this 'secret' might be, and so, even though it was almost 10pm before they were finished up with things at The Bunker, Dean suggested they head to Manhattan that night rather than in the morning. Since Sam wouldn't be driving anyway, he agreed, and they checked into a local dive a little after midnight. Dean then decided that if he was going to get any sleep, he needed a little something to dull his senses, and told Sam, who was already crawling into bed, that he was heading out for a drink. Sam merely mumbled acceptance.

Dean figured he'd have one drink, clear his head, and then return to the motel, but he also figured the trip could give him a lay of the place, and maybe he'd even strike gold and catch a lead.

He hadn't really drank much since returning from Purgatory, which he supposed was a good thing, given how his habit had grown into a dangerous addiction by the time they were saying goodbye to Dick. But then after a year in Purgatory, where a stiff drink wasn't even remotely an option, Dean just didn't have as much of a craving for it. Okay, so he craved it plenty, and indulged from time to time, like he used to, but it wasn't the same as the need it had once become, and he hadn't gotten honestly smashed in…longer than he could remember. There was a part of him that could use a little oblivion tonight.

He started by ordering a local brew on tap and settled onto a stool at the bar.

"Haven't seen you here before?" the man sitting next to him commented.

Dean glanced over. He'd noticed the guy when he sat down—you couldn't miss that kind of Little Mermaid-esque dye job, especially on a guy—and figured him for a punk, especially with that girly face and never-seen-the-sun skin tone. But the guy was dressed, well, a lot like Dean, in jeans, a T-shirt, and a well-loved leather jacket, so he shrugged off any preconceived notions.

"Just got in a few minutes ago, passing through," Dean said. "Figured I could use a nightcap. You local?"

The redhead flashed a wide, straight-toothed smile, and Dean noticed the brilliance to his blue eyes and how he just exuded friendly. _Not_ a punk. But probably pretty popular with the ladies. "Nah, I'm just passing through too, but been in town a couple days now. This seems to be the place to be most nights. Winding down already tonight, though."

"When's last call?"

"1:30, but it usually gets closer to 2:00 if Jamie's feeling generous." He turned to wink at the 40-something female bartender, who was a tough looking cookie Dean wouldn't have dared hit on. She smiled back at the redhead, then quickly dropped it with a hard expression thrown at Dean, like a warning.

Dean quickly averted his gaze. "Gotcha."

"Well, if we're going to be sharing a drink together…" the guy said, extending a hand toward Dean as he turned in his stool. "…I'm Sasha."

_Don't touch a single _red_ hair on that idjit's head._

"Well, shit," Dean said with a laugh, "now _I_ feel like an idiot. I'm _Dean_. As in Winchester," he said, and shook the offered hand.

Sasha's blue eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"We decided to head over tonight instead of in the morning. I was restless, but Sam hit the hay. You on the job now?" he added more quietly.

"Yeah," Sasha whispered back, reclaiming his hand but leaning closer to Dean, even with so little space between them to begin with. "I took _you_ for the siren. Figured it had finally pegged me, and was going in for the kill."

"Me?" Dean chuckled. "Why? You have a thing for sexy male hunters?"

Sasha pulled back, his long, pale fingers dancing along the glass of his mug. He grinned. "Occasionally."

Dean felt heat flush to his face unbidden and quickly laughed off the flirt. This guy was obviously teasing him. "Very funny," he said. "So…you have any other leads going right now? Coz if not, I'd love to get caught up."

Sasha nodded. "Jamie, can you bring another round to the table in the back?" he asked the bartender sweetly. "And a couple double shots of Jack." He smiled at Dean again, stood, and motioned toward a dark booth, far from any listening ears. Dean followed him.

"You sure this siren hasn't moved on if you're having so much trouble?" Dean asked once they had settled in with their new drinks.

"Not if the death count has anything to say about it," Sasha said with a frown. "Had another couple fatalities this morning. That's why I called Garth."

"Couple?"

"This siren works in pairs. Likes to get two people enamored with him—or her, as the case may be—then get them to have sex with _each other_. Then…kill each other. We're talking extra level of creepy serial killer here."

Dean shuddered, and downed the shot of Jack to hide his grimace.

"I followed it here from another town. It always kills two sets before moving on. First pair found dead this morning. That means only another day or two before there's another."

"Damn," Dean grimaced openly this time, "no wonder you asked for help. That's fast. And you don't have any leads?"

"Bait was my best bet. Instead I got you." He smiled again, though still with a touch of disappointment and remorse that the siren had evaded him. "I think I'm ready to call it a night," Sasha added, and downed his Jack to follow Dean.

This time _Dean_ grinned. "Fresh eyes in the morning?" he suggested, and gestured toward the bar for Jamie to bring another round of shots. In the meantime, he took a gulp of his beer and hummed. It had been too long—especially with good company.

Sasha raised his glass toward Dean's with a clink. "I like the way you think, Mr. Winchester."

* * *

A few beers and another shot or two later, Dean found himself engrossed in a heated—and humored—argument with the redhead.

"Dude, nothing beats _Wrath of Khan_. You're out of your mind."

"I can't help it, I always thought _Star Trek II_ was only…okay. _Undiscovered Country_ was always my favorite."

"_VI_?" Dean scoffed. "Okay, I mean, it was good—Christopher Plummer as a Shakespeare spouting Klingon can't be bad—but better than Khan?"

"It's the relationship arcs, I guess. I was always more of a Bones guy than a Spock guy."

Well, Dean could understand that, because DeForest Kelley was awesome. Karl Urban was pretty awesome too. "Next you'll be telling me _First Contact_ isn't the best _Next Gen_ movie," he shook his head.

Sasha grinned crookedly. "Well I do have a special fondness for _Generations_. Clash of universes!"

Dean shook his head but smiled widely. He imagined he could have similar arguments with Garth—the guy had to be a bit of a geek—and had numerous times engaged Charlie in geek-related rants, but he couldn't remember ever having another hunter, and one around his own age, who he could really relax like this with. Even if the guy had some crazy ideas in his head—thinking _Wrath of Khan_ wasn't the best _Star Trek_ movie—Dean was having a blast.

"I'll admit," he relented, "the end of _Undiscovered Country_, when Kirk does the whole 'boldly go' speech and corrects himself at the end from 'no man' to 'no one', passing the torch to Picard…shit, gets me every time."

Sasha nodded reverently, then frowned. "Both _Star Trek V_ and _VI_ came out after _Next Generation_ started airing, though, right?"

"Yeah, but we don't speak about _V_ in civilized company," Dean said seriously.

Sasha laughed. "Damn right," he said, and clinked Dean's glass before calling Jamie over for another round.

* * *

Several shots later, and after more beers than Dean could remember anymore, it was nearing that magic 2am last call time, and Dean and the redheaded hunter Sasha Kelly had had more engaging conversations than Dean thought he'd had with anyone else in maybe years. Sure, he and Benny had talked a lot in Purgatory, but they weren't exactly from the same era to bond on the pop culture level. Sasha was something else.

"Okay, I knew about the pedicures, but…_Tori and Dean_? Really?" Sasha laughed good and hard at the idea of Bobby watching the worst of reality TV.

"Yep," Dean chuckled back, only slightly slurring his speech, and enjoying the way the colors and shapes of the room were dim and hazy now. Sasha, however, remained crystal clear across from him. "He'd be so pissed I'm spilling his secrets."

"Nah, he loves you guys," Sasha dismissed. His bright blue eyes only betrayed a slight glassiness, and his expression was a constant, lazy smile. "Talked about you and Sam all the time. He'd forgive you anything. Used to tell me I should work a case with you sometime, 'see how it's really done'," he said in an only slightly better approximation of Bobby than Garth had managed, "but I…get wary around other hunters. Except Bobby. He's known me since I was a kid, and was always there when I needed help. I really miss that old man…"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, allowing a moment of solemn silence, before they clinked glasses again, in honor of Bobby, and mutually downed the last of their most recent beers. "So…" Dean started in right away, drunk enough now to forget any sense of tact as he leaned over the tabletop, "…what's the story? The reason you don't work with other hunters much. Your…_secret_," he finished in a mock whisper.

Sasha's decidedly pale skin paled further, though he mirrored Dean in leaning forward over the table. "Garth…mentioned that, huh?"

"And a warning from Bobby not to do anything to you if we ever find out what it is. Do I have to guess?"

Sasha's eyes drifted to the table.

"You don't have to tell me, but…dude, I don't take words like that from Bobby lightly, and with Garth backing you too…I'm betting I could handle whatever it is." And he was insanely curious. This 'secret' had been part of the reason Dean went out for a drink in the first place. Now that he was getting to know and _like_ Sasha, his curiosity had reached critical mass.

"Maybe you _could_…" Sasha said, flicking his eyes up to lock gazes with Dean. They looked impossibly blue in the dark of the bar, and with Dean's alcohol-riddled perception, accentuated further by the deep red of Sasha's hair and the pale white of his skin.

Seriously…if the Little Mermaid was a dude. He even had that pretty, clean-shaven, androgynous face chicks seemed to go so crazy for these days. _Pretty_, but still masculine. _How do some guys do that_, Dean wondered.

He shook his head to clear away such odd thoughts as Sasha continued speaking.

"Tell you what…" Sasha leaned even closer across the table, and his fingertips brushed Dean's, "…you help me finish this case, and I'll tell you. As long as you promise you won't go back on your word to Bobby and Garth."

Dean nudged Sasha's fingers in reply as he raised one hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. "Hunter's honor."

Sasha smiled. "And who knows…you might end up finding out on your own." He tapped his fingers on the table, then brushed them against Dean's again. The slow, subtle skin contact made Dean shiver, and he stared at Sasha across from him. The redhead's eyes, his expression, his whole…_aura_ was hypnotic, and suddenly, Dean couldn't look away.

Heat from the alcohol—definitely from the alcohol—surged through Dean's body. For a brief moment, he wondered if his drink had been spiked with siren venom, and that Sasha or Jamie was the siren, but Dean remembered what that felt like and knew he was completely in control—other than a little tipsy. He didn't understand why he felt so _warm_.

"Alright, boys, time to head on home," Jamie called as she approached the table to clear away their glasses. They were the only ones still in the bar.

Dean absently tugged at his collar from the sudden heat. He looked across at Sasha again, the redhead's image still strangely focused and bright compared to the rest of the bar, but he quickly looked away when the heat only increased.

He nodded to Jamie and made to stand—they had already paid the tab, knowing they were on their last drinks, and Dean was ready to head out and maybe finally get some sleep since his brain was clearly playing tricks on him. But as soon as he was on his feet, he caught himself on the table, dizzy and swaying.

"Whoa…guess it's been a little _too_ long," he said. "Haven't quite built my tolerance back up."

Sasha was standing next to him in a heartbeat, arm around his waist to help him out of the booth. "My fault. We should have stopped another beer or two ago. Guess I got carried away catching up on hunter business and Bobby stories. And Star Trek." He flashed a charming grin, an expression the guy was in no short supply of.

"And comics," Dean reminded him.

"Nobody likes Ant Man," Sasha said—their previous Avengers conversation had probably lasted the longest.

"Nobody," Dean agreed.

They started for the exit, but didn't get far before Dean cursed.

"Shit," he said, leaning heavily against the slightly taller though slimmer man beside him. "Guess I'm _walking_ back to the motel." He could barely focus now that he was actually moving—shameful.

"You know…I'm staying right next door. You could crash with me and just…let your brother know we'll meet up with him in the morning."

Next door instead of several blocks away? Dean immediately liked that idea. "Let me shoot him a text. You are officially on my list of awesome, decent hunters to hang with."

"Not too decent, I hope," Sasha grinned as they left the bar.

Dean chuckled.

They paused just outside so Dean could get his cell phone out and send Sam a message—_Crashing with our contact. Long story. Meet you in the morning_—which took far longer to spell out without typos than usual, but he got it done. Then Sasha had his arm around Dean's waist again, both of them leaning into _each other_ rather than just Dean against Sasha—the redhead was fairly tipsy too, after all—but thankfully they were at the guy's motel room door in no time.

Sasha fumbled a little with the key, and once the door was open and closed behind them, they fell back heavily against it, both laughing ridiculously at their inability to move like normal, sober humans.

Dean thought he would probably pass out the second his head hit the mattress, but there was also a rush of excitement in his chest he couldn't quite place that made him feel wide awake. He swallowed thickly, slowly realizing that _he_ was the one pressed against the door, and Sasha was more like collapsed into him, practically wrapped around him with his soft red hair brushing the side of Dean's face. Dean puffed a breath and watched a bit of red hair flutter. He snickered.

"Dude, you better not fall asleep on me," he said, hands moving to Sasha's waist because…there wasn't really anywhere else for them to go. Sasha radiated heat that made Dean feel cozy and content, and smelled like leather and whiskey.

"Oh…you won't have to worry about that," Sasha said. His voice was…different. Not just muffled from his face being practically smushed into the crook of Dean's neck, but gruffer and hot on Dean's skin. He pulled his head up, but his body remained close. His eyes were practically glowing bright blue.

Dean flicked his gaze to Sasha's mouth as the other man licked his lips. He felt a surge of that excitement again. Dean was excited—anxious. He shifted in place and felt how much Sasha's body was in contact with his own. Maybe he was a little _too_ excited.

Panic seized Dean's chest as he realized he was reacting to Sasha's proximity, and pretty face, and just how much he liked the guy. His hands involuntarily squeezed Sasha's waist. His breathing was shallow, shaky. He licked his lips as Sasha had and didn't know what to do. Sure, Dean was mostly drunk, and it had been a really long time since he'd…_anything_, but he was certain that any moment now Sasha would realize what was going on and freak—maybe bolt.

But he didn't. Sasha's hands slid up Dean's chest, slowly, teasingly over his T-shirt; his gaze moved to Dean's now moistened lips, then up to his eyes where they locked on heatedly; and then, without any preamble or word of warning, he surged forward, his hands gripping Dean's shirt as his head tilted, lips descended, and Dean felt the other man's tongue in his mouth at the same moment as Sasha's thigh purposely nudged Dean's not-at-all-shy erection like he'd already known it was there.

Dean's stomach flipped, tightened, and the panic swelled even as he slid his hands around Sasha's waist and up underneath his shirt to the burning hot skin beneath, pulling the other man tighter against him. What the hell was he doing? He and Sasha were entangled, embracing, and sucking on each other's tongues. A full, long thirty seconds or maybe even a minute might have passed in which they simply kissed and clung, making out against the door.

Dean tensed as what he was doing caught up to him—gasped away and turned his head.

"Dean…?" Sasha asked, curious and concerned, his voice rougher than before—husky—which went straight to Dean's groin with a sharp pulse.

_What is _wrong_ with me?_

"Dean?"

"Look, I just…" but Dean trailed off as soon as he turned his head and met Sasha's brilliant blue gaze again, the other man's lips slightly pink now and his cheeks flush with color. Dean still had his hands up the back of Sasha's shirt. Sasha's skin was as soft as any girl's, and he found himself clutching the man in his arms tighter instead of pushing him away. "I just…haven't done this in a while."

Sasha's eyes knit close together, like he was concentrating very hard on reading between the lines, on sensing what Dean wasn't saying, but eventually he smiled, fond and playful. He leaned in toward Dean's lips again, and kissed him slowly, tenderly, before licking his way inside Dean's mouth and twirling his tongue around Dean's like a promise of what was to come. Then that thought was confirmed as Sasha whispered against Dean's lips, "Relax, then…and let me do the heavy lifting."

Heat pooled in Dean's belly as Sasha's hand slid down his shirt, twisted around, and reached low to grip the bulge of his jeans, making Dean harden painfully, rock solid and weeping, he was sure of it.

When was the last time someone had said something like that to him? _Touched_ him? He couldn't remember. And damn did he want to comply, just nod and see what happened. But he couldn't actually do this, could he? He'd known girls for much shorter periods of time and liked them a lot less before taking them to bed in the past, but this was a whole new monster.

Sasha pushed back from the door, unable to get too far for a moment since Dean was still holding him close. Then Dean let go, let his hands fall to his sides, and another wave of panic rushed over him. He had no anchor, nothing to grip to keep himself sane, just an offer and a willing partner standing before him, who…was seriously rumpled from their kissing, and so damn pretty—so damn _sexy_.

Sasha moved confidently to undo Dean's jeans, pausing only a moment for any sign of protest, but not actually waiting for an okay, which was fine by Dean because he doubted he could form actual words at the moment. He was shaking—trembling. He felt his pulse banging inside the walls of his chest and between his eardrums as Sasha drew his zipper down.

"It really has been a long time…hasn't it?" Sasha said, moving one of his hands to grip Dean's quaking wrist and gently still it.

_Over a year_, Dean thought, _maybe two_, but he wasn't about to admit that out loud. "Yeah."

Sasha's face moved in close beside Dean's cheek, and his voice whispered softly into Dean's ear, "Let me remind you…please. I've wanted to touch you since you first sat down in that stool beside me…"

Dean shuddered. "When you thought I was the siren?"

"Might have risked it for you."

A smile twitched on Dean's face, and a small portion of the panic in his gut dissipated as he was reminded of why he'd been so drawn to Sasha to begin with. He _liked_ the guy. This was someone who knew the life, who could actually understand things Dean would never be able to tell a girl he met on the road, and who came with a seal of approval from as high up as it came as just a genuinely good guy.

With a secret.

Dean turned in toward Sasha's face, captured by those blue eyes instantly. _This_ was Sasha's secret. Of course. Being gay wasn't exactly something the hunter community would be enlightened about. He probably had to hide it from the other more bigoted hunters—which was pretty much all of them. Dean's father had never been openly against the whole thing, or against anyone who was gay, but he also bought Dean skin mags at fourteen, not one each of Playboy and Playgirl and asked him to choose. The thought had probably never even entered John's mind—and certainly never Dean's.

It seemed to keep coming up lately though.

Well if this was all Sasha's secret was, then of course Dean wouldn't do anything to the guy over it—unless what he was about to do counted. And Sasha probably figured Dean was the same, or maybe at least flexible to the idea since they had hit it off so well, and…okay, thinking back, some of Dean's comments could have easily been taken the wrong way. Sasha probably had no idea Dean had never done this with another man before.

Although…the way Sasha smiled at him so warmly, heated and wanting, sure, but _warm_ with affection and understanding; and how he leaned forward to kiss Dean softly, his fingers feathering at Dean's skin as he slipped his hands beneath denim down Dean's naked thighs, pulling the jeans and boxers down with him…made Dean feel as though he was being treated with virgin care—like the guy _did_ know, and was going to be oh so gentle with him. The thought made Dean's hips stutter.

He knew he couldn't blame this on alcohol—he was blindingly sober now.

Sasha dropped to his knees and panic reared up in Dean's gut again—or maybe it was excitement. His heartbeat thundered. His hands shook. _Tell him to stop! Tell him you can't do this!_ His mind screamed at him, but he ignored the argument. Because there was no argument. There was no reason not to just let this happen—none that held any weight.

Dean watched, mesmerized, as Sasha's lips descended on him, his shorts and jeans remaining around his thighs, locking them together and holding him in place for Sasha to just _take him_. And when he did, when those pink, moistened lips wrapped around Dean's head and sucked him in, Dean's right hand clenched into a fist and slammed back against the door. His knees trembled like the rest of him and he pressed his back into the support behind him, barely keeping upright. Sasha's lips and tongue were hot—blazing—and they knew just how to tease the sensitive nerves and layers of skin.

Sasha kept one hand around the base of Dean's cock as he worked him with his mouth, and slid the other up and underneath Dean's shirt to the slight pudge of his belly. Dean could admit he had some pudge—he liked food, thank you very much, and didn't see anything wrong with that—and it was a reasonable amount considering he generally got a good workout with his profession. He could just never imagine being as obsessed with his body as Sam. Sasha seemed pretty obsessed with his body about now, though, Dean mused, as the redhead sucked him in deep and clawed eagerly at his stomach.

Dean pounded back on the door again, his other hand seeking something to grip, and finally reaching forward to lightly grab at Sasha's hair. His hips moved subtly forward and back in a gentle rocking motion in time to Sasha's rhythmic bobbing. It had been a _really_ long time since someone had done this for him. If he hadn't drank so much, he might have shot off pretty damn quickly too, but he was just the right amount of drunk that he knew he'd last a while, and the heat and pleasure coursing up from the base of his spine—through every part of him, really—was making all the remaining alert senses he had…dull and buzzing.

The only way Dean was going to get from point A—blowjob—to point B—anything involving reciprocation—was if he took charge and didn't look back. That was how he generally approached life; why should this experience be any different? Right?

So Dean steeled the last of his shaken nerves, dropped his head back against the door to enjoy a few more moments of Sasha's hot mouth and expert tongue on his skin, and finally looked down again. Sasha's blue eyes blinked up at him, batting playfully. Dean gripped the redhead's shoulders and hauled him up, pulling him all the way in for a kiss when Sasha stood, and relishing in the taste of his own salty skin on Sasha's tongue.

Sasha tugged on Dean's shirt. "Too many clothes?" he breathed out shakily.

"Hell, yes."

They separated with an eruption of movement. Kicking off his boots and his tangled shorts and jeans, letting his jacket fall from his shoulders, and tearing his shirt off over his head—it all happened in a blur, Dean stealing glances at Sasha as the redhead stripped in kind. Sasha was an inch or two taller than Dean, but had that trim swimmer's build, all pale, perfect skin, and seemingly not a hair on his body other than his head…until Dean's eyes fell to the tuft of equally red hair between the man's legs.

_How is that a natural color?_ Dean wondered, but they had already collided again and toppled onto the bed—one bed, Dean noted, which he should have guessed when the guy first offered to share his room.

Dean was slick from Sasha's mouth, and as soon as they clamored up the mattress, with Dean latched onto the redhead's neck and Sasha's hands gripping Dean's ass, Dean felt Sasha's wet cock clash with his. The feeling was intense—intoxicating. All Dean's remaining anxiety faded as he fumbled to touch Sasha, giving over to the sensations flooding his senses—all _good_ sensations. So good.

He gripped Sasha tight, the feeling of a cock in his hand familiar, if only from his own, and pumped madly through the smooth precum, simultaneously jerking his hips forward to slip and slide against his hand and Sasha's hips.

Sasha reached down as well, breathing hotly on Dean's neck, as Dean licked Sasha's collarbone where he'd been sucking. Then the redhead surprised him, stilled Dean's hand, and nudged it aside. He took both of them in hand _together_, and the feel of them pressed tight against each other in Sasha's grip was too much—like nothing Dean had ever felt before. He wanted more. He wanted to roll over, press Sasha into the mattress, and _fuck him_. But he didn't want to stop their current friction.

After what felt like minutes on end of fervent grinding, Sasha seemed to think along the same lines as Dean, at least as far as wanting more, and released his grip only to roll away and position Dean onto his stomach.

Alarm bells went off in Dean's head, spiking his panic to a fevered pitch. He was not ready for this, but he didn't know how to respond or what to say without risking the whole thing unraveling. He held his breath as Sasha lifted his hips up from the mattress so that Dean was positioned perfectly for what he'd just thought he wanted to do to _Sasha_—and yes, he realized that panicking about the role reversal was unfair, but he couldn't help it. He was Dean _Fucking_ Winchester!

But whatever Dean had been expecting next was replaced by yet another intense and gut-quivering surprise. Sasha's tongue swiped between Dean's cheeks and gently…pushed in. Dean turned his face into the mattress and moaned. His body became warm jelly, relaxed and overheated—overwhelmed. Sasha reached around Dean's waist to take him in hand again, as his tongue continued to dart—in and out—and _fuck_.

Dean was done in a matter of three swift strokes.

He collapsed forward as Sasha moved away, and it was only after Dean was able to push himself onto his side that he realized Sasha was lying next to him again, tending to himself with rapid, eager pumps of his fist, while staring hungrily at Dean's body.

Dean was not a selfish lover, and timid as he had been about this, he'd gone all in, been ready and willing for anything, and he was not about to back away from that now—especially not after coming so hard he'd seen spots.

Uncaring to the wet spot beneath him, Dean squeezed his trapped, left arm out from under him to grip Sasha's neck, and tugged the redhead forward for a bruising kiss. His right hand slid down Sasha's taut stomach, into those impossibly red curls, and nudged Sasha's hand aside as Sasha had nudged him. Dean gripped Sasha firmly, using every angle, amount of pressure, and slide of his fingers that he knew _he_ liked, and hoped Sasha liked too.

Sasha gasped out of their kiss and buried his head in Dean's neck.

"Yeah…come for me, baby…"

"Unnng…!"

Dean felt his softening cock jump again at his words and at Sasha's unintelligible response.

Then Sasha was biting into Dean's shoulder and spurting over Dean's hand, hot and silky as he came. Dean slowed his pumps to a light, tender hold, letting their bodies fall into each other and connect again, sticky with sweat and cum.

Fatigue washed over Dean in the most all-encompassing way, and he felt his body melt into the mattress, hapless against the need for sleep. He wasn't the type to fall asleep after sex—sex usually gave him a burst of energy—but tonight he wavered and succumbed, wanting nothing more than to give into the darkness.

"So…awesome…" he murmured into Sasha's chest, and even swiped his tongue out to lap at the salty sweat on the redhead's skin.

He heard Sasha chuckle blissfully, then tuned into the rhythm of his companion's gradually slowing breaths until the rest of the world faded away.

* * *

TBC…

* * *

More soon, with another update on the book. In the meantime, love you all!

~Crimson


	111. Chance Encounter: Part 2

A/N: Book 1 of The Incubus Saga: entitled simply Incubus, will be out in paperback, eBook, and audiobook form next Monday! That's July 1, 2013. You can preorder any of those versions of the book NOW for 10% off by going to BigWorldNetwork DOT com, and checking out the Store section. Please, dear readers, help support your friendly neighborhood author if you can. And please, enjoy this next installment in my little Incubus foray into current season.

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**Chance Encounter, Part 2  
**

* * *

Dean awoke with a pounding headache. Whether it was because he'd gotten drunker than he'd been in a long time last night, because he had mixed beer and Jack, or because he was bodily exhausted, he wasn't sure, but it was probably a fun combination of all of the above. And boy was he tired, as if he'd been completely drained of energy, though he didn't feel otherwise ill. It had been a long time since his last physical romp with a partner, so he supposed that could account for the exhaustion.

Memories of the night before flashed through Dean's mind as he roused fully, unable to block out the dull thrum of nearby buzzing. He'd gotten drunk. He'd had _sex_. He was…still in the guy's motel room.

Pushing over onto his back, Dean blinked up at the ceiling. There was only minimal light filtering into the room, so his eyes adjusted quickly. Sasha was not lying beside him. Nor was he in the bathroom, since the door was open and dark, or anywhere else in the room. And something was _buzzing_.

Dean took stock of his body for a moment. He was still naked, the thin sheets covering him, though the comforter had been tossed to the floor, probably because they'd gotten it fairly dirty. He didn't feel as though the sheets were sticking to him in any awkward places, though, despite not remembering cleaning up. Had Sasha wiped him clean and then tucked him in? Somehow that was far more mortifying than having had sex with the guy, especially if he had just left afterward.

But wait…Sasha's bag was in the corner, Dean noted as he sat up. Sitting up also made him even more aware of the incessant buzzing, that he now realized had been what woke him up, and was originating from his discarded jeans.

Reaching over the bed—Dean didn't feel like getting up all the way just yet—he snatched his jeans, dug out his phone, and answered with a groggy, "What?"

"_What? That's it? Dean, it's almost 11:00. Are you okay?"_

_Sam_.

"I'm fine," Dean answered instinctively. And he was, for the most part. He ran a hand back through his sleep-tousled hair. "Just…maybe had a few too many last night and slept in."

"_I take it that means you and Sasha hit it off?"_

Dean wondered for maybe two seconds if Sam was standing outside the door and knew, or if he was just plain psychic, but realized his brother wasn't trying to be a smart-ass. "Yeah…real well. Too well," Dean said as he scrubbed his hand all the way down his face. He needed aspirin. "Just let me wake up, and…I'll…" He trailed as he heard someone at the door.

Then it opened, slow and carefully as Sasha snuck in. He smiled when he saw that Dean was awake. He was dressed and fully refreshed looking for the day. And he had coffee. _Two_ cups.

"_Dean? You still there?"_

"Uhh…yeah. Yeah, sorry. How about…you give us like half an hour here and then Sasha and I will meet you for lunch."

"Pat's," Sasha called out, loudly so Sam could hear over the phone. "Barbeque. Great ribs."

Dean was instantly reminded of all the reasons he liked this guy. He couldn't help smiling back at Sasha, especially since the redhead had pulled up a chair, grabbed up a bottle of aspirin like he just knew Dean needed it, and was waiting patiently with both pills and coffee to hand over to Dean when he was done.

"You get that, Sammy? We'll meet you in thirty."

Sam gave a swift goodbye, not sounding upset anymore, at least, and maybe even pleased that Dean had 'made a friend' rather than caused any problems with their would-be partner. Whether or not there would be any problems on the horizon, Dean wasn't sure just yet.

He tossed his phone onto his jeans on the floor. Sasha handed him one of the cups of coffee and the aspirin, then snatched his own coffee from the small table near his chair. He sat facing Dean, not intimidatingly or expecting or anything, just…polite.

Dean gratefully downed the aspirin and tossed the bottle back to Sasha. The coffee was…perfect. Black, with just a little bit of sugar. "How'd you know?" he asked as he gulped it down, maybe too quickly, since it burned his tongue.

"I don't know, I guess you just didn't seem like the cream type."

Dean promptly choked on his coffee.

Sasha looked concerned before what he'd just said actually registered. They both laughed at the unintentional pun. Somehow, the awkwardness Dean was feeling ebbed away, even though he was sitting naked in bed while the guy he'd slept with last night sat fully clothed across from him.

They both sipped on their coffee for a few moments in silence, but Dean wasn't one for quiet reflection. He started scanning his brain for things to do or say, most of which went to him obviously needing a shower, but he wasn't sure how to move on from this companionable moment without ruining it.

Then Sasha spoke first, gripping his coffee with both hands as he leaned forward in his chair. "I…figured the coffee was a must. We overdid it a little last night."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Thanks."

While Dean was still feeling somewhat in limbo, if not fully comfortable, Sasha's expression turned troubled. "Look, I…I feel sort of guilty. Like…I should apologize."

Dean frowned. "For what?"

"Well…I usually have this rule about not taking people back to my room if they, or I, or _both_ have been drinking. Don't read me wrong," he sat up straight again, quick to smile and turn his head almost bashfully to the side, "I don't regret last night in the least. But…I'd understand if maybe you did. It didn't really hit me until this morning that you'd probably never done that before."

Dean set his coffee on the nightstand. "I've had plenty of midnight romps with someone I just met, trust me, but…I know that's not what you mean. But dude, did anything about me last night scream the easily manipulated type? I considered putting a hold on things more than once, sure, but I didn't. If I'd have wanted you to stop, I'd have said so. I have no regrets either. No room in my life for those." And Dean wasn't just playing the strong, unmovable guy, either; it was the truth. He had a little of that anxious, excited feeling in his gut again, but it wasn't unpleasant. And the guy had brought him coffee in bed, for Christ's sake.

Sasha looked Dean square in the eyes, his expression blank for a moment, as if—just like last night—he was searching out some hidden meaning in Dean's words, in his emotions. Then he smiled. He set his coffee on the table again, stood, and started a slow, easing crawl onto the bed. Dean scooted back at first, one hand tightly clutching the sheets, but as Sasha neared him, he reminded himself that they'd already been far more intimately involved. It was just…different, watching another man crawl seductively toward him—and liking it.

Dean spread his legs beneath the sheets to let Sasha in closer, who then crawled all the way up to him and kissed him so hard that he pressed back into the headboard. A million thoughts blared through Dean's mind that he should stop this. It was a onetime thing, not a new trend for him. And yet, he couldn't really bring himself to believe that. Kissing Sasha was just plain addictive.

Sasha slid one of the hands bracing him up on the mattress to Dean's chest, just holding it there, then began to slide it slowly south. When he reached Dean's hips and the edge of the sheets, an electric shock pulsed through Dean's groin and renewed his otherwise dwindled morning erection.

_What is it with this guy_, he wondered, but he wasn't complaining. Sasha licked around the rim of his lips, and Dean fought the urge to grab him and flip him over onto the mattress.

Then Sasha gasped away. His blue eyes were hazy as he said, "I shouldn't. Sam will be waiting. I should let you shower, get ready." He almost looked guilty for having indulged himself, which Dean just didn't understand when this guy was otherwise so forward and dripping sex appeal.

But as Sasha wasn't wrong about their limited time and the demands of the job, Dean nodded. Just to prove he wasn't opposed to continuing though, crazy as that still seemed to him, Dean kissed Sasha once more for good measure, bruisingly deep—promising. Sasha shuddered atop him, then finally pulled away and hopped off the bed.

As Dean followed, telling himself that it wasn't weird to walk naked to the bathroom when Sasha had already seen the goods, Sasha offered him an extra shirt and use of his bathroom supplies since Dean didn't have anything of his own. The guy even had an extra toothbrush—_just in case_, Sasha said with a smile. The whole ordeal felt strangely easy and domestic, even as Dean finished his naked trek, clothes in hand, and started to take a shower. He was still a little revved up and had no problem attending to himself despite knowing that Sasha was just on the other side of the door. He felt even more exhausted afterwards, but at least refreshed. He needed to finish his coffee.

It wasn't until Dean was fully dressed and ready to leave the bathroom that he realized what shirt Sasha had given him to wear. It was a dusty darker blue with Captain America's shield proudly in the center. Being a little broader of chest than Sasha, it pulled a little across Dean's pecks, but didn't look half bad.

"I don't think I'm giving this back to you," Dean said as he left the bathroom.

Sasha took in Dean's appearance appreciatively before replying, "Hey, that's one of my favorites."

"Shouldn't have handed it over then."

"Well…I guess I did take something from you first, so it's only fair."

Dean pondered that for a moment, unable to think of anything Sasha had taken from him, until he thought…_my gay virginity? _"Smart ass."

Sasha chuckled, and whatever tension may have remained was gone.

Dean snatched up his coffee, made sure he had all of his belongings, and they headed out. Sasha had some god-awful rental, so Dean insisted they take the Impala, something Sasha was more than okay with since he damn near tripped over his feet when Dean pointed out the car.

"That's yours? Dude, that is sex on wheels."

"And don't she know it," Dean preened. "Now," he said, getting into the driver's side as Sasha simultaneously joined him on the other, their doors slamming closed with a unified resonance, "I believe you were spouting some bullshit last night about Civil War and how Cap should have stayed dead?"

Sasha glanced aside at Dean with a crooked grin. "Hey, I was just saying, death doesn't mean anything if characters keep coming back. Where's the impact? The cost?"

"I don't know," Dean smirked, "I used to agree with you, but as it turns out…these days I think some dead things deserve the chance to come back."

* * *

Sam and Sasha's meeting was fairly uneventful to Dean's relief, and yet the second he saw his brother, all of his previous confidence and feeling of comfort washed away. It wasn't as if he thought Sasha was going to come right out and say, "I slept with your brother last night," as he shook Sam's hand, but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that somehow Sam had to know—even if he more than likely didn't, nor should it matter.

They ate their barbeque lunch—heavenly brisket too, if Dean had ever had any—and thankfully delved right into shop talk. Sasha recapped for Sam what he had already told Dean. As it turned out, Sam had gotten an early start and had a few leads to add to their list. It seemed the victims all had something in common that Sasha hadn't picked up on.

"All of them? You're sure?" Sasha asked.

Sam nodded as he pushed the remains of his plate Dean's direction, offering up some leftover potato salad. "Every person this siren has gone after had some sort of repressed sexual desire. The most recent couple, Tracey Mitchell and Jade Kiril, both had something pop up when I talked to the next of kin this morning. Tracey had a boyfriend, but apparently she was…on the fence with her sexuality. And Jade, while openly a lesbian, well…Tracey was a little on the voluptuous side. Jade's always dated more waif-like women. But her roommate told me she found some pretty telling porn sites of heavier set women on her computer."

Dean frowned. "Why would anyone repress something like that?"

"Image, reputation, expectations," Sasha listed off with a sympathetic shrug. "You could just as easily ask why Tracey felt the need to hide her feelings for other women. Some people can't easily face certain aspects of themselves unless it's forced in front of their faces. I'd say this siren was doing them a favor…if it didn't have them kill each other afterward."

Dean snorted and quickly averted his eyes. The subject was a little too close to home for him right now, and while he meant everything he had said to Sasha that morning, and had enjoyed the brief make-out session and promise of more another time, he wasn't quite comfortable admitting all of that in front of Sam.

The obvious hypocrisy wasn't lost on Dean, he just chose to ignore it for now.

"The other desires had a pretty odd range," Sam added. "Like one couple where the man was found in drag and the woman had some serious bondage gear, but…all in all there was always something to each victim."

"Yeah, but that's not an easy thing to weasel out of people," Dean said. "Their most secret, hidden desires? Ones they aren't willing to share with others or indulge in openly? Where do we even start tracking down the next set of victims?"

Sam gave a flustered grin and set a business card down on the countertop.

"ABC Adult Boutique?" Dean read off.

"Local sex shop," Sam stated the obvious—obvious other than the title because there were three X's on the card and the silhouette of a naked woman. "I thought we'd chat with the owner while Sasha follows up on the leads we have of new people in town. Figured you'd be all over the idea, Dean."

Normally, Dean would have been, but it seemed this hunt was going to be about sex every which way from Sunday, and given Dean had started things off with sex—quite literally—it was all a bit too much coincidence to take lightly. "Sounds like a plan," he said, and raised his water glass in an eager toast, despite the queasy feeling in his stomach.

As if the guy had plucked the thoughts directly from Dean's mind, Sasha nudged his shin beneath the table. When Dean looked across at him, the redhead had the nerve to offer the sweetest, most hopeful and at the same time supportive smile imaginable.

Dean shivered. This guy could read him way too well.

"Let's pay up here and head out, then," Sam said, then looked to Sasha. "Call us if you find anything, and we'll do the same. Otherwise, let's meet in front of this place again in two hours."

Sasha nodded. "I really appreciate the help. You have no idea how much I've needed you." His words were wholly sincere, and yet Dean wondered at the potential double meaning.

Comfortable or not with what had happened between him and Sasha last night, this was going to be a long hunt.

* * *

"Okay, what's up with you?" Sam asked practically the second they were alone together on their way to the sex shop.

"What's up with…what?" Dean answered lamely.

"With _you_," Sam said again. Seeing as how the town wasn't that large, they had left the Impala in front of the barbeque joint and were walking the few blocks to the boutique. "You seemed fidgety during lunch. I thought you and Sasha had a good time last night."

"We did," Dean said stiffly. "I don't have any problem with him."

"Then is it the hunt? I know that the last time we dealt with a siren things got…complicated."

Dean didn't even want to think about that. "I'm fine," he insisted. "You're reading into nothing, dude. I just have a bit of a hangover, okay? It has been a while since I drank that much, you know."

Sam nodded, like he hadn't really considered that, and although he still looked skeptical, he let the matter drop.

They reached the shop, which wasn't nearly as sleazy on the inside as the exterior implied, and mulled around a bit before heading toward the counter. There was the usual selection of toys and paraphernalia at first glance. Vibrators, blow-up dolls, sexy lingerie. Dean noticed that the back seemed to extend to an entirely separate section for videos. It was when they reached the empty counter and dinged the bell for assistance that Dean's gaze focused on a particular item.

He'd been in sex shops before. He wasn't easily made uncomfortable, and had tried his fair share of kinks. He was the farthest thing from being prudish—honestly. The red leather strap-on with a silvery, glitter-speckled dildo attached hanging proudly behind the counter, however, made him promptly forget any and all previous experience and dive right back to a place where he was a frightened teenager completely unsure of everything.

He swallowed thickly and turned to Sam with panic in his eyes.

"What?" Sam asked in a worried whisper.

"I slept with Sasha last night." Dean had no idea why those words spilled out of him—it was just a freaking strap-on! He and Sasha hadn't even _gone_ there. Not that a _strap-on_ would have been included, but—

"_What_?" Sam asked again, his eyes bugged out now far more widely than Dean's, but at that same moment, the clerk appeared from the back.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" a friendly, 20-something young punk asked, complete with lip-ring and bleached blonde hair. He smiled at the brothers like a clerk in a normal gift shop would and without an ounce of judgment or intruding. Which may have been how Dean was able to pull his mask back in place so quickly and spin around with a smile of his own.

"Hey…yeah, we actually aren't here for recreation." Dean dug out his most updated FBI badge—they were in their usual civvie outfits, but that didn't mean they couldn't be feds—and flipped it open and closed quickly. "Trying to keep a low profile, ya see. I'm Agent Blacha, this is Agent Small. We've been following a trail of some fairly grisly murders, which we think may be connected to the recent double homicide in town."

"You mean Tracey and Jade?" The guy's face fell. "Yeah, I…heard about that. I knew both of them. Jade was a regular. Tracey's been in before, though not often. Always a little shy about it. I'm not under investigation, am I?" he asked with sudden concern.

"No, sir. At least not yet. We're just trying to get some answers. We're afraid there might be some…cult connection, and that the killer might be going after a particular set of people. We're going to need some detailed information from you about your clientele." Dean was surprised that Sam was letting him do all the talking—Sam usually interjected at some point—but when he looked back at his brother, he saw that Sam still looked spooked and tongue-tied.

Dean raised his eyebrows at 'Agent Small' to get with the program, even though he knew he was an idiot for having confessed like that in the first place and was not looking forward to the inevitable conversation to follow.

"Uhhh…yeah," Sam jumped in, turning to the clerk. "We need you to answer a few questions about any of your regular customers who might have…more unique tastes."

They fell into a normal rhythm after that and were able to find out from Brent the clerk that several locals had some fetishes they didn't share openly. The guy was far more forthcoming with personal info than most shop-owners, which was a plus, and they soon had several addresses of people they could keep an eye on as potential victims.

The sky had clouded over during the time they were in the shop, threatening rain, and making the sky almost as black as night when they exited back onto the street. Dean didn't take it as a bad omen, just a cruel joke given the impending doom he was already feeling.

"Umm…are you going to elaborate at all about what you said in there?" Sam finally asked as they were heading toward the first lead's place of business—the pharmacy.

"Nope," Dean said simply, and kept his gaze forward.

"So…you were pulling my leg?"

Dean faltered a little in his step. "No."

"You slept with Sasha?"

"…yeah."

"You didn't seem freaked out when I first saw you at the restaurant."

"Guess it needed some time to sink in." No, that wasn't right. "I mean…" Dean stopped, though he wasn't quite able to glance up at his brother just yet. "I was drunk but totally in my right mind. We had a good talk about it this morning. Things were squared away. We even…had a moment…or something, before we met up with you. I don't know why I'm freaking out now."

Sam gently grabbing his arm startled Dean, and he looked over to see those damn sympathetic puppy eyes staring back at him. "You're over-thinking. Never figured _that_ would be a problem for you," Sam snarked. And smiled.

Dean shook his brother's hand away and scowled. "Ha. Ha."

Sam chuckled lightly but then his expression turned serious. "I…might be freaking out a little about this too…but—"

A sudden crash sounded from a few stores away—down the alley by the pharmacy. No one was on the street immediately around them.

Dean turned to Sam. "Thunder?"

"I don't think so."

They both turned forward and sprinted toward where the crash had come from. An actual rumble of thunder echoed through the sky above them, signaling that the rain was close at hand. Everything had grown so dark, that when they reached the alley, they could barely see all the way down it. What they could see was what appeared to be two figures fighting.

"Hey!" Dean called out, unsure whether this fight had anything to do with their hunt, but more than willing to find out.

As he and Sam approached, one of the shadowed figures turned toward him and rushed with uncanny speed into the light. It appeared to be a young woman, but as she approached, Dean saw a ripple of truth as her face shimmered into the hollow eyes and gaping maw of a siren.

There was no way they could be this lucky.

Dean reached back to pull the gun tucked into his jeans, but he wasn't fast enough. The siren leapt at him, stronger than its young woman guise would have made him guess. Dean landed hard on the pavement with the siren atop him. Sam tried to come to his aid, but Dean watched as the siren merely tossed the larger Winchester aside without losing her grip on him in the slightest. They didn't even have a real weapon to use against her, without first having some of her venom on hand, and struggle as he may, Dean was not strong enough to fend her off hand-to-hand.

He was just about ready to try a hard roll to the side when something—the other shadowed figure, Dean realized—rammed into the siren and sent them both flying over Dean.

Immediately, Dean scrambled to his feet, glancing first to Sam, who was getting back up to his feet as well and only looked a little scraped up, and then to the tussle near the mouth of the alley. Of all the remarkable and frightening creatures Dean had seen in his time, he had never seen anything quite like the thing attacking the siren.

It was the size of a man—man shaped, too—but stood taller than Sam due to its large clawed feet like a raptor. It had curled horns at the side of its head and large clawed hands to match its feet, but the wings were the most impressive; like some great gargoyle, they spread out behind the creature, black and leathery like a bat. Dean was surprised he didn't also see a tail.

"What the…?" Dean gasped out. Slowly, he reached down to retrieve the gun he had dropped.

The siren had apparently had enough, however, and took off running out of the alley once she'd gotten enough leeway from the other figure. Dean feared the winged creature was about to follow her, but despite the darkness from the coming storm, it shied from exiting the cover of the alley and backed away, letting the siren escape.

The sky broke open with a sudden powerful downpour as Dean raised his gun and the creature turned back toward him and Sam.

Facing them, Dean could see that the horns, wings, hands, and feet were all pitch black, but that they faded into a pure, white skin everywhere else. It had slit red eyes that glowed in the darkness and through the rain. There were definite fangs in its mouth that glinted with the meager light. But what made Dean falter, what made his hands tremble as he held up his gun, was the red hair, longer though it may be, and the familiar face.

"Dean…" the creature called in a grumbling but also familiar voice.

Sam had moved closer to Dean and stood beside him, staring.

Dean felt his arms lower as the creature came toward them and a shock of bright lightning lit up the alleyway, making it unmistakable who the creature really was.

"Sasha?"

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TBC...

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More soon! And please consider purchasing some form of Incubus if you can. Thanks!


	112. Chance Encounter: Part 3

A/N: If you haven't checked out Incubus on BWN or Amazon yet, you can get the eBook for FREE this Monday from Amazon, so be sure and download it. Just search my real name, Amanda Meuwissen, and it will come up. Not many Meuwissens out there. And even though it's free, I still get royalties from all of the downloads, so feel free to do it just because and you'll help with my overall rating. I'd also love any readers who have enjoyed the new version of the story to be sure and rate and review it on Amazon and Goodreads. Every little bit helps.

Sorry this next part took SO long, but after the Incubus release, several trips, events, and Chicago Comic Con, I have been swamped. However, I should get the 4th and final part of this done soon, while also working to update my Teen Wolf fic and the next season of Incubus at BWN.

Enjoy!

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**Chance Encounter, Part 3**

* * *

Dean, Sam, and a once again human looking Sasha had returned to Sasha's motel room, and were sitting at the small table in the room with the brothers across from Sasha trying not to stare.

The moment lightning had struck the sky, lighting up the alleyway to reveal that the winged, horned, and clawed creature that saved Dean from the siren was in fact Sasha, the redhead had stepped toward them with his hands raised in placation. Claws had slowly turned into actual hands, the other monstrous features fading as Sasha returned to looking normal, even with his clothing reforming though he had seemingly been wearing nothing but skin as his other self.

Now, Sam sat trying not to look as shell-shocked and fidgety as Dean knew his brother to be, while Dean…was actually far calmer than should be normal. He'd slept with the guy, after all, never knowing the truth. But maybe that was why Dean wasn't freaking out. He'd slept with Sasha and had come out of the encounter not only unscathed but pretty damn satisfied.

"So there I was figuring this 'secret' Garth was keeping for you was that you're into other guys…and you're actually an incubus," Dean stated more than asked.

Sasha glanced almost bashfully to the side. "I thought you knew. Thought…somehow you'd figured it out. I'm so sorry, Dean. I never would have gone so far if I thought you were in the dark. And I wouldn't say I'm only into other guys," he added with a small smirk. "More like…fluid."

Sam coughed to hide a chuckle, though he was still fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "Well…Garth is busy on his case, but he texted me back. He vouches for you, and reiterated Bobby's warning. I guess I just…never figured that's what the secret would be. Not that we haven't had our fair share of supernatural creatures on our side, it's just…"

"Usually they aren't the good guys," Sasha finished.

Dean frowned at how willingly Sasha lumped himself in with other supernatural creatures—with the bad guys. Dean's best friends had been an angel and a vampire. He wasn't one to judge. Not anymore. "Should have realized something was up, but if Bobby and Garth's words weren't enough, seeing you in action is all I need to know whose side you're on."

Sam coughed again.

"Seeing you in action against the _siren_," Dean emphasized with a kick to Sam's shin.

Sasha chuckled, though still a little warily. "I guess that means you two…had a talk about me, huh?"

Talking about his sex life in front of his brother was far more traumatizing than discovering Sasha's true identity. Dean glared at Sam again for good measure to subtly suggest he keep his fat mouth shut. "Yeah, it sorta…came up. But I'm not sitting over here thinking you were lying about anything or just…using me to _feed_, or…whatever. You've had no reason not to be honest with us, and I think you have been. No regrets, right?" He forced a smile. Maybe not forced—he wanted to smile—he just hated the tension hanging in the air.

Sasha visibly relaxed across from them. "Thanks. I didn't mean to make things more complicated, so…why don't we just focus on the case."

That idea Dean could definitely get behind. "You must have gotten the same lead we did. She'd been pretending to be the new girl at the pharmacy, right? Do you think she'll bolt now that she ran into us? You guys were fighting pretty aggressively."

"I was hoping to get at some of her venom and finish her off right there, but no go," Sasha said. "She's as strong as I am, and actually seemed to have fun fighting me. I don't think she'll be leaving. She's interested now."

Dean tried to think back to when the siren had leapt at him. The shimmer of her true face had made it difficult to read her expression, but he remembered that when she did look human, she'd been grinning. "That's…creepy." He shifted in his seat. "So she'll try and bait us now? The type that likes to show off?"

Sasha slid from his chair and moved for his bag in the corner. He removed a wide laptop and returned to the table to set it up. His screen came to life and he quickly loaded a page that contained video footage. None of the still shots looked very friendly.

"How I got onto this case, and the part I was hoping to avoid showing you, was this website," Sasha explained. "This siren doesn't just sit back and watch its victims tear each other apart, it films the act and posts the footage online. All anyone who goes here sees is two people having sex and then…killing each other—there's nothing to suggest the supernatural. But I knew as soon as I found the site."

He took a deep breath then pressed play on the most recent video. It was clear from the first few seconds that the footage was of Tracey and Jade, the first two victims from the town they were now in. At first it seemed like any homemade porno. Gritty, just a single angled shot, but real. The noises they made, the momentum, the truth in their passion—it was genuine, not fluff for the camera. It was hot, too, no doubt about that.

Then Jade pulled a knife from under one of the pillows.

Dean had seen many gruesome, awful things in his life, but something struck him about this, because it wasn't as if Jade wanted to hurt Tracey, or that Tracey—who soon had a knife of her own to slice back—wanted to hurt Jade. Every bit of this, even them being together, was being forced for someone else's entertainment.

The part that made Dean's fists clench though was the hit counter. _Sick fucks._

"I thought we'd catch her without having to show you this." Sasha clicked the stop button. "But there's no avoiding it now. This siren likes knowing it has an audience. Now it has us. It won't run, not until it can put on a show for us too."

"So…should we check for any video equipment rentals?" Sam asked, all business. Dean could tell his brother was holding back his disgust at this case, and he still looked a little pale from the footage.

"No, the camera is just a simple handheld, maybe with a collapsible stand. She keeps it with her. Or him. Sirens aren't really gender specific..." Sasha frowned.

"Well, so we can avoid the he, she, it, shit problem, let's just go with 'she', since that's what we fought," Dean offered. "And _she_…needs to die. Now. So let's go over our options."

Given that their options were to continue investigating the newcomers in town, since the siren could very easily take over the persona of one of them, or someone else new they wouldn't see coming, they split up to talk with the remaining leads. Since she liked pairs, they decided to avoid being in twos whenever they could, and just had to hope they'd catch site of someone's true face in a mirror before she could act and claim new victims.

The problem was that none of the remaining leads gave any indication of being the siren. Wherever she was hiding, she was being much smarter about it this time around.

"I don't suppose you can sense her, or something?" Dean asked, once they'd all met back up and decided on grabbing another meal. They were at the bar where Dean and Sasha had met the previous night. "You know, since you have the whole sex thing in common." Dean smirked, rather proud of himself for being able to take most of the situation lightly—having found out he had sex with an incubus. Definitely better than how sleeping with an Amazon had turned out. And Dean had always been such a huge Wonder Woman fan, too.

"Sorry," Sasha smirked back, "it doesn't work that way. If she was a succubus, we'd be set, but I can't sense a siren."

"Damn. That would have been so useful too." Dean took a bite of the steak he'd ordered, which wasn't half bad, and considered their remaining options.

"I don't suppose she said anything to you before your brawl in the alleyway?" Sam asked.

Sasha shook his head. "Nothing useful. Though I did notice she had a thing for speaking in the third person. Called herself Maeven. 'Maeven can handle a silly incubus. Maeven's having fun'," he said in a sing-song voice, then grimaced. "Don't people know it is always lame to talk that way?"

Dean and Sam both chuckled.

"Seriously," Dean said, "like Hal Jordan in the New 52 for Justice League. I figured it to be a fluke the first time, then he goes and says—"

"'Green Lantern's got this!'" Sasha mimicked, beating Dean to the punch. "Oh my god, that was so ridiculous! What were they thinking?" He laughed.

Dean joined him.

Sam stared at them both in amusement. "Maybe you should take Sasha along on your next escapade with Charlie. Seems you have a lot in common," he smirked.

"Charlie?" Sasha questioned.

"_She_," Dean emphasized, "is our friendly neighborhood LARPing partner. Had a shot at a fae on one of our hunts a while back, but it didn't pan out. Bet she'd love you forever if you have any nice succubus friends you could introduce her to." Dean grinned at the thought. He wasn't one to spy on his friends, but catching Charlie mid liplock with that fae had been pretty hot. "And hey," he turned on Sam, "you love that stuff as much as I do. Admit it."

Sam squirmed in his chair. "I wouldn't say _as_ much as you do," Sam defended, like there was something to _defend_.

Sasha laughed again. "I do know a pair of twins if she might be interested," he said. "In fact, I bet they'd be all over a good LARP. Medieval?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You better believe it. And I'll hold you to this, if you're really interested. Even hunters need a hobby. Or so I've started to think lately."

Sam snorted, though he looked a bit like he wished they had a few _more_ hobbies.

They finished their meal, ordered another round of drinks to enjoy before heading out again, and went over the best possible plan, which basically amounted to retracing their steps in case the siren took on one of the more likely personas later. There were also a limited number of potential victims in a town this small, and Sasha had a few options for them to check out in that regards too.

Jamie was serving them again, as well as tending bar, and brought over their final round of beer.

"We can take the check after these. Thanks, Jamie," Sasha said.

She nodded amiably at him.

"I need to hit the john," Sam said, sliding out of the booth, seated across from them. "No stealing my beer now," he added to Dean, and grinned as he headed off.

Dean huffed, and snagged a sip from Sam's mug just to spite him. Dean liked his Belgian style ale way better than Sam's IPA anyway. Craft beers were as uncommon for them as good food most of the time.

For a minute, Dean mulled over the facts they knew so far, the plan, every angle to this hunt he could think of, but there wasn't much more to say until they hit the road again and hoped they got lucky.

"So…thoughts on the whole Wonder Woman's ever-changing wardrobe discussion?" Dean prompted, since the Amazon had already crossed his mind earlier, and they were on the topic of the New 52.

Sasha shrugged. "I didn't mind the pants. I just prefer her in more gold than silver."

Dean nodded his agreement.

They continued to discuss the vast addition of more red to several DC characters' costumes, before finally veering to Marvel comics instead. Dean had always been more of a DC fan, but his love for Marvel had been growing over the years. Plus Charlie had taught him how to torrent new comics onto Sam's laptop, so he was having an easier time staying current.

"I'm just saying," Sasha said, "I like that the story is interesting and going in a new direction."

"But it's not Spider-Man if it's not Peter Parker."

"What about Ultimate?"

"Totally lame, are you kidding?"

"2099?"

"Future's different; doesn't count."

"But—"

"Batman is Bruce Wayne, Superman is Clark Kent, and Spider-Man is Peter Parker," Dean maintained. He had no patience for this whole Doc Ock took over Peter's body and now _he's_ Spider-Man crap currently happening in the Marvel universe. But he supposed it was better than much of what had been happening leading up to that.

"What about The Flash? He's been several different people," Sasha said. "Or…umm…I know there are others, I'm just drawing a blank. Oh—"

"Green Lanterns don't count. There can be several at a time," Dean interrupted, knowing that's what Sasha would say next.

Sasha pouted, proving Dean had guessed correctly.

"At least admit to me that Mary Jane is the only woman for Peter," Dean implored. "None a that Gwen Stacy being his one true love nonsense."

Finally, Sasha grinned again. "Oh, I won't fight you on that one. Redheads are clearly superior." He leaned into Dean's shoulder and flashed him a sideways flutter of his eyes, then took another swig from his beer. It was half empty already, just like Dean's.

Dean leaned into Sasha in reply, easily picking up on the flirt, and not minding one bit. He felt intensely warm sitting so close to Sasha. He probably needed some air, and the beer was no doubt flushing his face all the more. He hoped it didn't look like he was blushing. He quickly took another drink.

As he looked up into Sasha's eyes again, Dean stilled. They were so _blue_. He didn't even care that they were really red and slit like a cat's. He didn't care that Sasha had that other gargoyle form, with broad wings, clawed hands and feet, horns, and fangs. In fact he kind of wanted to see the fangs again. Maybe spending so much time with Benny had made him impervious to thinking fangs were abnormal, or maybe it was just the way Sasha's were that more traditional vampire type—just two points on his eyeteeth—but something about them seemed strangely appealing.

"Hey…" Dean said in a low voice, not bothering to move his face out of Sasha's close proximity as he spoke, "…so, ummm…which form is the real you, then? This is just a cover? The wings and everything's the real deal?"

Sasha licked his lips, not bothering to lean back either. "Both are the real me, in a way. But it does take a little effort to look like this, so…yeah, the wings are more the real deal, I guess." He glanced away, like he wasn't entirely comfortable talking about his other self.

Dean frowned. "Coz it was all pretty freaking _awesome_," he said firmly, waiting for Sasha to look up again, which he did with quite a bit of surprise in his eyes. "Maybe some other guy would think it was scary, but dude, I've fought a freaking dragon. Did you see the siren's real face? How about a changeling? Trust me…your look is still way far on the sexy side." Dean swallowed as he finished speaking. He didn't think he had drunk enough to feel quite this hazy and willing to speak flowery truths, but there they were, tumbling from his lips.

"You think my wings are sexy?" Sasha's voice was a low hum.

"I think your everything's pretty sexy…wings or otherwise."

Suddenly, Sasha's hand was on Dean's thigh, sliding slowly back and forth across it. "All I can think about is fucking you…" he said barely above a whisper, pupils blown to make his eyes look almost black instead of blue.

The abruptness of those words should have startled Dean, the heat, their closeness, how he felt as drunk as he'd felt the other night, but without having drank anywhere near as much. He should have wondered what was keeping Sam. He should have wondered why his own hand crossed the space between them and caught at the edge of Sasha's shirt, where it wanted to just slip underneath and touch skin.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed low, the sides of their hips pressed tight within the booth, and their faces only inches apart. "We had a good time last night, right?" He squeezed Dean's thigh and let his hand slip further inward between Dean's legs.

Dean shifted eagerly, his hand trembling as he touched the skin of Sasha's belly and slowly began pressing up underneath his shirt. "_Great_ time…"

"And you…you don't care that I'm…what I am?" Blue eyes fluttered down then looked up again steadily at Dean.

"If you're asking how I feel about a round two, I think the answer is pretty obvious…" Dean let his fingers dip down instead beneath the waistline of Sasha's jeans.

In response, Sasha let his hand not so subtly move over Dean's growing bulge and pressed his heal into the base. "Really obvious," Sasha purred.

"Really…obvious…" Dean repeated, holding back a moan, then finally had a moment of clarity as his otherwise hazy brain started to wonder—Sam should have been back by now, and why was he allowing this display in public when it was not a good time for a bedroom break?

Even as they both had their hands on each other, right there in the booth, in what was still a fairly crowded bar, their warm breaths mingling from how close their faces were, their bodies molded along the side, Dean knew Sasha's brain caught up with his the moment their eyes met again.

Together they glanced to the tabletop at their nearly empty beers. They were both breathing hard, practically gasping.

"Here's your check, boys," said Jamie as she sidled up and dropped the bill on the table. "Why don't we call it…on the house tonight? I get the feeling you really want to get outta here." She smiled wide at them, not at all like the woman Dean remembered meeting the previous night.

_Shit_.

Dean wanted to focus his thoughts on Sam. What had happened to him that he never came back from the bathroom? Was he okay? At what point had Jamie been replaced by the siren, and when had she first spiked their drinks? But all he could think about was doing exactly as the bartender had said and getting out of there as quickly as possible. Sasha's room was just a few steps away once they hit the outside air.

Against all of Dean's better instinct, they slid out of the booth, leaving the bill on the table, and moved for the door, shuffling perhaps slightly awkwardly since both of them had moderate erections to tend with. Once they reached the door to Sasha's motel room, modest was an afterthought and Dean was full on straining in his jeans, wanting nothing more than to remove them.

"Dean…" Sasha gasped as he used his key to open the door, "I can't…think straight…"

"I know…me either. All I can think about is—_fuck_!" Dean ran his hands back through his hair hard, trying to salvage his thoughts, to focus and somehow not let the siren venom win.

Sasha grabbed Dean by his jacket and hauled him into the open room, before slamming the door shut behind them and pressing Dean up against it. It was eerily reminiscent of the night before—deliciously reminiscent. Sasha's mouth latched onto Dean's neck.

Dean groaned, his hips grinding forward against Sasha as he threw his head back. He knew they were in deep trouble, but he couldn't wrap his brain around anything other than _Sasha_ and _sex_ and _right the fuck now_. He could see the camera on its stand already set up in the room, aimed at the bed—waiting for them. The bitch had found Sasha's room, planned the whole thing.

"Wanna fuck you…" Sasha murmured, sucking on Dean's skin down his neck and collarbone as he grinded mindlessly back against Dean, holding him tight to the door. "But I know we…we shouldn't. We can't. Don't…wanna hurt you…"

"We…we just have to think," Dean said, gripping Sasha's hair and yanking his head back away from him so they could look into each other's eyes. Dean stared hard into what he now saw were Sasha's slit red eyes, glowing brightly with hunger. He tried so hard to tell himself that this was bad, dangerous, and would not end well, but as he prepared himself to push Sasha away, he found himself pulling Sasha in instead for a bruising kiss.

The noises Sasha made were hypnotic and only made Dean grind forward harder, on fire and burning for release. He pushed, but not at Sasha; he pushed away from the door and they started to move into the room. They soon fell against the bed, scrambling up it for a hard surface, and right in line for the camera to record everything.

* * *

TBC...


	113. Chance Encounter: Part 4

A/N: And here we are, at last! The end! This was a fun, if shorter, foray back into the Supernatural fandom for me, and a return of Sasha. I always like playing with him - as does Dean. ;-)

Remember, if you're interested in an original version of this epic, Incubus the book is available - well book 1 is with book 2 set for next summer - and I think you'll find it's just as entertaining even with several changes.

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing this new installment! Enjoy the end!

* * *

**Chance Encounter, Part 4**

* * *

Sasha's eyes weren't the only incubus attribute that had started to show through. As Dean crawled on top of Sasha, the redhead spread beautifully beneath him on the bed, he noticed the fangs he had wanted to see again and the way the ends of Sasha's hair had grown longer. His skin looked paler too, and when Sasha reached for Dean's face, just to gently grip his cheek and tug him down for another kiss, his fingers were black.

Dean's mind blurred with thoughts of _SashaSexFuckNow_, as well as _DangerBadStopThink_, but he couldn't concentrate, couldn't chase away any of the thoughts telling him to keep going with thoughts of sense. He could feel Sasha's fangs pricking at his lips as they heatedly kissed, a sharp sting of claws in his hair where Sasha had him gripped, and firmness between his legs where Dean was straddling the redhead—firmness that wasn't all his own.

He wanted to get them both out of their clothes—now.

Sitting up on Sasha's hips, Dean removed his jacket and layered shirts in one quick lift of tangled fabric over his head, then tossed the offending items aside. He tore at Sasha's shirt, trying to get it over the incubus' head in turn, but it was taking too long. Sasha seemed to agree since he took his black, nearly fully formed claws and ripped the shirt off into pieces. Dean ran his tongue over his lips, finding the sight of the torn fabric strangely—intensely—arousing.

Sasha's skin was pure white now, save for the black of his clawed hands and feet, and—Dean stared in awe—his _wings_. They spread out beneath Sasha slowly at first, then stretched and expanded with a great flap of air, large enough that he could have folded them like a black blanket over both of them.

Horns had pushed out from Sasha's temples, curling up, down, and then inward like a coil. But even as Sasha's eyes glowed in the slightly dim room, and everything about him was so gloriously monstrous and surreal, Dean's eyes stayed trained on the wings.

Maybe it was because of his fear of flying that he found the wings so remarkable. He'd always appreciated birds, like hawks, and even sort of thought bats were cute—not that he'd admit that little factoid aloud. But to see such wings on a _man_—it was just so different like this. Different…because Sasha made it beautiful.

Spreading his hands out along the inside of both wings, Dean caressed the black skin as he would a great expanse of back or chest. He pressed his fingers in deeply and heard Sasha gasp from the pressure, from the attention.

"Dean…" Sasha purred in a grumbling lower register, bringing Dean's attention back to his white face, fangs, and bright glowing eyes. "The camera."

"I know…" But he didn't care. He knew he should, but he couldn't force his brain to work, hard as he tried, and so he felt his resolve to try at all start to slip. He just wanted to touch Sasha. He wanted them to build to climax and come together with Sasha looking at him just like that—with both of them just as they were.

Sasha looked up at Dean as if searching for an anchor, so when he found defeat and surrender, he surrendered too. Dean saw the world tilt and spin, then looked up with a gasp to find Sasha above him, their positions flipped.

"I want to fuck you…" Sasha rumbled, claws spread tentatively over Dean's chest, a knee on either side of Dean's hips, with their erections, hard and pulsing, caught in between, caged still by denim. "But Dean…she'll make me kill you. I'll _kill_ you."

_What a way to go_, Dean thought, then shook his head in vain attempt to clear it. "I don't know how to fight it," he admitted, even as he grasped one of Sasha's wrists and contemplated sucking one of the clawed fingers into his mouth. He licked it instead, careful around the sharp point at the end.

Sasha growled—_growled_—and Dean pressed his head back into the mattress, letting the pulses of growing need shoot down his spine to his stomach—_low_.

Sasha's jeans had already been ruined at the ankles where his feet formed large raptor like claws. He tore at what remained of them until they were off then returned his attention to Dean. Some mental capacity was still with Dean, because he understood the urgency in that look and immediately shimmied free of his own jeans, taking his underwear off with them, rather than risk Sasha's claws tugging them free. He had some self-preservation—for now—but for how long?

_I want that tongue inside me again… _Dean's thoughts strayed, and all other thoughts fell away.

He spoke his desire, and without a moment's hesitation, Sasha had Dean's hips raised, arms hooked under Dean's knees as he pressed his tongue right where Dean wanted it. The siren venom had Dean so open, so ready and wanting, that he arched up and moaned as that slippery tongue slid all the way in. Sasha couldn't prepare Dean with gentle fingers—not when those fingers were currently talons—but this was a great start.

Dean trailed a hand down his chest and gave himself a firm, quick stroke. Then another. He felt drunk—dizzy. Like he'd last all night, and that sounded fucking amazing.

The door opened. Dean barely noticed the noise, because Sasha had pulled back and was guiding Dean's own fingers down to finish what he'd started—and Dean slipped two fingers in and stretched them with a moan.

"My, my, you two are worth every bit of anxiety getting to this point," came a female voice, though Dean didn't recognize it—not Jamie, but definitely the siren. "I almost fled, you know. Almost. But mmm…am I glad I stuck around. You two are going to make beautiful footage. You already are. And you've already had quite an impressive amount of hits. Don't you just love live-streaming?"

Dean shuddered, though he couldn't be certain if it was at the thought of some sickos watching this—watching an incubus curl him into a ball and have him fuck himself with his fingers—or that his need to stroke that sweet spot inside of him had him really appreciating just how flexible he could be.

Sasha looked back at the siren with a snarl over his shoulder, a deep animalistic snarl that made Dean work his fingers in faster—deeper. The incubus didn't move off of Dean though, but turned back to look down at him with hunger in his bright red eyes.

_Come on, baby, fuck me_, Dean thought.

A soberer thought followed it. _We need to stop this—stop her._

But all he managed to say aloud was, "_Sasha_," like a desperate whine.

Sasha's claws carefully gripped Dean's wrists, spread them back to either side of Dean's head on the mattress, and shifted his hips forward. Sasha's tip was dripping; Dean was so open—the incubus slipped in easier than should be possible, not when Dean had never done this before. It was just that perfect amount of tight and filling and _fuck yes_. Dean arched his hips with relish, barely even twitching at the small scratches being left on his wrists from Sasha's claws, and pleaded with his eyes for Sasha to just _fuck him into the mattress_.

Dean wasn't a moaner. Almost never uttered a sound. Certainly not like any of the noises being pulled from his throat now. Claws had Dean pinned, Sasha's wings were spread wide behind him over the bed, Sasha's horns curled around his long red hair as his eyes flashed and his fangs glinted with a pleased grin. He was monstrous. A _monster_. But Dean didn't see it like that.

It had nothing to do with the siren—_Dean didn't see Sasha like that_. The beauty he saw, he really believed it. He'd believed it when he thought Sasha was just a man and they'd shared a bed after too many drinks. Wings weren't going to change that, not when Dean knew better.

With each thrust, each look of heat and wanting that passed between them, there was a brief flicker of horror and apology in Sasha's eyes. That's when it dawned on Dean, when he realized that maybe there was a way to beat this.

"Lovely, boys. Lovely. Now _come_ for the camera. And my sweet little incubus…be sure you're taking more than your fair share as you feed from that poor hunter. Wouldn't want him walking away from this. And hunter, dear, I believe _this_ belongs to you."

Dean felt the handle of his demon blade press into his left palm, knowing the feel of it too well to assume it was anything else. Sasha still had Dean's wrists pinned, but after the siren stepped away again, the incubus released him.

A wave of nausea and fatigue swept through Dean. Sasha feeding—taking too much. It had merely made him sleepy after sex the previous night, but this was different, he knew. This was dangerous. She'd have Dean stab Sasha with the iron, demon-killing blade just as the last of his own energy was drained, killing them both.

Dean gave a sharp cry of pleasure as Sasha pounded him harder, the incubus' slit red eyes shimmering with terror. This was happening and there was nothing they could do about it.

But there was something they could do. Dean was certain of it now. Even as he passed the blade to his right hand and held it at the ready, he looked at Sasha above him and spoke plainly.

"I want you to fuck me…"

Sasha cringed, defeated.

"_I _want you to fuck me," Dean said again, "not because of her, but because I want to, just like I wanted to last night. It's not her. It's me. It's you. It's us. _Fuck_ her. If we want this for us then she doesn't have any control." Dean reached for Sasha's neck with his free hand and pulled the incubus' face closer to his own. "Do you want me, baby…? Do you want this?"

Sasha's eyes fluttered closed, then opened intensely, as sweet sensations of orgasm built around the dull pulse Dean felt of his energy draining. Sasha ran a tongue over his fangs. "I told you…I wanted you from the moment you first sat next to me in that bar."

"Hell yeah, you did," Dean choked out through another moan, and kissed Sasha bruisingly deep. The hand with the knife still gripped on tight, but Dean focused on that thought—that he wanted this for his own sake, not because of any control from the siren, and if he was in control of the sexy part then he could beat the rest of it too.

A low growl rumbled in Sasha's throat appreciatively, and Dean bucked up again, causing him to gasp from the kiss at how deeply Sasha struck within him. He was tingling from sensation, and he loved it. Because he wanted it.

"Get ready…only…one chance…" Dean gasped a breathy whisper into Sasha's shoulder.

Sasha nodded, then gripped Dean around the hips and lifted him, pulling Dean into his lap and giving Dean a perfect view of the siren standing smug and leering beside the camera.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sasha's shoulders and slowly cut a long line with the blade along his own left arm, catching just enough of his blood on the blade. He looked up and grinned at the confused siren, then wound his right arm back and threw the knife straight at her. It struck the siren clean in the shoulder—not his best shot, but it'd have to do.

The siren howled in surprise and pain as the wound crackled with the briefest wave of what it would have done to a demon. Her own venom in Dean's bloodstream was enough to hurt her, but they had to get her in the heart before she'd die.

Sasha slid carefully out of Dean, set him gently on the bed, then spun with inhuman speed and leapt at the siren with his wings spread wide and claws outstretched. She shrieked as he descended on her, clawing her with a fury that Dean felt too. Sasha had drained him enough that he felt dizzy, and he was still painfully hard. He lay back on the bed, watching, grinning, as the incubus snatched the knife free from the siren's shoulder and resheathed it where it belonged. Her final cry died off in a gasp.

As Sasha let the siren drop dead to the ground, he turned to face Dean, still transformed and gloriously dangerous looking with a bit of blood smeared across his white chest. He looked on Dean in awe, much the same way Dean imagined he was staring back.

Dean shifted his hips and spread his legs, feeling a great tightness having lifted with the release of the siren's control, but damn it, he was not letting this end unfinished. "You think…you got enough control left in you to finish the job without making me pass out?" Dean knew he might be a glutton for punishment, and offering to let an incubus feed from him when he was already pretty well drained was borderline stupid, but he had confidence in his priorities.

Sasha stalked back toward the bed. "I have very impressive self-control, Mr. Winchester," he said with a grin, his voice a deep sexy growl that made Dean's dick twitch. The redhead slithered up the bed, gripped Dean under the knees as he had before, and reconnected right where they'd left off.

The siren, whatever her power did, its absence made Dean feel the ache just a little more as Sasha thrust inside him, but he was still stretched and wet and buzzing from arousal that he hardly noticed. He stared with even more amazement at Sasha's incubus form—amazed both at the sight of it all and at how much it turned him on. He was thankful though when Sasha, having his control back, morphed one of his hands human and gripped Dean's shaft to pump him into climax with him.

Dean moaned through it all, wantonly, unashamed, because the way he felt deserved a moan of approval—he'd never experienced something like this before, laced with the adrenaline of a hunt well done. Not that he'd ever go looking for this type of situation, but he was pretty sure he was about to overdose from the endorphin rush.

Sasha came first, a swift disconnect and then release against Dean's thigh—which was hot and unexpected and had Dean twitching and shaking as he came soon after. They remained that way, frozen in position, and simply stared at each other, smiling, for several moments. Dean was only vaguely conscious of the still filming camera. A bang on the door and following crash as it was broken down caught his attention significantly more.

"Oh…my god. Dean, are you—" came Sam's concerned and flustered voice as he took in the scene.

Dean waved a hand up over Sasha's shoulder to indicate he had not been ravaged to death as feared—though embarrassed to death was a given, not that he could give it too much thought right now when there wasn't anything to be done about it. "Fine, Sammy. Just outsexed the sex demon and figured this hunt deserved a happy ending."

Sasha snorted.

Sam gave a choked huff, and Dean heard the door being carefully put back in place, then sounds of the camera being fiddled with.

Dean and Sasha disentangled slowly, and Dean took a moment to just lie on the mattress and catch his breath. He knew the room would spin once he sat up—he was still fairly drained, much as he'd enjoyed most of it—but eventually figured he should get decent so Sam wouldn't have to keep his eyes averted while working to clean up the scene.

They used the sheets to clean off as best they could, Sasha changed into his human form, and they both got dressed. Sasha grabbed a new shirt from his duffle since he'd ruined the one he'd been wearing—Dean had almost forgotten they were in Sasha's motel room—and they moved to help Sam finish the job.

As per usual on a hunt like this they'd have to dispose of the body and clean up any other remaining mess. Sasha wanted to check if the real Jamie was still alive, and Sam was insistent to get that footage offline as quickly as possible. As it turned out though, when they used Sasha's laptop to check the siren's website again, every comment left on the live-stream video was negative.

_This is all a lie!_

_Fraud! I thought this was real!_

_Nice special effects, but I'm never coming back here again!_

Apparently, seeing a gargoyle have sex with some blond guy proved the videos were fakes. Of course Dean still wanted to track all those assholes down for enjoying the site because they had believed it was real sex and death—which it had been—but there wasn't much they could do. Once again all Dean could think was: Demons he got. Humans are crazy.

Sam admitted he'd been knocked out while leaving the bathroom and was stuffed into a utility closet until he came to. He said he didn't want to hear the details of how they'd beaten the siren, but was thankful that they had. If he blushed a little the rest of the night any time his eyes fell on Dean or Sasha, well, Dean knew better than to tease him about it.

* * *

"Yeah, Garth, I know," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. He'd been stuck on the phone with the gangly hunter all morning, as Garth wanted every little detail about the hunt—something about keeping good records so future hunters could try similar tactics.

Dean had calmly explained that if another hunter ever found himself in the exact same situation that he had been in, he would use his father's journal for toilet paper. Garth made a _Dances with Wolves_ remark and let the matter drop.

"I got it, I got it, I'll ask him," Dean said, giving Sasha a nod when the redhead looked over with a questioning head-tilt.

Sasha had ended up crashing with them considering the state of his own room, and when Sam made a crack about Sasha sharing Dean's bed—they'd slept together twice, the least Dean could do was share his bed with the guy—Dean had asked for a reminder of Sam's recent sex life which shut Sasquatch up pretty quickly.

Meanwhile, Sam was currently snickering as he packed his bag, while Dean sat on his bed and flipped his brother the bird.

"Seriously, dude, we're ready to hit the road. We'll call again once we're closer. Just don't do anything stupid until we get there. Okay? We'll see you in a few hours." Dean promptly hung up before Garth could offshoot into any other tangents.

"So he's going to wait for us?" Sam asked as he slung his bag over his shoulder to take it out to the car.

"Unless he really wants to anger a coven of vampires by himself," Dean scoffed. He stood and turned to Sasha. "He said he'd like it if you came along too, since it's such a big job, and we…'work so well together'," he said with air quotes, since he'd heard the innuendo over the phone when Garth said it and felt they were necessary.

Sasha snickered, ready with his own bag as well. "If you don't mind me riding in the backseat. I hitched to this town. Don't often have a steady vehicle myself."

Dean nodded. He'd been hoping Sasha might say that.

Sam headed for the door. "More the merrier," he said, then blanched. "In the car! Not that I meant…not…" He turned beet red then bolted out the door.

Laughter erupted out of Dean free and easy, as it always did where Sam and embarrassment were concerned. His 'enlightened' baby brother sure could use a lesson in tact. And he always said Dean was the awkward one where anything gay was involved—of course Dean had never walked in on Sam naked with another man.

_Incubus_.

Whatever.

"So, Dean," Sasha said as they headed for the door together, "that whole thing, you know…what happened last night. And the night before," he added with a smirk.

"Yeah?" Dean prompted slowly.

"Well, since we'll be hunting together again, I just want you to know…I wouldn't be opposed to a third time."

Dean held back the larger grin that threatened to spread over his face. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You have that gorgeous car, and well, I get the feeling you're one hell of a driver. Be nice to find out for myself." Sasha winked, then moved ahead of Dean for the Impala's passenger side door as they left the motel.

Dean's steps stuttered as he registered Sasha's meaning. Sam was already safely in the front seat, staring forward like he didn't want to risk saying anything else stupid.

_Eh, he'll get over it eventually_, Dean thought.

As he passed Sasha on his way to the trunk, he gave a careful look around to be sure no one was out on the street watching them, and swatted the redhead's perfect ass in those too-tight jeans. "You read my mind, baby. But if Garth walks in on us this time…we're killing the witnesses."

Sasha laughed. "Might take a while, seeing as how many people saw that video. Of course, we erased it from the web, so…guess we just have to be sure no one gets a hold of your phone." He tossed Dean another wink as he slipped into the backseat.

Dean paled for maybe a moment as he opened up the trunk. After depositing his bag next to Sam's, he slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and checked his recent downloads. Low and behold there was a new video, and as Dean started to play it, he swallowed low in his throat. Sure it was all part of some psycho's fetish, but…plenty of the footage was good—straight up, gut-wrenchingly sexy. Dean tugged at his jeans as he watched Sasha start to transform in the video then clicked his phone closed. He'd have to watch the rest again later.

The trunk slammed shut with a resounding bang of finality. Siren dead. New hunter on their 'sane enough to work with' list. Plenty of regular sex on the horizon. Dean didn't even feel that lightheaded anymore after a good night's sleep. Apparently he recovered from feeding an incubus rather quickly, which seemed like a pretty fair trade off.

_Yep_, Dean thought. _Totally worth it._

* * *

THE END

See you next ficcie! (and don't be surprised if I return with something new next year to promote Incubus book 2)


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